#i would apologize for making this one so long but
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chaoticwriting ¡ 1 day ago
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YOU ARE MARRIED??!!
-Wayne Manor, Gotham-
Cass is not having a good time. From the Arkham breakout last week all the way to losing a bet with his siblings on who is going to attend the gala with Bruce. And now this annoying lady kept asking her about her preference in men or something. And Bruce can't help her since he is being occupied by those rich assholes about investment or stuff.
Vicky: So, Miss Wayne. Is it true that you have a secret boyfriend?
Cass: No.
Vicky: Then how about that pict-
Cass: I'm already married.
Vicky blue screened as Cass finished her sentence. Cass takes the chance and slips away from her before she starts barraging her with questions. Revealing that she is married may not be the smartest thing she has done but she is very annoyed at people who keep asking her about her secret significant other. If they want to ask, at least use the proper term.
Just as Cass reaches the hallway, she is scooped up by two strong arms and is carried away to the Batcave. Cass looks to her side to see Dick and Jason both holding one of her arms each and looking very pissed. Well, Dick looks very pissed. Jason looks like he is having fun. Cass doesn't struggle and just lets her brothers carry her to the Batcave to have the talk.
They put Cass on the couch and proceed to guard the exit of the cave on the off chance that she decides to escape. Not that she would because she and her husband have been thinking of breaking the news to their respective family for awhile now.
She waited for a few hours while playing on her phone. Her main phone. Not the one she used to contact her husband since this family has a lot of competent hackers. She knows that being married is like a big deal. But she doesn't expect it to be such a big deal.
When she says everyone is here, she means everyone. From all his close family all the way to Selina (Bruce's fiancee), Roy (Jason's boyfriend), Kori (Dick's wife), Kon (Tim's boyfriend), Jon (Damian's bff) and even Harley and Ivy is here. She is also pretty sure that Clark is listening from somewhere but it's not like she is trying to keep it a secret anymore, so the more people there are the less she needs to explain.
Harper: So what are we here again? I would rather be home to polish my new gun than in this cave.
Dick: Since everyone is here, I would like to apologize for calling all of you in such short notice.
A murmur ranging from 'it's fine' all the way to 'I want to sleep' sounded in the room.
Dick: Anyway, let's get to the main topic shall we. For starters, I would like to say that none of us wishes to control who you dated nor who you choose to be your partner.
Some more murmurs sounded in the room.
Dick: HOWEVER! We would really appreciate it if you wish to marry someone, at least notify one of us since being married is a big deal.
More murmurs sounded as all of them have a rough idea on what the topic going to be.
Dick: So, the person in question, would you like to explain yourself?
A spotlight lights up on top of Cass, directing all the people's attention to her. She doesn't even know there is a spotlight installed in the cave.Cass stands up and looks at the crowd. She replies, "No."
Everyone is stunned by her reply. They expect many types of replies but no is certainly not one of them.
Tim: Fuck you mean no?
Alfred: I would prefer this conversation to remain civil and proper please master Timothy. I would also like to express my extreme displeasure at the fact that I am not notified by your marriage Mistress Cassandra.
Cass goes still at Alfred's sentence. Okay, shit is really serious. As much as she loves messing with them, she would rather not have her food burnt on the inside. (No one knows how Alfred manages to do that.)
Cass: Ehem, I'm just messing with you. It is a long story but to make it short, my husband and I met when we were in Hong Kong. We met after he got roped in one of the gangs that I was busting. After we met and a little misunderstanding, he helped me to dismantle the underground drug labs across Hong Kong.
Tim: So he is also a vigilante?
Cass: Ex-vigilante. He has a daughter now so he is taking care of her.
Dick: You get pregnant?!! How? When?
Cass: I did not get pregnant. But she is technically my daughter.
Jason: Like how Lian is with me?
Cass: No. Biological daughter.
Kon: Umm, guys. I think Bruce needs to rest a little. His heart has been beating a little too fast for even him.
Dick and and Tim are closest to Bruce realizing that Bruce's face has been impossibly pale for quite a while now. They take him to an empty couch and let him lay there and rest for a while. Everyone's reactions range from amused to straight up concerned that Bruce's career as Batman might get cut short today.
It takes a while but as soon as Bruce is fine, they continue another round of questions and answers.
Bruce: How long have you been married?
Cass: Next week is our 3rd anniversary.
Duke: Wait. Didn't you plan to go to Hong Kong for some time next week? You even ask me to cover your patrol because you say you need to go somewhere.
Cass: I don't lie. I missed last year's anniversary since there was an Arkham breakout at the time.
Duke: Dude, still not cool. You are going on a date with your husband while I need to spend hours running on top of buildings around Gotham. So not fair.
Jason: Was the present you asked me to send last year also was for your husband?
Cass: Yes.
Jason: I've been your middle man all this time and I don't even know.
Barbara: I found it! This is the registration for marriage between Cassie Cain and Daniel Fenton. You used a fake name?
Cass: Yes. You will know otherwise.
Bruce: Why do you hide it?
Cass: I'm not sure all of you are gonna like him and vice versa.
Dick: Is he a bad person? I will kill him if he treats you badly.
Cass: No. He doesn't trust all of you at first.
Steph: And why is that?
Cass: He thinks the Justice League is working with the government. So by extension, all of you are associates of government to him.
Steph: Why is he running away from the government? Is he a criminal?
Barbara: No. He doesn't have any criminal records in his name. Except for the fact that he is practically nonexistent before he is 18, there is nothing wrong with him.
Tim: Is it a forged identity then?
Cass: No. The government wiped away his records.
Dick: What? Why?
Cass: I don't know.
Damian: I expect you to at least do a background check on someone before marrying them, Cain.
Dick: Did you get married with someone you barely know? Do you understand how dangerous that is? What if he just dipped you after you got married?
Cass: *Rolls her eyes* He isn't a bad person. I make sure of that at least. I know he is some sort of meta tho-
A green portal suddenly appears out of thin air making everyone be on guard except Cass. She expects Danny to come out of the portal to greet her but what comes out baffled her.
A young girl that looks a little like Cass riding on a big wolf comes out of the portal swiftly towards Cass. Everyone is just about to shoot their weapons when the girl's word shock them.
???:Mama!
Everyone: Mama?!!
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lavenders388 ¡ 2 days ago
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HII!!
could we please get some kang dae ho x reader??
something where he’s a bit of his usual himbo self and the reader is maybe a bit airheaded— something about two people being in love with one another while the world around them is burning is amazing.
~Flowers in December~
<3 Kang Dae Ho x Reader
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requested 💌
authors note: i am amazed by the amount of requests and also so flattered!! I am so happy to get back into writing not only for myself but to be able to make other people happy to see their ideas come to life!! i apologize if this has some flaws i cant wait to get more practice in and promise the next will be better!! feedback is always appreciated! thank you all so much!!<3 -matcha
~~~~~~~~~~~⋆。‧˚ʚ🍓ɞ˚‧。⋆~~~~~~~~~~~
...
~takes place during the second night~
"we should all take turns keeping watch over the group" player 456 urged as the warning for lights out echoed throughout the room, the rest of the group silently agreeing- trusting the man who claimed to have been in one of the previous games, leaving as the sole survivor. you were, as were many others, reluctant to believe that he had done all of this before, but after his help in the first game and joining his team for the second, you grew to trust him; and the other members of your group. the man that had been assigned your partner for keeping watch was coincidentally a member you were drawn to specifically- at first because he was close to your age, his boyish face making you feel a little less scared and alone in the second game, and eventually you appreciated his outward personality and kindhearted confidence, a stark contrast to the situation you both were in. as you sat together, although trying to protect your group from whatever could happen in the dark room, you felt even safer. "how in the world did you pull that off?" you broke the silence with a whisper, referring to him playing gonggi in the previous game. "my hands were shaking so badly i could barely even hold my ddakji." he laughs, a bit louder than he should have given the people sleeping, but it made you smile. "i told you all i played with my sisters!" he chuckles. "you said you know how to do it yeah," you retorted, stifling a giggle at him being unaware of the compliment. "you didn't tell us you were amazing at it, that was a surprise." he turns away, embarrassed of how deeply your compliment made him grin and scared you'd see him blushing even in the dark. "thank you y/n." he says bashfully as he regains his composure. the silence returns; the reality of where you're both having this conversation threatening to creep back in. his gaze softens as he turns to you again, "you did really well with your ddakji you know, doing it the first try is really impressive, especially given the circumstances." you smile, a toothy grin as not only are you proud of yourself but you appreciate the compliment; especially from him. the kind, authentic way he states how good you did has you unable to find a response. "t-thank you" you say, blushing and still smiling. "it helped that nobody was there, i get nervous when people are watching me." his demeanor changes. he nervously runs his hands through his hair. "I'm sorry if i made you nervous, y/n" he says sincerely. your confusion shows on your face until you realize what he means. "oh no don't worry! i meant the crowd, like how everybody was cheering for the other teams! i didn't want them all to see if i messed up. you watching me helped actually. it made me less nervous." the silence returns; comfortingly. you've forgotten where you are, you've forgotten what would have happened if you'd messed up, all that's on your mind is the man sitting next to you. when you look back he's staring at you. smiling. "thank you for being on my team." you say to him as he turns away, trying to hide how long he was looking at you. you've never seen him speechless before. "if we work together nothing can stand in our way." he said to you just as he said to jung bae before the game. "i am truly honored you feel that way." you half-joke. "what are your plans for tomorrow?" you ask as if youre speaking to him in a normal situation. "oh wait im sorry!" you laugh. "well i bet they're the same as mine then!" you joke about your forgetfulness as well as making light of where you find yourself. like hes done for you, he also had forgotten the events of the day and what followed tomorrow. the two of you talking made him feel as though he was living a good, normal day. it was greatly appreciated by him, your bubbly nature being a moment of solace.
a/n if this is buns at all please lmk what i can do better!!! ⋆。‧˚ʚ🍓ɞ˚‧。⋆
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atlabeth ¡ 2 days ago
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(please) spare me indignity
pt 3
pairing: spencer reid x fem gideon!reader
summary: you and spencer spend more time together. it's bad, then it's good, then it's something else altogether.
a/n: continuing the gideon!reader series! a whole lot of this is arguing because they love each other fr. sorry this took so long, for some reason i had a really hard time finding my footing here but i hope you enjoy!! reader is a victim of the sassy man apocalypse bc this may be s1/2 spencer but he is not going to not be standing up for himself!! have this new banner that i made to try and help with my inspiration. title is from nothing new by rio romero
wc: 5k
warning(s): r and spence argue some more. angst, hurt w/o comfort, then hurt with comfort! idk theyre kinda sweet
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You and Spencer spend the next six and a half hours watching movies. 
You make it through Goodfellas and you only tell him to be quiet twelve times. You take a break to get water and make popcorn, which was so generously provided in your grocery supply, and while you’re doing it, Spencer insists on picking the next one. You end up watching Psycho, and you don’t think he lets a single scene go by without explaining the meaning behind it. 
You choose Notting Hill after, and he knows just as much. He picks Halloween—it doesn’t really help your stalker anxieties, and Spencer apologizes profusely when you bring it up, but you still end up finishing it. Next you go for Pointe Grosse Blank, then Spencer picks Kolya, a Russian film that he specifically put into the box. 
There are subtitles, but he spends half the time translating for you anyway—apparently there are nuances to the script that an English translation doesn’t get compared to the original Russian, and that would be a tragedy. 
He’s in the middle of his third rant going on seven minutes when you finally break. 
“Okay,” you say as you reach for the remote, “I can’t do this anymore.”
You do a double take when your hand meets another instead of hard plastic, and you see Spencer beat you to it. You pull your hand away as soon as possible, feeling your face heat from annoyance.
“What are you doing?”
“What are you doing?” he echoes. “The movie’s not over yet.”
“I can’t take any more of your rambling,” you say. “I’m cutting you off.”
He frowns. “We have to finish the movie first.” 
“What are you, a broken record?”
“I couldn’t be a broken record because I said two different things,” he protests. “Besides, what else are you going to do?” 
“Unpack my things? Read a book? Sit in silence staring at the wall in my room?” You shrug as you stand up and walk over to the kitchen. “I’ve got a lot of options.” 
“Gideon told me not to let you out of my sight,” Spencer says, standing up as well. 
“You can see me pretty well from there,” you say. “You don’t have to invade every bit of my privacy.” 
“I— I kind of do,” he says. “The whole point of a safe house is to keep you safe. If you’re off doing your own thing, it’s not really safe.”
“It’s not like I’m leaving!” You throw up your hands in exasperation. “What, are you going to sleep with me too? Make sure I don’t go anywhere in the middle of the night?” 
It’s almost funny how fast his face flushes bright red. You’ve got a feeling he doesn’t have a lot of experience with this sort of thing. 
“That’s what I thought,” you say. “Keep watching your movie if you want. Just leave me alone.” 
You feel his eyes on your back as you storm off to your room. The childish part of you wants to slam the door, but you decide to throw Spencer the smallest bone and leave it open. 
It’s not his fault that you hate him, and that just makes you hate him even more. He gets to come out of this the bigger person, a saint for putting up with your various deficiencies while keeping you safe from a stalker. You’re just the difficult, ungrateful, estranged bastard daughter of the most deified man in the Behavioral Analysis Unit who can’t set her personal grudges aside for her own good. 
You shove your duffel bag into the bed with a little too much force. You unzip it, deciding to try and occupy yourself with unpacking. You’re here for the indefinite future, so you might as well make yourself at home. 
You can’t help the dry laugh that comes at the thought. You don’t know if you’ve ever felt at home anywhere. 
This might be the worst thing about this whole situation. You’ve got a stalker out there, and it’s making you do all this bullshit introspection against your will. It’s got you thinking about your dad and your relationship with him, and thinking about Spencer Reid and how he’s replaced you in your father’s life without even really knowing about it because he didn’t know about you until he walked into your dad’s office a month ago.
Ten minutes pass in a blur before you’re knocked out of it by a rapping on your door. You turn to see Spencer standing in the doorway, expression unreadable.
“What?” you ask.
“You’ve been quiet,” he says. “I’m just checking in.”
“I’m still alive,” you say. “Nothing exciting happened in the five seconds I was gone.”
“It was ten minutes and thirty two seconds, actually,” he says. “But— but good.”
Again, more silence passes between you. You look up at him from your pile of clothes after thirty seconds. 
“Are you just going to stand there?”
“I— I don’t know what else to do,” he stammers.
“Didn’t you say you did something like this before?” you ask. “Guarded some girl from her stalker?”
Spencer nods. “She was a lot easier to get along with.”
You roll your eyes. “Somebody out there wants to kill me to get back at my dad. Sorry that I’m not the pinnacle of happiness.” You make a point to avoid his gaze. “But what I’m trying to say is that you’ve done this all before. You should have some kind of idea of what to do besides bothering me.”
“How am I bothering you?” Spencer asks in exasperation. “I’ve said three sentences to you!”
“Everything you do bothers me, boy genius,” you say. “I thought you would have figured that out by now.” 
“I—” He looks like he wants to say more, but instead he just clamps his mouth shut and shakes his head before he walks away. 
You stare down at your pile of clothes, largely unfolded and scattered around the bed. The silence doesn’t give you the satisfaction you thought it would. 
It only lasts for all of thirty seconds though, and you don’t have time to linger in the discomfort—you hear footsteps, heavier ones this time, and you look up to see Spencer round the corner once again. 
“What is your problem with me?” he blurts out. 
You frown. “Excuse me?” 
“You heard me,” Spencer nods. “You hate your dad, fine— but he’s not here for you to fight with, so you’re taking it out on me. It’s classic displacement, and you don’t get to take it out on me.”
“Why not?” you ask. 
“Because it— it’s not fair!” he sputters. “I didn’t do anything to you— I didn’t even know you existed until a month ago!” 
“Well, gosh, boy genius,” you say, “I’m sure you’re smart enough to figure it out yourself.”
“Stop calling me boy genius!” he exclaims. “We’re the same age!”
“Then stop acting like one,” you retort. “I know you’ve got a psychology degree, but you don’t need to use them on me whenever you can.” 
He frowns, his mouth opening for a second before he closes it. 
“Were you going to ask how I knew that before you realized the obvious answer?” you ask. 
“No,” he says. 
“Yes, you were.” You continue folding your clothes. “You went to Caltech, MIT, and Yale, even though it was your safety school. You’ve got three PhDs, two BAs, and you’re working on a philosophy degree, but you’re not done with it yet.” You shrug. “A little difficult to make it to classes with all the FBI stuff.” 
“…Does he really talk about me that much?” Spencer’s voice is quieter than it was before. 
“Oh, yeah,” you say. You set a finished pair of jeans to the side then look at him. “I graduated from college too. Granted, it was a couple years ago, not when I was 17, but I think it still warrants a little support.”
“You went to George Mason,” Spencer says. 
Your movements stutter. You weren’t expecting him to actually know.
“Yeah,” you say. Your heart skips a beat. “How do you know?”
Has he talked about you to the team before? Sure, they didn’t know you existed before you showed up out of the blue, but maybe he showed them a picture after it happened. Your mom carries one of you in your cap and gown in her wallet—maybe he got a hold of one and Spencer caught a glimpse of that. Maybe you just missed it and he does have a picture of you on his desk. Maybe—
“You have a sweatshirt for it,” he says with a gesture. You look where his finger is pointing, and sure enough, your GMU sweatshirt is tangled up with a couple of other crewnecks.
“…Of course,” you say. You don’t know why you even dared to hope. “Because it’s more likely that you’d notice something like that than it is for my dad to talk about me.”
Spencer says your name, and you hate the sympathy in it. 
“No.” You cut him off before he can get any further. “Don’t try to defend him. You know,” you huff a cold, humorless laugh, “he missed my graduation, too. Two separate dates for commencement and my actual school’s ceremony, one 45 minute car ride, and he couldn’t make it to either one.”
“You don’t know how busy we are,” Spencer tries again. “We work weekends and holidays and around the clock— sometimes we get called in at 3am to stay in some random town for weeks at a time, and there’s nothing we can do about it! I— I mean, we’ve had three days off in the past 47 days and—”
“That’s why I have a problem with you!” you cry out, throwing the shirt in your hand onto your bed as you turn to face him. “Because I’m twenty-four years old, and I’ve lived an hour away from my dad for the past six years, but his team that he spends all his time with didn’t even know I existed until I showed up at your office.” You take a step forward, anger resurging inside of you. “Because I threw away a chance at an Ivy to get to see him more, just to deal with the same bullshit as usual. Because I worry about him dying every single day he’s in the field, and he can’t even give me a phone call at the end of it all—” another step forward— “and even in the middle of this shitshow, you think you have a right to defend him— to- to tell me how to feel about him!”
You move even closer, close enough to see his wrinkled button-up is partially untucked, his lips are slightly parted, and his stupid doe eyes—that haven’t left yours—with his stupid dilated pupils, and you jab your finger in his chest. 
“Because all I ever wanted is my father’s affection,” your voice breaks, and you hate the way it makes you feel, “and he’d rather build an entirely new life with an entirely new kid than give it to me.” 
You push your way past him, making sure to shoulder-check him on your way out. You don’t look back as you forge your way to the bathroom (that you unfortunately have to share), even though his gaze burns into your back. 
You close and lock the door. It’s childish, you know, but you need to be alone right now. You can’t stand to be around him.
Spencer just— he irritates you in a way that no one else ever has. He’s your age and more accomplished than you could ever dream to be, with almost six times the degrees and a much better job, and probably a family that loves him. Who wouldn’t love him with everything he’s done?
You, apparently.  
You plant your hands on the countertop as you stare into the mirror. Your usual dark circles have become more pronounced over the past month, and you can’t help a wry laugh at the thought. All that trouble sleeping and it was for the wrong damn reason. 
If you knew someone was watching you, you would have moved out of Virginia months ago. But maybe this bastard would have found you anyway. If Spencer’s profiling is right and he’s going after you because of your dad, you don’t think much could really dissuade him. 
Tears pool at your waterline, and you wipe them away with a rough hand before they can manifest into something more. You slump back against the opposing wall as you continue to stare at yourself. 
You’re pathetic and you can’t even find it in yourself to care. 
You hear the sound of footsteps once more and you wrap your arms around your midsection. This chill won’t go away. 
“…Are you still alive?” a hesitant voice calls. 
You bite back a remark. “I’m fine.”
“You’re sure?” 
“No.” You don’t know what makes you answer honestly. 
A beat of silence passes. You really do feel like a kid. You’re talking to him through the door because you just yelled at him and Spencer is still being the bigger person. 
“Can I help at all?”
This answer comes a little quicker. “No.”
Again, more silence.
“Okay.” Spencer pauses, and the footsteps start again. His voice is a little closer the next time he speaks. “Just… let me know when you’re turning in. So I know you’re still alive.”
You huff. He can’t even stick to his guns and hate you like you hate him for ten minutes. “I don’t think I’ll be dying anytime soon.”
“You never know,” he says. “Spontaneous human combustion might not be proven beyond pseudoscientific concepts, but there’s a first time for everything.”
The laugh that comes out of you is unexpected, both in its lightness and occurrence at all. “Keep an ear out for the smoke alarm, then.”
“If you smell anything burning, stop, drop and roll,” he says. “Make sure you don’t run. All it’ll do is add to the oxygen and feed the fire.”
“Okay,” you say. “…I still don’t like you.”
You swear you can hear the smile in his words. “I know.” 
-
You wake up when the smoke alarm goes off. 
It’s a very rude awakening. It jolts you out of your very uneasy sleep to unfamiliar surroundings—in your disoriented state, you almost forget where you are. 
Right. You’re in a safe house in the middle of nowhere because someone is stalking you. How could you possibly forget?
You stumble out of bed, rubbing your eyes to try and assuage some of your exhaustion as you leave your room. 
“Is the place on fire?” you ask through a yawn. 
“No!” Spencer exclaims, sounding more panicked than usual. That straightens your back and speeds your pace. “No, everything’s fine—” 
You smell smoke, and as you come around the corner, you see him waving his hands overtop the toaster trying to dispel said smoke. You can’t help but laugh, and you actually smile when he gives you the most helpless look. 
“I’m so good at so many other things.”
“What are you trying to do?” you ask wryly. “Burn this house down to try and get a better one?” 
“This wouldn’t have started a fire,” Spencer says. “Toaster fires usually spread because they’re below wooden cupboards, which catch easily and spread everywhere else.” He gestures at the toaster, which he has plugged in to an outlet on the side of the island. “No cupboards, no house fire.”
“You started this because you were making toast?” you ask. 
He flushes. “I’m used to the toaster I have at home. I have the settings worked out perfectly there. This one is all wrong.” 
You sigh and shake your head. “Just… hit the reset button, and open the door. It’ll be fine.” 
“I can’t open the door,” he says. “It goes against the safety thing.”
“Then open a window.”
“Making it easier to get in here in any way goes against the safety thing,” he says. 
“So we have to just deal with the smoke?” you ask in exasperation. 
Spencer hits the vent button on the microwave, and the fan whirs into action. “No?”
You shake your head in disbelief as he then reaches up to hit the button on the smoke alarm. His t-shirt lifts with the movement—your eyes drift to the bare strip of skin, and you immediately look away when you realize. 
“Where’s the coffee in here?” you ask, clearing your throat as you start sifting through drawers. “I’ll be even worse to deal with if I don’t have caffeine.” 
“I already brewed a fresh pot,” Spencer says, gesturing with his head. “Half and half is in the fridge, and sugar is in the cabinet.” 
“Oh,” you say. You stop what you’re doing, your hands lingering above the drawer handle. “You didn’t have to do that.” 
You see him shrug out of your peripherals. “Why wouldn’t I?”
Because I was a total asshole to you last night, you want to say. Because I’ve been awful to you since I met you and you refuse to fight back and give me a better reason to hate you. 
“Because you didn’t need to,” you finally say. Good one. 
“I did. So you’re going to have to deal with it.” Spencer takes the burnt toast out and throws them in the trash can, talking while he does it. “You know, it’s actually a rumor that burnt toast contains carcinogens and can increase the chance of cancer. Acrylamide forms when you burn food, but researchers haven’t found a link between starchy foods with high amounts of acrylamide and cancer.” 
You hum in some form of acknowledgement as you take a mug out of the cabinet and fill it from the pot. You take a sip and grimace—it’s not the best, but it’s caffeinated. After three years of shitty gas station coffee throughout college, you can deal with it. 
“How did you sleep?” Spencer asks. 
“Fine,” you say. 
He frowns. “Really?” 
“Yes,” you say, a little rougher. “The dark circles come with the model.” 
“There are a lot of causes other than sleep deprivation,” Spencer says. “Contact dermatitis, hyperpigmentation, dehydration, alcoholism, stress—” 
“Got plenty of that,” you interrupt. 
“Even genetics can play a part in it,” he says. 
You huff. “I think this is one thing I can’t blame my dad for. I haven’t slept since the nineties.”
“Well, you should try,” Spencer says. “The blood vessels around your eyes don’t constrict like they should when you’re sleep deprived, which means your blood vessels dilate, which increases blood in the area, and that gives you dark circles.”
“Wow,” you say wryly. “I really look that bad with them?” 
“I— that—” Spencer’s face flushes red as he stutters, and you hide the slightest smile with your mug— “that’s not what I mean! I’m just trying to give advice to help—” 
“I know.” You set your mug back down, not able to fully bite back your amusement. “I was joking, Spencer.” 
“Oh,” he says. “That’s… new.” 
“Am I not allowed to joke?” 
“It just doesn’t seem like you,” Spencer says. “Especially after last night.” 
“I’m too tired to fight with you right now,” you sigh. “Enjoy your break.” 
He clears his throat as he takes two fresh pieces of bread out, then looks at your mug. “You drink it black?” 
“It’s not coffee if you don’t,” you say. “It— it’s a sugary mess.” 
“It is not!” he exclaims. “It still has the same amount of caffeine, and it’s still coffee—” 
“No it isn’t!” you laugh, and you nod at his mug. “How much sugar did you put in there?” 
“A couple spoonfuls but—” 
“Spoonfuls?”
“But it’s how I like it!” Spencer defends. 
“Don’t you have some facts about how harmful excessive sugar consumption is?” you ask. 
“Of course I do,” he says. “I also have some about the benefits of black coffee, but I’m not going to tell you now.”
“Wow,” you say. “I’m so hurt.” 
He shakes his head as he slots two more pieces of bread into the toaster. “And to think, I was trying to make breakfast for you.” 
Again, that gives you pause. Why does he keep trying to do nice things for you?” 
“Don’t bother.” You pick up your mug and go into the living room. “I don’t really eat breakfast anyways.” 
“That’s not healthy,” he calls after you. 
“Most things I do aren’t,” you respond. “What’s on the agenda today?” 
“Skipping breakfast puts you at a higher chance of heart disease,” he says. 
“Then I guess we won’t have to worry about the spontaneous combustion, will we?” You look back at him. “What’s on the agenda?” 
Spencer sighs. He’s given up momentarily, it seems. “Gideon’s going to call me in thirty-two minutes for an update. The whole team has been focusing solely on your case.” 
You perk up. The coffee warms your hands through the mug but it doesn’t fully assuage the chill down your spine. 
“Do they have any leads?” 
“I don’t know,” Spencer says. “Gideon hasn’t called me yet.” 
You roll your eyes. “Do you think they have any leads?” 
“Maybe.” The toaster pops and he pulls the bread out, then starts buttering it—or trying to. His brow knots in annoyance at the stick of butter, still hard, and he pushes his glasses up with his free hand. You have to look away. “Like I said, Gideon helped start the BAU. He’s solved more cases than anyone else, and,” you feel his eyes on you, “it’s personal this time. He’s probably working around the clock.” 
“Just have to hope they get somewhere,” you murmur. Your coffee tastes even more bitter than  usual, but you drink it anyway. 
“They will,” Spencer says. “I promise.” 
“Y’know, people keep making promises they can’t keep,” you say. “I’m getting real tired of it.” 
“Well, I’m not leaving your side until they do,” he says. “And I’m going to keep you safe. So consider that promise kept.” 
“Great,” you say. “I’m stuck with you until I die or this is solved.” 
“You’re not going to die.” 
“You don’t have to take everything I say so seriously.” 
“Then don’t say everything so seriously.” 
You huff a laugh and shake your head. Spencer comes over with his plate of messily buttered toast—not very easy with fully solid sticks of butter—and sits down across from you. He holds the plate out. 
“Want one?” 
“I told you, I don’t eat breakfast.” 
“You should.” 
“Because one piece of toast will make so much of a difference,” you mock. 
“It will,” he says. “Maybe it’ll even make you happier.” 
You roll your eyes and drink more of your coffee. “Are you going to bother me all day like this?” 
Spencer took a bite of toast then shrugged. “If you’re this blase about everything relating to your health, then yes.” 
You groan as you stand up. “It’s too early to deal with you. See you in a few hours.” 
“And good morning to you too,” Spencer says wryly. You make a parting gesture with your hand in response. 
It’s been a day and a half, and not only have you argued with him twice, but he still refuses to give you anything to work with, still insists on trying to be there for you. It’s as infuriating as it is gratingly admirable. Anyone else probably would have tried to kill you by now. 
Well, you’ve already got a stalker trying to do that. 
You sigh and down half your coffee. You’ve got a long day ahead of you. 
-
Spencer doesn’t know why you not liking him bothers him so much. 
It’s illogical, but it makes sense for you. Your dad spends more time with him than he does with you, and you’re projecting your hatred for Gideon onto Spencer. Whatever. 
But it’s not just whatever, and that irks him. 
This is an assignment, simple as that. Gideon trusted him enough to put you under his protection, even if it’s for your mental health more so than your physical. It should be a point of pride, being chosen for something like this by someone like Gideon.
Spencer presses his fingers against his temple. You’re a lot, there’s no way around it. But you also claim to hate him, and he knows that’s not true. 
Yes, you argue with him. Yes, you’re short with him. Yes, he lost his temper momentarily because not even Spencer is capable of endless grace. 
But he also sees your moments of lightness throughout it all. Your brief smiles, the quips that lean towards jokes more than insults—and he notices your eyes, and the brightness that breaks through on occasion. 
He always notices your eyes.
Spencer’s phone rings in his pocket, jolting him out of whatever reverie he found himself in. He pulls it out and flips it open, then presses it to his ear. “Gideon?” 
“Reid,” he greets. “How are you doing?”
“Fine,” he says. “You’re calling twenty-four minutes early.”
“We just finished a briefing,” Gideon says. “I wanted to get word to you as soon as possible.” 
Spencer sits up. “What is it?” 
“Morgan, Hotch, and Garcia have been working together to comb through my past cases and see what they’re up to now. They finally found a potential unsub,” he says. “Someone I put away a decade ago was released last year, and recent records indicate he’s back in the area.” 
“Who is it?” he asks. 
“Adam Hernandez. Also known as—” 
“The Stafford Strangler,” Spencer finishes. “He killed three people in two weeks in the 90s—classic spree killer. You caught him with David Rossi’s help.” 
“Released on good behavior, despite the victims’ families campaigning against it,” Gideon says. “You know it?” 
“Obviously,” he says. “I’ve read all of your old case files.”
Gideon chuckles, and he can almost imagine him shaking his head. “Of course you have.”
“Do you think Hernandez is your guy?” Spencer asks. 
“I’m not sure yet,” Gideon says. “We applied for a warrant—as soon as we get it, Morgan and Elle are heading his way to ask a few questions.” 
“You think he’d do something like this?” Spencer shifts his position as he frowns. “Hernandez got fired, lost his house, then went off the deep end. He killed because he didn’t see any other solution. The guy going after your daughter is a lot more emotional about all this, and—” his throat feels dry all of a sudden— “and it’s like he’s got some kind of attraction to her.” 
“You don’t need to remind me,” Gideon says roughly. “We’re going for leads where we can, and we’re still working every other angle. It doesn’t end with Hernandez.”
“...Good,” Spencer says. “Let me know if there’s anything I can do to help from here.” 
“You’re already doing everything I need you to do.” Gideon pauses, and he hears the creak of the chair in his office as he adjusts how he’s sitting. “How is my daughter doing?” 
“I don’t know,” he answers honestly. “Her mood changes with the wind. One second she’s trying to start a fight with me, the next she’s trying to joke around with me. It— it’s a lot, I won’t lie.” 
“But how is she handling all of this?” he asks. “Staying in the safe house, dealing with a stalker, feeling like a sitting duck.”
“Very cynically,” Spencer says. “She keeps talking about dying or getting killed.”
Gideon sighs. “That sounds like her.” 
“She’s… she’s mad at you, mostly.” Spencer picks at a hangnail, ignoring the sharp, temporary pain. “Every time I bring you up, it lights a fuse. You’re the one thing she hates to talk about.” 
There’s nothing but silence on the other end. 
“Gideon?” he asks. “Did I lose—” 
“I’m here,” he interrupts. “Just… thinking.” 
“It’s not your fault,” Spencer says. “She’s—” 
“It is my fault,” Gideon interrupts again. “Has she told you much about her younger life?” 
“...Some,” Spencer says. 
“Like?” 
Spencer doesn’t really know what to say. He doesn’t want to just tell Gideon that you’ve told him he’s been an awful dad. That it’s really all you’ve told him. 
“You can say it, Reid,” Gideon says. “I won’t get mad.” 
“...She says you’ve missed out on her whole life,” Spencer finally says, notably quieter. “Her high school graduation, her college graduation— most of the stuff that happened in college, actually.” 
Gideon lets out a rough sigh. “I’ll always regret it.” 
“So it’s true?” Spencer asks. He’s surprised at the sharpness of his voice.  
“I don’t get to control when cases come in,” he says. 
“We’re a whole team of qualified agents,” Spencer says. “We— we always have been. Especially when you and Rossi were together. It was like the golden age of profilers.” 
“Spencer—” 
“You made it to my graduation!” he interrupts. “You were there for my chemistry PhD, and you said you would be there when I get my philosophy degree, but you couldn’t make it for your only child’s high school and college graduations?” 
“I already told you I regret it,” Gideon says. His voice is as calm as ever, and for some reason, that irks Spencer even more. “What more can I say? It’s in the past now. I can’t change what I did.”
Spencer stares at the wall. He doesn’t know why this is such a damning thing to him. 
His own dad has missed all of his graduations. He’s missed almost every part of his life. But his dad walked out—he wanted nothing to do with Spencer or his mom. 
Your dad is right here. Gideon is still around, working every day to save lives and change the world and take down monsters—but he’s still not there for you. 
He’s so close and yet he always steps out of your reach. 
“Spencer.” Gideon’s voice is tinny through the speaker, and he presses his phone back against his ear. 
“Call me back the second you get another lead,” Spencer mutters. 
He hangs up without another word. 
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myownwholewildworld ¡ 1 day ago
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Love is heartbreak
↪ a the age of adaline inspired fic
pairing: marcus acacius x ageless!f!reader. summary: kissed by the goddess juno on your day of reckoning, you are brought back to life, condemned to wander the earth for a century. until you meet the other half of your soul who offers you the life you yearn for. but will you be strong enough to accept such promise? author's note: yes, i've cheated on my other wips, I'M SORRY. but when the angst and romance call, i can only answer - i am only human afterall. hope you like this little story that was supposed to be a drabble but ended up being this long, oops! comments and reblogs appreciated. enjoy! x warnings: 18+, mdni. soulmates trope. angst, romance, smut. mild breeding kink (soz). infidelity. mention of SA (not by Marcus) and death. dual pov. reader is female and a blank slate. reader is close to 150 years old (stopped ageing in her twenties) and Marcus is in his fifties. not beta'd and very lightly proofread, apologies if you spot any mistakes lol wordcount: ~8.4k. divider by @\saradika-graphics
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“I’ll do anything to stay by your side, amica mea (my beloved). I don’t care about what the future holds if it’s not with you,” Marcus’ broad hands held yours, his thumb drawing invisible circles on the back of your hands.
You hated this — how your heart twisted inside you, torn apart by the choice you had to make. Was this never-ending life not enough punishment? No, you also had to go through heartbreak — your own and Marcus’. For love, you had to.
With eyes averted, you looked down at your worn sandals. Tears teetering on the edge of your waterlines as your vision became blurry with sadness, regrets and fears washed over you like the Tiber kissing the shore goodbye.
In your hundred years wandering the ground beneath your feet, you never had to go through this. Always so careful not to feel, not to grow close to anyone, not to really live the life you wanted, and now you were in a position where it almost felt too real.
Within reach — you only had to extend your hands and hug him in a tight, soothing embrace. Only needed to accept the life that Marcus was offering. Though as much as you wanted to—you wanted it, him, so badly—you could never.
And what was worst, you couldn’t explain why. First you would see the horror in his eyes, that frightened look glittering, then incomprehension, and finally disgust. Your heart couldn’t take it.
“But I do care, Marcus. Yours is bright, your military career is about to take off. I would only hinder you, your dreams. I am no one, and—” you tried to reason with him.
But love was blind. Love was deaf. Love didn’t care about impossibilities, because love was defiant.
At least his was.
“Do you think I care about being disowned? Do you truly believe that I would choose such dreadful life over you? Over a wonderful life with the person I love most?” Marcus squeezed your hands before one of his found your chin, tilting up your face to him. “Omnia vincit amor, et nos cedamus amori (love conquers all, let us too yield to love).”
You shook your head in denial, his words ringing in your ears like chants of war. Because Marcus waged war in all aspects of life, even in love — he’d conquered your heart so fully, you’d never asked him to return it. It would forever be his to cherish, to cry over, to destroy, to hate.
Because he would need to hate you to overcome the heartbreak you were about to cause.
“You don’t have a choice here. You are to marry the lady your family has arranged for; her family’s prestige will do you good. You’re just infatuated, Marcus, it isn’t true love,” you forced yourself to let a soft laugh out, wiping your tears as you took a step back. “At least, for me, it isn’t.”
Marcus’ expression folded and your heart with him. You hated yourself for saying such a vile lie, but a necessary one. The passage of time would not affect you, always stagnant in your early twenties after a fateful day when Juno decided to save your life from certain death. The Goddess of love and marriage was also one known for Her eternal youthfulness — one She would only share with those who had been wronged. And you had been so wronged in your mortal life.
And here you were, so close to committing the same mistake all over again. But you knew better this time — not because you didn’t trust Marcus, but because Fate was capricious. It didn’t matter if Juno was watching over you.
“You don’t mean that. I know you don’t. This is true love, lux mihi (my light), one that would live through eternity,” Marcus muttered breathlessly, reaching for you again, looking for that unbreakable connection you both strongly shared.
“Eternity? Don’t speak of things you don’t understand, Marcus,” you retorted, forcing your tone to sound mocking.
Another step back with an unmovable expression and you saw realisation dawning on him. Slowly like a river widening its meanders, steady like the constant flow of water. Relentless you were, steadfast in your resolution.
“Ave atque vale (hail and farewell), Acacius,” were your last words to him.
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35 years later...
“Father, may I marry her?”
Marcus gazed down the dining table, eyeing his son with consideration. He knew what it felt like, how true love messed up your head to the point of madness. He had felt that way only once in his life, and it wasn’t for the woman sitting beside him.
As cruel as it sounded, Marcus never loved his wife, because his heart belonged to someone else — the now hazy memory of a woman who always lingered on the edges of his mind. A cruel reminder of how feeble and fleeting love was, how love turned into heartbreak with just a few words.
“At least, for me, it isn’t.”
That sentence alone had broken him, his ability to feel some sort of romantic connection died that very same day. At night it would haunt him, filling his dreams with nightmares. The same scene playing over and over in his mind, his heart cracking even more every time those words would hit him.
He’d waited for weeks, months. A year it took him to realise you truly were not coming back, that you meant it. He’d only been a plaything for you, a toy you discarded once things got too real. And at that point he surrendered to the pressure his family put on him. Marcus had followed through with the arranged marriage in the end, despite the agony and the empty hole in his chest.
And now his son was following in his footsteps. His heir looked so much like him, like a reflection of the past staring back at him. It pained him — he saw himself in Magnus, almost as if the roles had reversed and he was his own father thirty-five years ago. Pleading, asking to marry the love of his life even though his hand had already been promised in holy matrimony to another.
His wife, Prisca, waved one of her hands with disdain, the spoon clattering on the porcelain plate.
“Nonsense, Magnus,” she tutted at their son. “We’ve already been through this. You will marry Verina. You’d put us in a very compromised position with Gellius if you don’t.”
“But—”
“Quit your whining and man up, my son. Gellius is the Emperor’s best counsellor. It will bring our family great reputation,” Prisca reasoned, tone poisoned with greed. “And riches.”
“Father?” Magnus’ eyes shot to his, pleading him to intervene.
Marcus sensed Prisca stiffening besides him, gripping the arms of the chair like a vice. He didn’t look in her direction but knew how her orbs distilled venom. She would never understand what their son was talking about, but he did. Too damn right.
“I would like to meet her before giving you my blessing,” he spoke calmly, lacing his hands together on top of the wooden table.
Magnus’ eyes sparked up, a hopeful smile curling his mouth.
“Of course, of course! She’s waiting right outside,” and then his son hurried out of the room.
Prisca stood up, the screeching noise of the chair’s legs irritating Marcus.
“Like father, like son,” she muttered maliciously before disappearing too.
In this moment of silent respite, Marcus pinched the bridge of his hooked nose. The patience he had to muster was titanic. His life had been nothing but heartache and war, his son being the only reason he stood by his wife’s side in public. He’d tired of the pantomime, but there wasn’t much he could do about it.
He would meet the woman who had stolen Magnus’ heart, just to make sure there was no deception from her part. Marcus wouldn’t wish for his son to go through the same heartbreak as him. If everything was at it should, then he wouldn’t oppose.
“Father,” Magnus called, and Marcus removed the hand from his exhausted, battle-scarred face.
His heart literally stopped.
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A warm smile softened your expression when Magnus asked you to join his family in the dining hall. You had been sitting patiently in a small waiting room, wondering if this was right.
The first time you had laid eyes on Magnus a week ago, your heart jolted, and your mind went blank. He reminded you so much of your one and only true love, the one you ditched thirty-five years ago because you were too afraid to embrace the beautiful life he had offered you. The one you still felt in your heart, dormant yet very present in your everyday life.
Perhaps it was wrong of you to encourage this situation, whatever this was. When Magnus had asked you that morning to join his family for supper, he had caught you off guard, so you found yourself agreeing to it.
Deep down you knew why you hadn’t disappeared yet: you wanted to live this moment one more time. Wanted to remember how it felt to be loved so fiercely by Marcus, a yearning you’d been craving for over three decades. Only this man wasn’t Marcus, only someone who was his spitting image.
One dinner, a few hours more of playing pretend, and then you’d vanish again. Leave Rome behind after such brief visit before someone recognised you. You couldn’t afford to give any explanations, so you’d only visit this place once every decade.
You walked behind Magnus, head slightly bowed and hands laced in front of you. Magnus’ broad body blocked your vision, but soon enough he stepped aside to introduce you.
You curtsied, eyes averted, fixed on the marble slabs.
Before you straightened your back and introduced yourself, the man across the room spoke your name — your real birthname.
Inevitably, your heart sank to your belly with panic and your eyes quickly drifted up to meet the darkened ones you once had allowed yourself to swim in.
Marcus. Your Marcus.
Your heart raced in your chest and filled with pure joy. You couldn’t stop the smile that had started curling your lips nor the glassiness of your eyes.
Your one and true love was staring back at you with widened, tired eyes. He had gotten up off his chair and was striding towards you before he suddenly halted a couple of meters away from you with confusion painting his handsome features. Ones that had not remained impassible to the passage of time and war, but ones that you daydreamed about every single day without fail.
So within reach — you would only need to close the distance between you two and hug him, hug him till dawn and never let go. Oh, how much you missed him, how much you still loved him. With your whole heart, the one that ached and wept with regret in your chest right now.
Would he love you back? Did you break the love you shared past the point of mending?
“What? Her name is Aurora, father,” Magnus chuckled nervously, his eyes dancing between the two of you, puzzled. “This is the woman who has stolen my heart. I would like to marry the love of my life with your blessing.”
Your eyes flew from Marcus to Magnus at the revelation, bewildered. Marriage? Was this what it was all about, the purpose of his invitation to meet his family? Marcus’ son wanted to marry you?
You had not seen that coming, as it wasn’t your intention at all. You had only wanted to live this fleeting fantasy of yours for a few days, but there wasn’t love. Not like the one you felt for Marcus, that could never compare.
“Your name is Aurora?” Marcus’ question forced you to look in his direction, your heart twisting maddingly inside you. You nodded with hesitation, “I thought you were…” Marcus pronounced your real name again, the sinking pit of your stomach churning.
“That was my mother,” you quickly came up with a lie. You could never tell him the truth.
“Your mother,” he repeated slowly, shock and pain transforming his beautiful face. “I knew your mother.”
“What? Really?” Magnus intervened with a laugh, palming his father’s shoulder. “That’s such a coincidence!”
You looked at both of them, but your eyes inevitably lingered on Marcus’ darkened ones. Would he believe your lie? Again?
“The resemblance with her is… uncanny. You look so much like her, Aurora,” Marcus rasped, taking a step back and steeling his posture with determination.
He didn’t need to speak for you knew his hurt. Because the same memories that were flooding his mind, had been drowning you for decades.
The atmosphere felt heavy with unspoken truths, your face burning — you loathed yourself for the pain you had caused him. Pain that still contorted his expression every time his eyes flicked to yours.
Would he ever forgive you? Would he know that you lied so many years ago? That you truly and irremediably loved him? That you would always do?
You bowed down your head, mainly to conceal the unspent tears brimming on your waterlines.
“So I have been told, General,” you muttered softly as Magnus’ hand rested easily on the small of your back, his lips brushing your temple gently.
“I know this may seem sudden, father, but I know that Aurora is the one,” Magnus confessed shyly, pulling your body towards him in a warm half-embrace.
Never in your life had you wished yourself to disappear so badly. Marcus’ sight burnt through you and you couldn’t help but reciprocate him. The sadness—no, the heartbreak—in them was like a dagger through your heart, and you wondered if the decision you made so many years ago had been the right one.
By the looks of it, he had done well for himself, just as you had imagined he would. The villa was beautiful, sumptuous even. It spoke of his status in the Empire, how highly rewarded he had been for his enterprise. You assumed that Marcus had married eventually after you left, and you only hoped he’d married for love.
“I see,” Marcus murmured in reply to his son, walking back to his chair. “Let’s eat first. Prisca, my wife, won’t be joining us. She had to excuse herself because she wasn’t feeling well. Please forgive her absence.”
Prisca. So he hadn’t married for love, his family had won and forced him into an arranged marriage after all. Your heart cried for him, for the injustice you had showered upon him with your departure. Perhaps he ended up loving her so his life wouldn’t be as miserable.
That last thought stung, the dagger further twisting in your heart. You wanted his happiness, but selfishly you hoped Marcus still loved you. Undeserving of such love you were, that was clear to you, but you still hoped anyway.
“Of course, Dominus,” you hushed as Magnus guided you to an empty chair.
The food served was delicious, but the silence looming over the table tinged the atmosphere uncomfortable. Magnus did a remarkable effort to keep the conversation going, but Marcus’ succinct replies didn’t leave much room for chatter. And when Magnus pushed again about the marriage proposal—to you dismay—Marcus said that it could discussed tomorrow over breakfast.
Even though the man in front of you had aged, you still saw him as he was thirty-five years ago. He had a scar on his upper cheek and across the bridge of his aquiline nose, crows feet kissing the corners of his brown eyes, his thick curls were greying, and his demeanour was more stoic, but he was still your Marcus.
The only difference though was his lack of… life. His eyes didn’t sparkle anymore, they were tinted with darkness and sorrow. Had war changed him? Had you changed him?
Your throat collapsed on itself, tightening to the point of suffocation. Just in time, you reined in the tears as the last maid removed the plate in front of you.
“I should be going,” you announced, pushing back the chair to stand up.
Marcus sprung to his feet before his son did. And when he realised his promptness, he cleared his throat but didn’t speak.
“It’s late,” Magnus said, standing up to be by your side, throwing a confused glance to his father. “Could she stay the night, father, please?”
Marcus nodded.
“I will ask one of the servants to prepare one of the empty chambers,” Marcus conceded, walking around the table to meet his son.
“Oh,” Magnus sighed, and you knew he’d hoped to share a bed with you tonight.
Your face burnt once more with shame when Marcus’ eyes looked for yours. However, you didn’t meet his gaze, scared of what you would find in it.
“Thank you, General, you are most generous,” you husked in a low voice.
“I will show you around the villa in the meantime, amica mea,” Magnus said, his hand quick to rest on the back of your waist.
You subtly flinched at his endearment. That was what his father always called you. It felt wrong when he said it now, completely out of place — it didn’t at first, when you looked at him and imagined he was Marcus instead. But with the love of your life standing firm in front of you, it sounded so vile.
This fantasy of yours was a dangerous game, one you didn’t want to play. Not if it meant hurting Marcus again, because you could see the way he studied you. How his pupils dilated with anger every time his son would seek your touch. It was killing him, and you in the process. When everyone went to sleep, you would leave in the middle of the night, as the shadow you were condemned to be.
Magnus urged you to turn around and walk beside him, when you heard Marcus gasp.
“Your birthmark,” his words stopped you right in your tracks.
When Juno touched you to bring you back to life over a century ago, Her caress left a mark on the back of your left shoulder. The shape resembled that of a peacock, the loyal animal known to accompany the Goddess.
“What about it?” Magnus intervened, confused by the interruption.
Slowly you looked over your shoulder to glance at Marcus. His eyes were a window to his restless, half soul, desperate and blown — he knew. He searched your face for a crack, a way in, but your expression didn’t tumble.
You wished you could veer around and throw yourself in his arms, kiss him and apologise, ask him to take you back. But you just couldn’t. Love was heartbreak, and it would have to remain that way if you didn’t want to hurt Marcus even more than what you already had.
“Nothing,” he grumbled, jaw tight with a tic on the muscle.
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Marcus stirred in bed, unable to get any sleep.
Your face haunted him brighter than ever — every time his eyes shut, your sorry expression would gnaw at the confines of his mind. Seeing you right in front of him after so many years, all curled up to his son’s side, drove him mad.
At first, he thought himself crazy. You looked exactly as you did thirty-five years ago — not even a wrinkle kissed your skin, not a greying hair anywhere to be seen in your plaited hair. So when you explained you were the daughter of the woman who broke his heart, he had believed you.
That was until he saw the birthmark on your shoulder. The unmistakable shape he had joked about in the past, telling you that you had been kissed by Juno Herself at birth. It was impossible that you had inherited such a peculiar mark.
But it was even more impossible that you had remained as youthful as you were, as if not a single day had passed. How was that even possible? Some people were gifted with slow ageing, he had seen some, but to remain exactly the same? No, there was something else lurking, an explanation he could not grasp because it was too surreal, too unfathomable for a mortal.
Marcus needed answers. His mind was a tangled mess, this new discovery shining a different light on the conversation that destroyed him over three decades ago. Did your words have a meaning he had not been able to see before?
“Eternity? Don’t speak of things you don’t understand, Marcus.”
What had you truly meant by that? Did you understand what eternity really was in a level he couldn’t even start to comprehend?
Heart pounding, he quietly removed the covers and sat on the bed. A quick glance over his shoulder confirmed that Prisca was sound asleep. Not that she would miss him anyway.
In darkness, Marcus palmed around until he found his toga and quickly changed to then walk out of his bedchamber with a clear destination in mind.
He trudged along the cold corridors of his villa until he found the door to the room you were sleeping in. For a second, he doubted, thinking he was crazy for the implausible reason taking form in his mind. But if it wasn’t that—that you were, somehow, ageless—he still needed to know why. Why hadn’t you aged? Why leave him? Why not tell him the truth?
As his shaky hand lifted and curled to knock on the wooden plank, the door swung open.
You appeared under the doorframe with a wild expression and widened eyes, obviously in a hurry to leave. Again.
“Marcus,” you gasped, one hand flying to your chest in surprise as your beautiful eyes met his.
He froze in place, all the words he had planned to say stuck to the back of his throat, forming a lump that would not let him speak. Your beauty was dazzling, but it was the buried love he harboured for you what stopped him from talking as it resurfaced.
His memory of you had not faded, able to remember every single feature of your face regardless the passage of time. Everything about you was engraved in his mind, but he had almost forgotten how sweet you smelt. Roses, with an earthy hint of grass.
As your scent numbed his mind, Marcus finally found his dry tongue.
“Don’t leave, please. Don’t leave again,” he begged in a hoarse whisper, his eyes diving in yours.
You looked up at him and he felt himself under a spell. The same one you had him under years ago, when the heart was shattered and the mind bleak. Because even when you waved him goodbye, he still loved you. Never stopped, was never able to hate you for what you did, what you said.
“Can we talk?” he pushed before realising your eyes were glassy with sadness. “I know your name is not Aurora. I know it’s you.”
Your bottom lip trembled as a single tear fell from the cliff of your lashes. Moved by his own ghost of the past, Marcus reached for your cheek with his palm, the thumb brushing away the tears that followed the first one.
You let go of a deep sigh, kissed the palm of his hand and nodded. His heart was beating so loud, so fast, he almost missed your words.
“I owe you an explanation, Marcus,” you finally spoke, a broken sob almost tearing his resolution.
As you stepped aside, Marcus came into the room you were so eager to leave behind. Your heartbeat had spiked the moment you saw him and hadn’t slowed down since then. Perhaps you didn’t die of heartbreak but could die of a heart attack.
For decades you had been running until you found him. Until Marcus made you believe you could have everything he promised. It had been the first time you had actually considered growing roots. But the thought of not being able to grow old, to see the love of your life wither away while you remained sane, was paralysing. You had panicked — too scared to accept the love of a man who would give up everything for you, too frightened to trust someone again.
But was Marcus not worthy of your trust? He demonstrated repeatedly how he would always protect you, always cherish you. Not only with words, but with actions too. He had been so considerate, so loving, for a moment in the past you thought it a ruse. How could someone be so damn perfect and still be real?
Your heart clenched in pain, seeing him latch the door behind him and turn around to face you. The look of confusion, of sorrow, ate at your conscience. Under the candlelight, his torn features stuck out, time unforgiving. He was still gorgeous, would always be in your eyes.
��I’m sorry,” was the first thing that slipped out before the quivering of your bottom lip let out a sob. “I’m so sorry, Marcus. I didn’t know Magnus was your son, otherwise I would have never—” you shook your head, taming your cries. “I should have known. He looks so much like you. When I first saw him, I thought it was you. That somehow you had been able to still time and be with me.”
You sobbed a pitiful laugh, unable to look him in the eye. It was shameful having to admit something like this — that you had chased after a boy because he reminded you of someone you loved. But despite your immortality, you were still capable of human mistakes.
“So you didn’t know he was my son?” Marcus asked quietly. You could see the inner workings of his mind ruminating as you shook your head no. “Do you love him? Were you really going to marry him?”
The questions caught you off guard. Although at some point you were expecting them, you didn’t think it would be this early in conversation. It might be for the better if it got out of the way as soon as possible, so you could explain yourself.
The first cut would be the deepest, although the rest would still hurt.
“I love the idea of him,” you emphasized, ashamed of yourself for giving in to such fantasy. “I thought I could love him the way I did you, that he could be a vessel of my love for you. That I could, for a few days, remember how it felt— how you felt. That I could have you one more time,” you paused and sighed, intertwining your hands together to twist them nervously. “I only met him a week ago, marriage did not cross my mind at all. I was going to leave once—”
“Once it got too serious,” he finished for you.
Marcus went quiet again, his eyes transfixed on you. You wished Juno blessed you with the ability to read minds, to know what he was thinking right this moment. Did he hate you for what you just revealed? Did he think you were sick for trying to live out a fleeting dream? Would he forgive you for such despicable behaviour?
“Do you still love me?” his gravelly voice was so low, for a moment you thought you had imagined it.
But the doubt, the fresh hurt in his wounded gaze, told you otherwise.
You gaped for air, your lungs strained with sorrow. You should fib, stand by your initial lie, tell him you didn’t. But what had that gotten you the first time around except for a life of misery and loneliness? What had that gotten him?
“I do. I do love you, Marcus,” you whispered, out of breath due to the pounding of your heart. “Couldn’t be any other way. You’re the other half of my soul that I’ve been missing for so long.”
Time stilled as you looked Marcus dead in the eyes. You were not expecting anything out of your raw confession, because the time for those had passed. It was what you should have said thirty-five years ago, not now. You were too late to mend the love that had slipped through the cracks of time.
“Then that’s all that matters,” he finally broke the silence, his voice laced with emotion.
The admission shook you. Could this be true, really happening? Did he still love you after all this time?
In a couple of strides, you found yourself in his arms, the way it should have been ages ago. His forearms wrapped around you like a warm blanket as his head bowed down to taste your lips.
You kissed him back, first sweetly, then fiercely. You kissed him with all the unexpressed love you held in your heart, with the passion your true love deserved. His tongue was as sweet as you remembered, as soothing as your memory recalled. A dance ensued, his tongue reading a love letter to yours.
Your hands, which had been resting on his chest, drifted up to cradle his face — his moustache and stubble pickling the skin of your palms. Marcus untied his mouth from yours to kiss your tears goodbye, then pressed a peck on your forehead. His heart was beating as loud as yours, in unison like true soulmates.
“I’ve missed you. I never stopped thinking about you, lux mihi,” he confessed under his breath. “Life was never the same after you left.”
His admission made your heart flutter even further, and you couldn’t help but let your hands roam his back. Your fingers played with the knot holding the toga in place, his seeping warmth beckoning.
“I need you, Marcus. Make love to me,” you pleaded, leaving a love trail of kisses on his neck.
Marcus’ chest rumbled at your plea, his lips hunting down yours in a heartbeat. His hands were quick with your clothing, worshipping the curves of your body as it was revealed to him. You did the same with his toga, until you were both bare, standing in front of each other.
You saw his eyes lingering on every nook and cranny of your skin before they found yours. A thunder of connection ran through you, of yearning. On your tiptoes, you kissed him again, pressing your breasts onto his chest while your fingertips traced the map of his back.
You didn’t expect all the bumps and grooves you found on his skin; battle scars dotted around everywhere. Some thick and protuberant, some thin and soft. Marcus keened at your touch, silently letting you know that some of them were too sensitive to be caressed.
How much hurt his body and heart had endured, a life dedicated to war and duty. Your heart cried for him, for not being able to be by his side when he needed you most. Had you taken up his offer, had he run away from responsibility with you, his skin would tell a different story.
But the past couldn’t be changed, only the present was malleable enough to shape a new future.
Slowly he pushed you towards the bed, his hands resting on either side of your waist while his thumb drew lazy circles on your bristled skin. Raking your fingers through his silver curls, you leaned back on the mattress, his warm body blanketing yours.
His hands found the apex of your breasts, soft fingers rubbing your taut nipples as your head tilted back. Marcus licked the salt of your exposed neck, finding your pulse point. He kissed the spot and lingered, your vein pulsing against his lips as one of his hands discovered the slick your thighs harboured for him.
The feathery caress of his ring finger outlining your seam turned you into a whimpering mess. His pad stroked your nub, a slight flick followed before it slid down your slit and found your weeping hole. He circled it a few times, taunting you effortlessly, before returning to your clit.
You heaved, lips pursed so your moans would stay contained. In the dead of the night, you worried this show of love would seep through the walls. But not even the thought of his marriage, the thought of Magnus lying in bed a few rooms over, could stop you from joining your bodies together the way the Gods intended.
Marcus’ mouth travelled down the column of your neck, kissing the center of your clavicle before he went further down. Your unattended nipple was soon enough smothered by the wetness between his lips, and you fisted his hair in response, gently tugging at it.
“Marcus,” you moaned, eyes shut. Rejoiced.
One nipple drowned in his spit, the other pinched between his fingers, and his ring finger pressing tight circles on your thudding clit had you fighting to remain silent. But the moment the hand between your hands moved down and his digit teased your walls apart as it sank in your slick warmth, you couldn’t stop the muffled yet loud moan.
“Sing for me, meum corculum (my little heart),” Marcus husked. The gentle pumping of his finger in your wet heat had you quietly howling a few seconds later. “That’s it.”
Your felt your walls contract, pulse around his finger, holding onto him for dear life. Feeling your need as his own, Marcus dunked his middle finger in your pussy too, stretching you while his thumb stroked your clit. The combination of it all made you clench around him, almost begging for release.
“Let go for me,” Marcus asked between licks, and you couldn’t resist his prayer.
The coil that had been tightening inside you finally snapped, releasing a wave that coursed through your quaking body like a tumultuous sea. Your back slightly arched as your thighs trembled around his forearm, chest rising with a dire need for oxygen.
Marcus chuckled softly, setting your nipple free as he searched for your mouth again. He devoured you as you came down from your high, his erect cock gently resting on your mound. The weight of it on your sensitive skin felt like it belonged. The anticipation of welcoming him inside you made you gush.
“Let me drink you, kiss you, savour you,” he pressed a kiss on your mouth after each pause.
Your skin flushed; the proposition was somewhat indecent. It was lewd, frowned upon, and you were tethered to the chains of social decency. But there was nothing decent about infidelity, after all.
“Please, mea vita (my life). I can make you reach for the moon and the stars in the ceiling above if you let me, make you touch them,” he promised.
You shyly nodded, and his boyish grin grew wider, his lips tensing. So contagious, you smiled back as he came off you and moved your body until your butt was on the edge of the mattress.
He scooted you over towards him until the back of your knees were resting on his shoulders — leaving you completely exposed to his hungry gaze. His eyes lingered on your leaking dampness, his dilated pupils tracing the outline of your seam. The intensity of it all, the deep connection, made your thighs press together against his neck, wanting to hide your core from him.
You had nothing to be shy of, as Marcus had already seen you bare before. Sex with him had always been ardent, fervent — the heat of passion always got the best of you both, a certain urgency to consummate your love. But now? Now was different. There was no rush in his movements, in how his thumbs pried your pussy lips open, in how his warm lips brushed the sensitive skin on your inner thigh. His calm confidence in taking you as he had promised was new to you, who never had all the time in the world. But right now, you did. For Marcus, you did. Always would.
Your lashes fluttered, kissing the apples of your cheeks the moment the languid strokes of his tongue met your swollen flaps. He kissed one gently, then the other, before the wet muscle lapped from your gushing hole up to your clit. So venerating were his licks, your limbs relaxed at the intimate kiss.
“You taste like ambrosia, lux mihi. The best relish I have ever been graced with,” his hot breath collided with the cold skin on your slit, your body trembling in response.
“Marcus, please,” you begged, although you were not sure why, or what you were asking of him.
He didn’t leave you waiting again. His fingers sank in the flesh of your thighs while his tongue dived inside your slick furrow. So dextrous were his charges, you couldn’t help but mewl like a starved kitten in a back alley asking for leftovers. First, he flicked your excited bundle of nerves, and then he suckled on it, his jaw working you through the climb to another orgasm. The buildup was intense, but it became feverish the moment his finger joined the action — it slid easily inside, curled to caress the precise spongy spot of your arousal.
Unaware of your own actions, one of your hands slithered down your belly until you fisted his curls — pushing him towards the centre of your heat, not away from it. He hadn’t lied — the stars appeared behind your eyes, bright like the future you wished you had with him. A sea of constellations, all imploding at once in an amazing rain of stars that blinded you as you came crashing down from the skies.
You heaved and wailed his name in ecstasy, your entire body quivering with the strength of a thousand suns. Your entrance clenched around his finger as you held your breasts, your thumbs ghosting the taut buttons. You leaked your pleasure on his mouth, and he drank unashamedly, grateful of your offering.
A sweet kiss on your mound before he towered over you, and you could only look at him in awe with raw, true love. When his battered body blanketed yours, you draped your arms around his waist, hands lightly resting on his lower back. The knowing smirk on his lips spoke of a muted “I told you so.”
“I love you,” he whispered instead.
Your heart swooned and healed and cried and exploded. All at once. He hadn’t said those exact words yet, but they were veiled in every sentence, every action he had said or done tonight. Deep inside you were eternally grateful that he hadn’t grown to hate you, that his love for you remained intact despite heartache, circumstances and time.
Unbeknownst to you, tears welled up, ones that Marcus drank too. As he did, your palms stroked his ribs, careful to avoid the scars you had come to learn were too delicate. Eager, one slid off his skin until your fingers wrapped around his throbbing manhood. Eyes down, you saw the pearly bead of pre-cum commending you to butter it on his flushed head. With your thumb you caressed the tip, and Marcus’ lips parted in need — an invitation you quickly accepted, dunking your tongue in his mouth.
A few pumps had him groaning and soon enough you were guiding him to the pocket of heat between your thighs. His cockhead kissed your gushing entrance the same way his lips did — knowing, denuded, possessing. And slowly he made his way in, parting your flesh like a new stream disturbing the earth beneath. The burning sting was most welcomed, blossoming into a fullness you had craved for decades.
“I’m home,” Marcus rasped when he was fully seated in your cunt.
Your throat clamped a little, emotion overtaking your senses the same way his erection did.
“Welcome home, dilectus (beloved),” you muttered with a loving smile and teary eyes.
You melted into a slow kiss as Marcus rocked his hips, rutting into you almost lethargically, wanting the moment to last. You let him set the pace, the drag of his cock in your pussy a delight that had you reaching for the stars again and your inner walls squeezing him tight. The sweet rhythm of his swaying tightened the slick, hot coil that pooled low in your belly, and the moment Marcus gained momentum, you followed.
Needily he started fucking into you with precision, chasing both of your highs. His dick pulsed inside you, your heartbeat instinctually adapting to his in a second. Both so close to the sky above, gasping for air now, you rocked underneath him to amplify such pleasure.
“Marcus,” you whimpered, your hands now cradling his face. You lost yourself in his eyes, blown and loving. “Please, inside,” was everything you murmured.
Even after your petition, the snap of his hips against yours didn’t falter. Instead, the pace increased as his wild orbs studied your blissed out expression.
“Do you mean it?” You nodded effusively. “Do you want your belly round with my child?”
You didn’t even know if it was possible — yes, you looked young but were closer to a hundred and fifty years on this earth than to the day you were born. The fertility of your womb was one you never dared to test in your immortal life, but the thought of having such a memory—someone—to remember him by when the days grew cold and the nights dark was overpowering reality.
“Yes, I do,” you reassured him, pecking his lips softly.
His head fell, his face resting on the crook of your neck, while he made love to you. His moves stuttered, announcing his climax, and your pussy hugged him tight in a natural response. The moment the first ropes hit your cervix, you came undone too. As Marcus filled you with his warm spent, you creamed around his beating girth, your hands holding onto his shoulders as your back arched and your nipples kissed his chest.
It took both of you a few minutes to come down, for the haze of lovemaking to slowly dissolve in the musky air. Marcus hungered for your lips and he hunted them down with eagerness. Your bodies finally untied, his cock leaving you empty yet satisfied.
You hoped—prayed—his seed would take root in your womb. Even if it was impossible, the sliver of a miraculous possibility gave you a resemblance of hope. So you pressed your thighs together, greedy of his gift.
Marcus rolled off you, falling onto his tummy besides you. Quickly you laid on your side, your fingertips tracing the lines of his skin again. A feathery touch to alleviate the harshness of life. He unburied his face from the pillow and turned to look at you.
His smile was instant, and so was yours.
For an hour no words were spoken at all, no sleep was achieved either. You both remained silent, staring at each other, soaking up the love that flooded the chamber.
Replacing your fingers with your lips, you kissed the scars on his back, his shoulders, his arms. And finally his nose and cheek, where you dawdled as if your caress could erase the pain they inflicted.
“What are we going to do, amica mea?” Marcus husked after what felt like an eternity.
Reality set in, leaving a gaping hole in your belly. What could you do? Would you be strong enough to stay by his side for however long the goddess Mors took to claim him? Strong enough to build a life you knew was ephemeral? And once he was gone from this mortal plane, what would be left of you?
The choice was an impossible one. One that you should have made decades ago, when the heart was whole and the mind still strong. Now you knew how arduous life was without him, how—for years—you had looked for him in the small details and every single man who resembled him, how the regret and the grief haunted you at every turn of a decade. Now you knew that life wasn’t worth living if you didn’t have Marcus to share it with.
You traced the profile of his nose with your lips before pressing a soft kiss on his.
“I am not sure, but I am willing to try… if you are,” you whispered, leaning back.
The implications of such life were huge for him. Married, with a son who though himself in love with you, an acclaimed General who served Rome even when Rome didn’t serve him. His responsibilities were greater than yours, Marcus had so much to lose. Had you accepted his proposal when you should have, neither of you would be in such dire situation.
Marcus sighed heavily, rolling onto his side to face you. His calloused hand cradled your cheek, his eyes filled with a determination you wished you had back then, when life was easier.
“There is nothing nor no one that could stop me from spending the rest of my life with you, lux mihi,” he mumbled, hand dropping to your hip. “I said it then, and I will say it again: I do not care for this life if you are not with me. I don’t care about reputation nor retaliation. For over fifty years I have done what was expected of me, and I am done living my life for Rome and her vice. You’re the stars that light up my path in the darkest of nights, the warm sun that guides me home. For however long you’ll have me, I’ll be with you. My heart was always yours, mea vita, since the moment I landed eyes on you. And I don’t want it back, ever, even if you have to leave again.”
The softness of his delivery, the truth his words emanated, brought tears to your eyes. You thought yourself unworthy of his love, his devotion, when you had only caused heartbreak. But this was your second chance, one you were not going to let go.
You moved closer to him as his arm wrapped around you. With your forehead resting on his naked chest, you traced invisible lines on his ribs.
“I won’t leave. That broke me once, can’t handle it a second time. I love you and want to spend the rest of our time together showing you how much I do, making up for lost time. For however long,” you repeated, kissing his chin.
There was a brief pause, and you knew what his next words would be.
“How old are you?” the question you had always avoided, dreaded.
“Close to three times your age,” you confessed, looking up at him through your lashes.
The answer slowly sank in, but instead of horror, incomprehension and disgust, you only found acceptance. As if it was just another fact about you, nothing of major importance.
“You look amazing for being close to one hundred and fifty years of age,” he joked with a grin to lighten the mood. You let out a soft laugh in response. “How? If you want to share.”
The story of how you came to be ageless wasn’t a pleasant one. But your life was full of secrets that had ruined every human link you had to this earth, and you wouldn’t let them spoil the only real connection you had left.
“I… I was promised to a man, one who I thought was worthy of my love. There were things I was blind to at that time, and only time showed them to me. I thought everything was going as expected, he was always so courteous and respectful in public. Until our wedding night, when he…” you paused, the memories too painful even after all this time, “he abused me, and let his friends use me. When they were done, they left me for dead in a ditch.”
Marcus’ arm draped around you tighter, his heart beating so loud you could hear it thumping against his chest. He hugged you close, his warmth calming and reassuring. Marcus was nothing like that man, if your abuser could even be considered a person. You knew he never would be so despicable — you were as sure as the first lights of the sun would wake you up tomorrow.
“It took me hours to finally drift away. And when I did, Juno greeted me. Said the man had wronged me, and that I should have a second chance to understand what marriage and true love actually were about. Then she touched me right here,” you caressed the peacock-shaped birthmark, “and breathed life into me.”
Marcus leaned back a little to inspect your torn features. The heartache he had to endure paled in comparison to yours. How could someone inflict such hurt on another? He couldn’t even fathom such disgusting scenario. That man was the reincarnation of evil, and he wished he suffered the most agonising death.
He had only seen your soul’s purity, your kindness, your benevolence. Anyone who didn’t was blind.
“You did not deserve that ending, amica mea — no one does. He didn’t deserve you,” his heart cried for you, for the weight you had carried for over a century. “You’ve got the purest heart I have ever known. A soul that I will protect until my dying breath.”
“A half soul,” you interrupted him, and Marcus looked at you confused. “Because your other half completes mine.”
His heart jolted, this time because of the sweetness of your confession. That muscle had grown bigger in the last two hours than in his entire lifetime. He sworn himself to stand by your side, come what may. You would never be wronged again, not if he could avoid it.
“We’re leaving tonight,” Marcus declared without skipping a beat.
“What? What about your wife, your son?” your eyes had widened, but his resolution was firm.
“My wife… she’s not been my wife for years. She’s poison. And my son…” he shrugged, conflicted. “He’ll eventually understand, or so I hope. I believe he might already have an inkling that something weird was at play from the moment I said your real name.”
“Marcus, are you sure? You’d be sacrificing so much for me, I wouldn’t want to—”
He didn’t let you finish, his mouth covering yours in a passionate kiss that slowly turned gentle and soothing. Your hands caressing his battle-scarred skin was like a balm; your touch the first and only one to cure all his ailments. Unhurriedly, he sat back up on the bed, dragging you with him.
“Let’s leave now. I can’t wait to spend the rest of my life with you, lux mihi,” Marcus purred against your lips.
Fifteen minutes later, you were both clothed and atop of two horses, blending in with the shadows of the night that concealed your departures, in search of a new life. Together.
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raerae2727 ¡ 1 day ago
Text
When they blow up at you: multiple One Piece men x reader
You make them upset and they lose their temper + how they apologize
Includes: Ace, Kid, Law, Sanji, Crocodile, Doflamingo
GN! Reader, established relationship
Warnings: language, crocodile is neglectful and doffy is toxic, both reader and kid are lowkey toxic together, ace sanji and law’s parts are sweet tho💋
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Ace
He’s always pretty upbeat and tries not to show anger around you, but one day you make a joke that takes it too far. Your relationship had always been full of humor and you simply misunderstood what was acceptable to joke about and what wasn’t. You know you messed up when Ace goes quiet and puts his head down. You put your hand on his shoulder and frantically try to apologize, but he clearly isn’t having it as he stands and tries to walk away from you.
“Ace, wait! Listen!” You call as you try to pull him back, eager to explain yourself and properly apologize. He suddenly turns around and, in front of everyone, begins to lecture you.
“Why don’t you ever take anything seriously?”
Your guilt quickly turns to anger at the hypocrisy of Ace’s words. It always seemed to you that no joke was “too far” because of the way he so freely poked fun at you, your interests, and those you care about. How dare he pin this accusation on you?
“You’re the one who can’t take anything serious!” You respond, raising your voice louder than his.
He’s basically yelling when he responds, “At least I know where to draw the line!”
“What about all those times you made fun of me? Is it only an issue when I do it back?”
Everyone is staring at you two by this point, but all you can focus on is holding back tears when Ace yells, “I guess we just don’t go well together!” He slams his hand on the table, “Good luck finding someone else who’ll put up with you for as long as I have!”
Ashamed and heartbroken, you rush to your room and cry into your pillow. It feels like an eternity before you finally hear a knock on your door. You don’t respond but Ace opens it and lets himself in anyways, setting down his hat. He sits on the edge of your bed and breaks the silence with, “Good thing I stayed calm out there, right?”
Amazed that he still has the audacity to joke around, you sit up and scold, “Ace!”
He holds up his arms defensively. “Sorry, Sorry, I’m ready to talk about it if you are. And for the record, I love putting up with you.”
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Kid
Your relationship was always explosive because of your captain’s temper, but he must have already been on edge today because this was worse than usual. Killer wanted some rest so Kid is trying to make dinner for the crew, but he absolutely sucks at cooking. He refuses to listen to your advice and tension is growing as you continue to try and help.
“Stop being so controlling! I’m the captain here!”
The smell of burnt food is getting stronger, and you can’t help but take the pan off the burner yourself. “We’re hungry. Besides, there’s nothing wrong with just accepting help for once.” You try to keep your tone neutral to avoid a fight - which is clearly ineffective as Kid grabs you by the arm and pulls you outside of the kitchen.
“Why are you so set on embarrassing me in front of my crew!?” He shouts, gripping your shoulders.
You roll your eyes and speak calmly to make him feel like he’s overreacting. “It’s not that big of a deal. It would be more embarrassing if nobody was able to eat because your ego is too big to let me help.”
Kid is infamously bad with words, so he just responds by cursing and shoving you with much more force than intended. You go tumbling back until your head hits the wall and you fall to the floor. Kid looks shocked but before he can kneel down to help, you shoot up and shout, “What the fuck was that!?!”
“I don’t know!! Are you okay?” He yells back, panicked.
“No! I’m gonna tell Killer that you’re abusing me!” You scream, not realizing the whole ship can probably hear you two by now.
“No!” Kid responds fearfully, one-upping your volume and holding you in place by your shoulders again. “I swear I’ll always listen to you from now on! I promise! Please don’t tell on me, you know it was an accident!!”
Before you can scream back, the kitchen door swings open and you two stare at Killer like deer in headlights.
“Get in here and set the table. I knew you guys wouldn’t be able to handle it.”
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Law
Law always stretches himself too thin between working late, taking care of his crew, and making sure they don’t get themselves in too much trouble. He must have been losing a lot of sleep because of this, as he’s asking you to bring him his 4th cup of coffee today and it’s not even noon.
You tell him, “I don’t think I should do that, babe. I’m sorry. You should get some rest instead.” His under eye bags are especially dark today and his hair is messy.
“I have to get this done,” he responds calmly, though you can detect a hint of annoyance in his tone. “Can you at least get someone else to make it?”
When you go behind him and rub his shoulders, he sighs and leans back in his chair. He must be exhausted. “Please, babe?” He asks once more.
“Law, you of all people should know the importance of rest.”
He pulls away from your touch and crooks his neck to look in your eyes. “And you, of all people, should appreciate the work your captain does to keep this crew out of harm’s way.” He doesn’t yell, but the scolding tone of his voice hurts you more than yelling ever could. He stands up and walks to the kitchen, presumably to make his own coffee, and you follow behind. “Can’t you just give me some alone time for once?” He snaps.
You’re growing increasingly frustrated at Law’s stubborn attitude. “You need to rest! I’m not going to leave you alone when you’re putting your health at risk.”
“Sometimes,” he grabs you by the chin and leans in, “I have to make sacrifices for this crew. Be thankful.” You can’t help but start to tear up. His harsh words stung extra when he looked at you like that. Law lets go of you and his gaze softens when he realizes how upset he’s made you. The tone of the conversation immediately shifts. “Sorry, I-” he pauses, “I didn’t realize you cared that much.”
“Of course I care.” You cry. “I love you.” You pull him into a hug and he leans down to rest his chin on your shoulder.
“I’ll take a nap if you promise to stop crying.” He whispers, rubbing your back.
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Sanji
“Can you add a dash of salt to the soup, love?” Asks your boyfriend. He’s recently taken to including you while he cooks, which is an honor coming from someone who takes it so seriously. He’s gentle, patient, and excessively romantic with you in every aspect of the relationship, though sometimes finds himself being a bit more firm when cooking. You waltz across the kitchen, handing over him a knife, stirring a pot, or cleaning dishes for Sanji, whose hand finds your waist each time you pass. You dip your finger into the sauce he’s making and give it a taste.
“It’s good, maybe a bit bland though,” you comment.
“Noted, head chef,” he teases back playfully while accepting your criticism and adding more seasoning. When you go to take another taste, your elbow knocks over an inconveniently placed jar of olive oil, spilling it into the sauce and all over the counter.
“Shit! I’m sorry Sanji, I’ll clean it up.” He looks a bit disappointed, but gives you a soft smile and pat on the back.
“Don’t worry love, it happens,” his tone shifts to something more firm yet still gentle, “but we only have one jar left, so try to be a bit more careful for me in the future, yea?”
“It won’t happen again, promise.” Your mistake makes you shaky with nervousness because you know how seriously Sanji takes food waste. When you reach for a towel to clean up the oil, of course you accidentally knock over a pepper shaker. It falls to the ground and shatters, pepper corns bouncing all across the floor.
Panicked, you stutter out a pleading apology while you scramble to find a broom. “Oh my god babe, I’m so sorry, I don’t know why I’m so clumsy to-”
“How about you just leave the cooking to me.”
You look up, surprised at his stern voice. He doesn’t look back at you, just grips the handle of his mixing spoon angrily. Your heart drops into your stomach in shame.
“Go find someone else to help me clean up this mess, okay?” You can tell he’s trying his absolute hardest to contain his disappointment, but it’s still evident in his tone. You silently leave the kitchen, embarrassed tears stinging your eyes.
You try to calm yourself down in your room before dinner, you don’t want any of your crew mates to know about your humiliating mistakes. Not even five minutes after you had left the kitchen though, your door swings open. Sanji is on his knees with a bouquet of flowers and big puppy dog eyes looking up at you.
“I have no words to describe how sorry I am for getting upset at you. My anger was a bigger mistake than any amount of spilled food.” Your emotions quickly turn upside down and you laugh at the dramatic display.
“Sanji! I should be the one apologizing!” You run up to him and pull him into a tight hug. You reassure him, “It’s okay to get frustrated sometimes. I’m not mad!” He lets out a relieved sigh and squeezes you tight.
Smelling the bouquet, you ask, “Where did you even get these?”
“I have a stash,” and you both burst into laughter.
.-~-..-~-..-~-..-~-..-~-..-~-..-~-..-~-..-~-..-~-..-~-..-~-..-~-..
Crocodile
It seems like all he does is work, and you’re fed up with it. You get so bored sitting around in Crocodile’s mansion all day while he’s locked up in his office. Luckily, he left the door ajar today and you’ll be able to force him to give you the attention you deserve. You slink through the door and hoist yourself up onto the edge of his oversized desk.
“What.” He says gruffly, not looking up from his papers.
“I’m booored,” you whine, swinging your feet, “wanna go swimming?”
Crocodile sighs and rubs his temple in annoyance, still not looking up. “Go fetch me a drink and I’ll consider it.”
“No you won’t!” You argue, “you always say that!”
He slams a fist on the table and finally looks up to meet your eyes. “Maybe I would want to spend more time with you if you weren’t so whiny! Now go!”
You’re shocked and hurt by his unexpected anger and leave defeated, looking back one last time to see him continuing his work, seemingly unbothered.
Later that night, as you’re lying in bed reading, you hear the door softly creak open. Crocodile is holding an unopened expensive perfume with a ribbon tied around it.
“I know I haven’t had a lot of time for you lately, and I’m sorry.” He sighs, setting the gift on your nightstand and undoing his tie. “We’ll go swimming next week, I promise.” He places a gentle kiss on your forehead before getting into his robe.
As you drift off to sleep, you look at the various expensive gifts he’s gotten you as apologies, knowing he will never follow through with his promises.
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Doflamingo
Making Doflamingo angry is always the last thing you want to do, but his immature sense of entitlement can be infuriating. The two of you were watching the sunset by the poolside and discussing your latest reads while waiting on a servant to bring another bottle of wine. You didn’t notice how long it was taking until he brought it up.
“What’s taking that damn worm so long?” What’s so hard about fetching a bottle of wine?” The veins in his forehead started to bulge, a telltale sign of his annoyance.
You take his hand in yours and rub your thumb into his palm, trying desperately to keep him calm. “I’m sure it’ll be here soon, Doffy. Let’s not worry about it for now - keep telling me about your book.”
He could see right through you. Any attempt at influencing his emotions always only made it worse.
“Don’t baby me. This is an act of utter insolence and I don’t know why you expect me to tolerate it.” He slaps your hand away. “I’ll give that rat a piece of my mind once it gets here.” As much as you want to just leave it at that and enjoy the rest of your evening, your unrest with Doflamingo’s behavior has been growing for weeks and you speak before you can think.
“Can’t we just have one nice evening where you don’t have to abuse someone over the tiniest thing? It’s just some wine, we’ll live.” You’re terrified to see his frown turn into a wide grin as he starts to laugh.
“Have you forgotten who I am? Who you have the privilege of being close to?” With one sweep of his arm he knocks your glass off the table, shattering it and making you jump in fear. “Get out of my sight,” He hisses.
Offended by his quick switch-up, you bargain, “Doffy, can’t we just talk abou-”
“Out!” He yells. “And that’s Young Master to you!”
You scurry inside the palace, knowing things could get ugly if you chose to stick around. You wait all night for him to come knocking on your door with a superficial apology, even a passive aggressive one, but he never shows.
That petty man child was avoiding you. A whole week goes by before you even see his face. As you’re playing chess with Diamanté (who’s even more insufferable) to pass the time, you find yourself wishing you were with Doflamingo instead. As if on cue, he struts in and ruffles your hair from behind.
“What do you say we go share a drink together, just you and me, hm?” He muses, rubbing your shoulders as if he hadn’t just disappeared for a week. Your anger towards him subsides at his touch. You know you only feel this way because of his manipulative charm, but you let yourself love Doffy anyway.
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ask-the-pioneer ¡ 2 days ago
Note
do you remember your father?? i mean, if you remember having one as a pup
"My other parent...?"
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"I don't remember them... him... at all. I'm sorry." She says as if apologizing to herself. "Mom would never talk about him, and I was too young to even understand you need a mate to have pups, or that slugcats form colonies."
Marbles is lost in her thoughts again. You keep asking questions, and it unearths some of her long forgotten memories.
"There was this one time... me, my sibling, and mom, we got to observe a big noodlefly nest. I saw their delicious eggs hanging from the ceiling for the first time. When I asked mom about it, she explained that when two noots pair up, they lay their eggs in safe places so they could hatch. Little baby noodles attach to the parent's tail for safety. ÂŤLike slugcats!Âť, she said. So, of course my tiny child mind pressed on. ÂŤDo slugpups hatch from eggs? Can I lay an egg? Can I eat egg? Was I a good egg?Âť. Mom put up with my nonsense, I think she found it funny... until my brilliant child brain connected the dots, and asked ÂŤif I'm an egg, then who did she make me withÂť. She hesitated, and the brief silence mixed with the look on her face is what seared that moment into my mind. ÂŤ...With your father, of course. But, he's gone. Let's go get something to eat now. You want a blue fruit? I think we can get some of them down the pipe over there...Âť, Mom blurted out as she took my hand in hers. I followed with ÂŤWhy?Âť, but she pretended not to hear it. In the end, my mind was quickly distracted from asking any more awkward questions by the promise of a tasty meal. I can't remember any other time my second parent was brought up again..."
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ventismacchiato ¡ 19 hours ago
Text
OIKAWA AS YOUR MUTUAL THAT YOU HATE IRL
oikawa x gender neutral reader
you and toru have been mutuals on twitter for almost a year as you both run and met through twice fan accounts. you talk to him more than your irl friends atp. on the other hand you and oikawa don’t get along irl, as you’re both on opposing college teams and constantly competing for nationals. since then he’s always picked on you at games, but that all changes when you finally decide to meet your favorite oomf in person.
notes — karasuno is a mixed gender team in this to keep it gn, and instead of highschool these are college teams / the messages in the first section are like throughout the week before you two meet up
ooc idk? it’s been a while. assume everyone is 20ish, i cud make this a cute mini au one day but rn i’m lazy so this is fast paced
also here’s the soobin version i wrote a while ago
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__________________ ׂׂૢ་༘࿐
Your stomach was swarming with nerves as you made your way inside the cafe, the scent of freshly made coffee and sweaty college students from the stadium surrounding you as you slid into line. Admittedly, you never thought you'd get the chance to meet Toru, he was just your cute internet friend and nothing would ever happen.
That was, until today.
It was a bit embarrassing that you stared at the selfie he'd sent for longer than you should've. It was difficult to comprehend the boy you'd been talking to for so long was hiding such a pretty figure. Even with the emoji hiding his face you could tell he was cute.
You eye the display of cakes and decide to pick one up for the both of you as Toru had already promised to get you guys coffee. You felt bad going empty handed after finally meeting him.
You reach down to grab onto the last chocolate slice and your hands meet another. Usually, you'd let it slide and choose something else even though you touched it first. But, when you looked to your left and locked eyes with your self-proclaimed enemy, Toru Oikawa, those thoughts washed away. You were going to fight for that slice of mediocre cake.
"Not you again," Oikawa sighed, tugging the slice towards him, "Don't be obnoxious."
"Says you," you scoff, tightly grabbing onto the plate, "Why are you always so rude towards me? Is it because we annihilated you in the game?”
"You were just lucky," He grins, his large hands tugging the cake closer towards him, "Choose something else.”
"You choose something else. Losers don’t deserve nice cake! I got to it first!”
"Ok and?" Oikawa questions, like the little shit he is.
"Fine, just take it," you sigh, not wanting to make Toru wait. Good Toru, not this evil one beside you. But as you let go of the cake and step back you notice Oikawa’s outfit. He was adorned in clothes that oddly resembled the photo Toru had sent you.
"You made me lose my appetite," Oikawa mutters, dropping the cake and shuffling past you. You shake off the familiarity and make your way towards the back. Most men wore the same clothes, it was nothing.
__________________ ׂׂૢ་༘࿐
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__________________ ׂׂૢ་༘࿐
You eye the walls of the cafe until you come across the wooden tables from the photo.
You start scouring the seats for someone that resembled Toru but the only person in your vicinity was Oikawa.
You inch your way closer towards him with morbid curiosity, hoping that your suspicions would be proved wrong. But as you got closer the drinks on the table and location of your rival were too similar to the photo Toru had sent you.
Unfortunately, Oikawa locked eyes with you.
"What do you want? Are you here to apologize?" he questions, playing with the straw of his drink as he barely gave you a glance.
"Toru? From twitter?" you tentatively ask, your voice hoarse from the nerves. This couldn't be happening.
Oikawa pauses.
"What?" he slowly asks, turning to look at you, "What did you call me?"
"Oh my god," you gasp, "Are you ruluvyeon?"
"What..," he starts, catching on, "You're urmomoyn?"
Your username sounds foreign on his tongue but it was him. Oikawa was your Toru. Evil Toru was your sweet Toru.
Your beloved Toru was the same guy you've been on bad terms with all year. Just your luck.
Before Oikawa could comprehend anything or you could answer, you decide to do the most mature thing anyone would do in that situation.
You run.
And he doesn't follow.
__________________ ׂׂૢ་༘࿐
a week later
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__________________ ׂׂૢ་༘࿐
The street was dark apart from the flickering lamps on the side of the walkway as you made your way towards Oikawa - or well Toru’s - house. It still felt odd.
Your palms felt clammy and you were clad in your pajamas, in too much of a rush to change. Which was a decision you were regretting since the flimsy fabric did nothing to protect you against the wind.
Before you knew it you spotted the complex Toru supposedly lived in, and as you walked closer you could see his tall figure waiting for you in the dark. It would've been rather creepy if not for the fact he was drowning in a large hoodie and sweats with a beanie tugged on his hair.
His arms were crossed across his chest as he rocked back and forth due to the cold.
You swallowed your nerves and made your way towards him, not quite knowing what to do with your hands other than give him an awkward wave as he spotted you.
"Hey," he breathed out, gesturing for you to follow him inside.
The warmth of his apartment was far more welcoming than the freezing night. He shut the door behind you both and tugged off his beanie as he gestured for you to sit down.
"Hi," you greeted back as you sank down on his couch. The entire place felt very lived in.
Toru’s face scrunched up into an sly smile.
"I missed you," you added, "I'm glad you reached out."
"I am too," he hummed, reaching out to take his hand into yours. His palms felt warm against your own freezing ones.
"What was your last text about?" you question as his thumb rubs circles on your palm.
"I don't know what you’re talking about?" he smiles, "What did I say?"
"You know damn well what you said," you huff.
"Okay, well I meant it," he answers, "I convinced myself to try and forget you since you were an online friend. But having you right in front of me changed things."
"Changed things how?" you say, warmth creeping up your cheeks.
"Well, for one I can actually see you," Oikawa notes, "And do things like this," he adds, his voice going quiet as he reaches over to push a loose strand of hair behind your ear. "And, instead of fantasizing about kissing you, I could actually do it."
"You fantasized about it?" you ask in disbelief, still flustered at the touch of his hand so close to your face "You didn't even know what I looked like!"
"You were kinda just a blob in my mind," he shrugs, a smile tilting his lips at your offended face.
"A cute blob though, right?”
"Of course."
“You never imagined me as my icon?”
“Only when you changed it to Gojo.”
“Oh fuck off,” you laugh.
"So, you really don't hate me?" you muse, playing with his fingers, "It's so weird seeing you be so gentle."
"Would you rather me go back to being rude?" he replies, "But I really don't. I feel a shitty at how I used to treat you. You just get me riled up.”
"It's okay, I did the same," you assure, patting his hand, "Let's start fresh."
"Okay," he agrees, clasping your hand in between his, "Let's go out."
"Straight to the point?"
"I don't think we should waste any more time," he replies, “And my entire team thinks I made you up.”
“I need to make it up to you,” you sigh.
"Kiss me and consider yourself forgiven," Oikawa easily grins, looking at you with the usual look of arrogance he sends you through the net when he wishes you a terrible game. But this time it looks different. Like he wants you to win.
“Alright,” you manage to croak out, your throat closing up at your false confidence.
Honestly, you were qute irritated with yourself on how you treated Oikawa for the past few months. You desperately wanted to move on and start fresh.
Oikawa let out a surprised laugh and you wanted to ingrain the sound into your mind. He brought up his free palm to his mouth and let out a small giggle into it.
“Go ahead then,” he smiles.
"Okay," you manage to say, taking a deep breath.
"Any day now,” Oikawa smirks.
"Shut up, I need a moment-," you started, but were interrupted as he reached over and yanked on your top to slot his lips against yours. He stumbled and you both fell backwards onto the couch as he caught himself above you, both knees outside your hips as you snaked your hands around his waist.
He stared at your for a mere moment in disbelief before leaning down to capture your lips with his. His lips felt pillowy against your own and his warm body right on top of yours made it feel just as good.
You had to remind yourself not to laugh into the kiss.
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himbodruid ¡ 3 days ago
Text
Silent Poem
Zayne returns home to find you fast asleep in his bed. You help each other…relax. 😏
An expansion of Zayne’s Silent Poem Secret Times (some lines removed because try as i might, i couldnt make them fit)
Zayne x Reader
-:- massage leads to other things -:- clothed sex lol -:- body worship Zayne -:- sweet talkin mofo -:-
INTENDED FOR 18+ READERS. MINORS DNI
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
It was supposed to be a night filled with laughter over dinner, but dusk gave way to twilight in what felt like a handful of seconds. Doctor Zayne had called with his apologies, stating that an emergency surgery had come up and he would be home late. Dinner was packed away to be saved for another time, and you curled up on his sofa with the silly games you thoroughly enjoyed on your phone. You understood how it was. After all, you had to do the same to him several times as well. It didn’t bother you one bit- you would just wait until he got home, embrace him, and usher him off to bed for much-needed rest.
It wasn’t long before you started to nod off and you checked the time, noting that it was nearing midnight. There was no telling when Zayne would be home, but the two of you had shared a bed for some time now. You knew he wouldn’t mind if you slipped between the sheets to take a quick nap before he got home.
You changed into your long night shirt and were lost to the waking world when Zayne snuck into the room. He took light steps until he was at the bedside, peering down at you with softness in his gaze. The glass of water he held was placed quietly on the bedside table and he sat at the edge of the bed. He marveled at your beauty, wondering how he could have ever been so lucky to have someone like you in his life. Lost to these thoughts, he leaned forward and kissed you. Just a gentle brush of his lips against yours while you slept.
You inhaled sharply, startled awake by the unexpected contact. When you opened your eyes, you saw Zayne’s smiling face in the dimmed lamp light and relaxed back into the pillows.
“My apologies. Did I wake you up?”
You smiled lazily at him. “Yeah, but it’s okay. Are you just getting in? It’s so late!”
“Yes. It’s been hectic at the hospital as of late. Every night I had to return home in the middle of the night…you were sleeping so peacefully. I couldn’t resist the urge to kiss you.”
He leaned over to kiss you softly again, and you chased his lips until you were sitting up in the bed. Worry raced through you when he pulled away and slumped against your shoulder, closing his eyes with a sigh. You observed his face more closely and noticed exhaustion and tension bracketing his mouth and eyes. His arm lazily circled your waist, and your own came around him to embrace him back.
“Zayne?” You asked softly.
“Let me hold you for a bit. This helps me chase away my exhaustion.”
“You should relax more,” you murmured to him.
“Me?” He called you out with that one simple word and you huffed a laugh.
“Alright, we should relax more.”
“But how exactly…will you help me relax?” He lifted his head from your shoulder and stared at you intently with those eyes that held the depth of a forest. You watched as his gaze drifted to your lips and then back up, and you felt a blush spread across your face. What a strange time for shyness to strike, especially since intimacy was not new between you.
You push him away from you a moment so you could escape the covers. Kneeling over him, you started pushing his jacket off his shoulders and began working at his shirt, all while completely ignoring the intense way he watched your chest waving in front of his face.
Once his shirt was loosened enough, you dug your fingers into the muscle that made up the slope of his neck. You remember him telling you it was called the trapezius at some point, and how it was where he carried all of his stress. The moment your fingers dug into that brick wall of a muscle, he let loose a heavy sigh that was nearing a moan.
“Mmmh…massage. I see…” he grumbled with a smile.
“Yes, what else were you thinking?” You raised your brow, continuing to work at his neck and shoulders.
He cleared his throat a little bit and you took note of the blush that stained his ears. He blinked rapidly and looked away in that endearing way he did when embarrassed.
“Ahem. Never mind.”
His muscles finally started to give way to your ministrations, but your own tensed the more you worked at him. The sounds he made had your heart thundering, and you were acutely aware of how close your body was to his and how you still knelt over his lap- not quite straddling him.
He looked up at you, golden-green eyes hooded by barely concealed desire. “My eyes aren’t as tired as they were before. And my neck and shoulders feel so much better.”
“Good, I’m glad,” you said, smiling down at him. You knew your face and neck were red, and it took all of your effort not to run and hide. Your only saving grace was the blush that dusted his cheeks.
“Just sit on me,” he said, noticing how your legs began to shake from the unsustainable position you were in. “It’ll be easier for you.”
You began to decline, but his hands found your hips and suddenly you were straddling him in full. And you became very well aware of the hard length of him pressing against your core.
He moaned at the contact, a breathy sound that shot to your core. “I feel much better already.”
“Y-yeah?” You stammered. His hips rose to grind against yours.
“It’s more effective than the strongest, most soothing medicine in the world.” He kissed you then, an unhurried kind of probing kiss that drew you in the longer your lips held contact.
But then he pulled away, and you could feel the embarrassment at how easily you got lost in him flush through you again. Still, his arms caged you, keeping you close.
“Your lips are dry. Do you want some water?” He reached over and grabbed the glass from the table, presenting it to you.
“How did you know?” You realized you actually were parched. It was always a point of contention- you always seemed to forget to take care of yourself. “I keep forgetting.”
“You haven’t learned to drink it on your own yet?” You chose to ignore his chuckle by carelessly chugging the glass.
“Don’t rush, it’s spilling out,” he said, right as your overeagerness sent a trail down your neck, chest, and into your shirt between your breasts.
“Oh,” you said dumbly. He took the glass from you and put it back on the table.
“Zayne, help me clean it up, do you have a cloth?”
“All right,” he chuckled, pulling away the hand you were using to dab at it. “I’ll help you clean up.”
And then his mouth found where the water trailed at the hollow of your throat, a searing kiss that sent shivers through you. His mouth and tongue followed the water in a blazing trail on your skin, even tugging down the neck of your shirt to get at as much as he could.
“Z-Zayne,” you breathed, unable- or unwilling- to push him away.
“Is this what you wanted?” His question was murmured against your chest between kisses. You watched as his tongue slipped between your breasts with a hissed inhale, your hips grinding against him. His hands trailed up the backs of your thighs, teasing the hem of your shirt. There was nothing else there to halt his touch, save for your underwear, and he inhaled sharply at the realization.
“I knew it,” he breathed, nipping at your collarbone. “You want to do this to me again.”
And then his lips found yours again, coaxing you open so that his tongue could tangle with yours. His breath mingled with the soft sounds that escaped you. His hands skirted over your curves to lift your shirt over your head in a swift motion you didn’t even have time to react to. This bared you to him almost fully, the only thing covering you now was the soft cotton of the underwear you wore.
“Now you’re just taking advantage,” you chuckled, capturing his lips again. He smiled against your lips.
“What do you mean-” he began, interrupting his sentence with a kiss to your neck.
“I’m taking-“ another kiss, this one to your collarbone.
“Advantage-“ his mouth found your breast now.
“Of the situation?” His teasing words ended with an open mouth kiss to your other breast.
“Aren’t we just helping each other relax,” he questioned softly against your breast. His eyes locked onto yours as he continued kissing, licking, sucking your breasts. With a groan, he lifted you off of him for the length of time it took for the pair of you to fumble with his belt and pants.
When his cock was finally freed, you palmed and stroked him lazily while he gasped and groaned against your chest. But the control he struggled to maintain came close to snapping when you straddled him again, tugged your underwear aside, and slipped the tip of him just inside of you. His hips jerked involuntarily, slamming upwards into you and a whimpered gasp escaped you.
“Sorry,” he breathed. “Did I hurt you?”
You shook your head, unable to put into words that it was quite the opposite. He filled you so well, that you damn near came apart on him with that single thrust. Still, he waited for your body to adjust to him, trembling with the effort.
“It’s been a long time since we last saw each other,” he whispered in your ear. “I missed you.”
Your body shuddered, involuntarily clenching your walls around him. He gasped out a moan, dropping his forehead to your chest while his hips began a slow roll. Your hands gripped at his biceps, fingers digging into him with the same amount of force you used to massage his neck.
“Does this also need to relax?” He said with a sly smile. You couldn’t even muster a response to his teasing. “Of course, I understand you only want to help me feel less fatigued.”
You ended his teasing by lifting from him and easing back down slowly. His breathing came in panting bursts while you rocked your hips against his. You watched his body reacting to yours with pleasured delight, trailing your fingers down his firm chest and into the hills and valleys that made up his abdomen.
“Are you enjoying your massage, Doctor Zayne,” you breathed to him, feeling uncharacteristically bold at the sight of him coming undone beneath you.
“Different muscle groups call for specific massage techniques,” he murmured. “Sometimes…being skillful is what really makes a difference.”
You smiled and resisted rolling your eyes. Still a clinical mind, even while you were impaled on his cock. You set out to make him lose that rational thinking by increasing your pace, taking him deeper and faster. Breathy moans escaped from him and his arms circled your waist to give added leverage as he helped to piston in and out of you.
“I think it’s getting more tense, now,” he murmured, kissing your chest as he nuzzled into you. You knew he was no longer talking about muscles. The lewd sounds of your bodies colliding rose to join the panting moans that permeated the otherwise still air.
“Perhaps…you could add a little more pressure,” he whispered to you before his mouth fell upon your nipples once more. Per his request, you clenched your walls around him as you rode him. With a whining moan, he halted your movements so that he could take over and slam into you from below.
All rational thought was driven from both of you, only this primal need left in its place. You could feel pressure building inside of you as his cock plundered you at an almost punishing speed. Hips collided in a frenzied urge to chase the high of release, breathless moans responding to the pleasure, bodies tensing until finally the pair of you spilled over the edge with cries of ecstasy.
He buried his face against your neck, nuzzling as his body continued to jerk and plunge his cock so impossibly deep inside you. Your cunt pulsed around him, milking him for everything he had to give you. His large hands gripped your hips in a bruising grasp, pushing you so that he remained buried in you to the hilt.
“I wonder,” he panted once his body stopped trembling underneath you. He laid back fully, an arm tucked under his head to prop it up so he could take in the full image of you straddling him, of you impaled on him. “How long were you planning to pull this stunt on me?”
You trailed your hands from his lower abdomen to his chest, leaning your hips forward only so slightly and dropping back down on him. He was still hard inside you, clearly not fully finished with you. “What can I say? I missed you.”
He clenched his eyes closed when you shifted on him, another short moan rising from his chest. “Yes, of course.
“I missed you too.” He punctuated his words by lifting his hips to meet yours.
“Mmmh, how much?” You followed the rocking of his hips, allowing him to pull out slightly before chasing the descent of him to sheath him inside you fully once he settled back against the bed.
He took your hands in his, pulling you so that you laid flat atop him. He captured your lips in a tender kiss, placing his forehead against yours when he pulled away. His hands smoothed up your back, holding you to him.
“Rest in my embrace, just like this,” he murmured to you. His hips lifted again, sinking his cock deep into you again.
“Now-” He kissed your jaw.
“Let me tell you-“ He kissed your neck
“How much I missed you when we couldn’t see each other.” He wrapped his arms around you and began to move.
“Relax,” he murmured to you when you tensed in anticipation. He moved slower now, rolling the two of you so that you were beneath him now. During the transition, he went too deep and you couldn’t help the hiss of pain that you released.
He froze, searching your face for any hint that you wanted to stop. You caressed his flushed cheek, drawing him back down to kiss him.
“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to hurt you,” he said against your lips. “Does it still hurt?”
“A little, but I'm okay,” you tell him. You move your legs to wrap them around his hips, but he leaves you so that he can quickly shed the rest of his clothing. He rejoined you after removing your underwear, prodding at your entrance but not pushing in. Instead he leaned down to kiss you softly, in hopes to distract you from any pain or discomfort you might still be feeling.
“What about this? Do you feel better now?” His cock breached your slit, but he still wouldn’t fill you in the way you craved and you could feel your patience slipping.
“Or…do you want to change positions?” He stopped the forward tilt of his hips and pulled away to wait for your answer. You grumbled out a sigh, circling your legs around his waist so he couldn’t remove himself.
“Just do it and stop asking questions!”
With that, he settled over you fully, and you reveled in the way the size and weight of him pressed you into the mattress. His mouth captured yours once more and he rolled his hips forward.
The languid pace at which he pressed his hips into yours was almost too much to bear. You wanted to be taken fast, but the feel of him dragging against your walls was only accentuated by how slow he thrust into you. He was all but worshipping your body with his mouth and hands while his hips pressed into yours with every forward lunge.
“So much time has passed now. Don't you want me to say something?” What you wanted was him. To be drowned in him, swept away by the pleasure he elicited with every stroke of his cock. It was almost too much to bear, the sensations surrounding you as he clung to you as fervently as you clung to him. You closed your eyes, listing your chin when his kisses trailed down your throat.
“Tired already? You want to sleep?” His voice was light and teasing but held the hint of a threat in the undertone. You didn’t get a chance to answer before he slammed his hips forward. A pleasured cry escaped you, fingers digging into his flesh.
“We’re not done here. Quitting halfway isn’t something I would do. The night is still young, we have plenty of time to learn from each other,” he grunted, his hips colliding with yours at a brisk pace now. You whimpered beneath him, allowing him to hook his arms under your knees and practically fold you in half. He slammed his cock into you over and over and you tilted your hips to meet his at every thrust.
“Let me hear your voice,” he sighed, and you obeyed him. Once more, the sounds of pleasure mixed with the sounds of your frenzied coupling. His mouth latched onto the slope of your neck and by the time he was done sucking almost violently at that spot, you knew it was going to leave a gnarly mark. The thought of carrying his mark for weeks drove you even closer to the edge.
“Say my name,” he murmured against your skin, hips snapping forward with forceful thrusts as his climax started to build.
“Z-Zayne,” you whimpered. Your nails dug into his back at the guttural moan he released against your neck.
“Again,” he growled.
“Zayne-” His name came out more like a breath, barely recognizable as a word as his pace turned punishing. He was so impossibly deep inside that you didn’t know where he ended and you began.
“Again,” he groaned, his body trembling with the beginnings of his orgasm. One final, hard, thrust and he was spilling into you with a guttural cry.
“Zayne!” You all but screamed his name as the pulsing twitch of his cock flooding you sent you over the edge with him. You threw your head back into his pillows, body arching into his as your release shot through you.
His hips jerked and shuddered, his whole body trembling like he wasn’t in control. His eyes were clenched closed, his brows drawn down to crease at the center, while he struggled to regain some form of composure. But the intensity of the pleasure didn’t grant him a single reprieve as his body continued to convulse with moaning cries falling from his lips. All you could do was wrap your legs around his waist and lock him to you while he rode out the high with you.
“Fuck,” he whimpered against your neck when his body finally relented control back to his mind. He collapsed on you and the pair of you tried to calm your erratic breathing. Soft kisses rained on your skin and you couldn’t help the giggles that escaped you when his lips brushed sensitive spots.
When you came down from the pleasured high, he carried you bridal style to the bathroom. He started a shower for the both of you, willingly stepping into the blazing hot water you preferred. He cleaned you with a delicate touch, eliciting shivers as his hands glided over your body. And when he knelt before you to lather your legs with soap, his eyes locked onto yours with a mischievous glint in them before his mouth latched onto your cunt. He proceeded to turn you into a babbling mess, bringing you to the brink and driving you over the edge with his skilled tongue.
You wiped the self-satisfied smirk off his face when you knelt in front of him to give him the same kind of attention. He stared at you wide-eyed, blushing profusely, as you palmed him and ran your tongue along the underside of his length. Soft moans and curses escaped him as you worked him with your mouth, until he couldn’t take anymore and spilled against your tongue.
Dawn came and went by the time the pair of you tumbled into bed. You were spooned in his embrace, and the warmth of his body against yours lulled you into sleep. You were grateful that it was your weekend, because you didn’t have the will to leave his bed for even one minute.
Not that he would allow it.
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pyxxiestyxx ¡ 1 day ago
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Truth and Rumors
You didn't exactly plan on being your space station's liaison to the Affini Compact, but everyone in leadership had fled into the darkness of space hours before the plant's first ships jumped into position. Clearly someone had tipped the C-Suite off somehow; honestly, you couldn't blame them. Everything you had heard about the Compact was…rather terrifying, really. Behemoth plants with rows upon rows of teeth, infectious parasites ready to take over your mind, eternal servitude and endless labor with no pay…you shuddered at the rumors, at the stories. Perhaps worse was the actual propaganda produced by the plants; not that you or anyone else on the station was legally allowed to watch it, but even the few still frames that were shown to you had painted a grisly picture. The limp figure of some Terran Navy hero, cuddled and coddled by the hulking beast of a plant behind her. Apparently they had changed the soldier's gender, or something? The report accompanying the image was rather unclear for that particular detail. And now, here you were: sitting nervously in the largest conference room on the station, the lone Terran at a desk made for over thirty to sit at comfortably. When the Compact had hailed your station, you were one of the few working the comms station, and everyone else had either fainted, screamed, or panicked. Not that you were much better, but it was apparently enough that you were voluntold to answer it. The voice of the caller was…strange. Different, somehow. Calming, and yet thrilling. She introduced herself as Lady Violetta Larella, Fourteenth Bloom, she/her. Blushing, you apologized for not referring to her by her title earlier. In your defense, you hadn't realized she was nobility. She seemed to enjoy that, for some reason. You had only been sitting at the table for a few minutes when there was a sharp knock at the door. The Lady entered as gracefully as one possibly could when entering a door made for someone at least five feet shorter, her long dress trailing behind her as she clasped her hands and smiled. "Hello, darling. It's so lovely to see you in the flesh, so to speak! And just look at you! Why, that video feed certainly dulled your charms~" Her voice was dripping with genuine affection as she stepped over to you, taking a knee and reaching an elegant hand out to tussle your hair. You couldn't help but shudder as she did so; your nerves dancing in abject joy as she gently pet your head. Your eyes slowly closed in utter delight as you sagged back into your chair, your tensed muscles relaxing one by one by one... "Oh, but I apologize! Playtime can come later, dear. Let's get down to business, shall we?" You blinked in confusion as you realized She had stopped petting you, and couldn't stop yourself from letting out the smallest of whimpers as She began to withdraw Her hand. Every single one of Her eyes, each of which ranked among some of the most verdant jewels you had ever seen, quickly seemed to shift and dance to a brilliant violet. Her hand returned, sending your worries scuttling for the door as She did so. "Well…perhaps we can take a few minutes, first. Just to make sure you have been thoroughly examined, of course; it would be my duty as Own…as Overseer of this operation to guarantee your mental and physical wellbeing~" You smiled dreamily as you were picked up and held by Lady Violetta, happy that everything you had heard about the Affini was so clearly wrong. She grinned at you, a wide smile that showed all Her many, many pretty teeth, and held up a single, succulent berry, the sight of which made your mouth water. "Now then…let's play a fun little game. When I stroke downward on your cheek, I want you to open your mouth…"
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whyisthereacentaur ¡ 2 days ago
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Well put.
I would also add that one of the things they’re learning more about is how to interact with other people - how their actions and word choices and tone etc can cause a reaction that they maybe don’t have enough experience to predict yet.
I’ve found that if I’m in the scenario in that final paragraph, and I’m overwhelmed, that’s an opening for a life lesson too! I can tell them I need a minute and explain how I’m feeling, and that sometimes people just need a minute and it helps to be patient, can you remember a time when someone was giving you lots of jobs to do and it was too much? How did you feel? Etc etc etc.
I’m human and exhausted- if my patience fails in that moment or there’s no time for a long discussion, we debrief afterwards when everyone’s calm. I’d rather I could always be zen calm, and always have time to discuss at length, but when I fail, I can at least try to give them a model for a genuine apology, and talk about how everyone fails sometimes but it doesn’t make us “bad” and we can keep trying to do better next time.
They’re starting from zero on basically every aspect of personhood, and it’s so much more helpful to not just hear what to do (positively and proactively - what to do, not just what not to do!) but also why.
I don't get people who get mad when their kids ask them questions. Imagine making an entire brand new human being who doesn't know anything about anything yet, and regards you as their primary source of information, and when they try to learn to understand how the world around them works, you just go "how dare you question me you evil little imp."
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moonyswritinq ¡ 2 days ago
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black swan — killian jones x male reader
❝ BLACK SWAN ❞
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SYNOPSIS ➢ Killian Jones was no stranger to using his charms in order to woo beautiful women, Emma Swan being no exception. You couldn’t stand the sight of him flirting shamelessly with your sister, purely for brotherly reasons, so you decide to tell him off. What you didn’t know, was that his eye had been drawn to you the moment he saw you.
PAIRING ➢ killian jones x brother!Swan male reader
CONTENT WARNING ➢ season 2 & 3 spoilers, sort of one-sided rivals to lovers, tension, kissing, making out, harsh language, guys flirting, insults as flirting, threats
WORD COUNT ➢ 2.4 k
AUTHORS NOTE ➢ I wrote this because I read another similar fic and, no hate to that author, but I wanted to write it better and so that it would be more to my satisfaction. Also, I am well aware of all the requests I still have yet to do, but I fell into a OUAT hole and now I’m here.
MASTERLIST, TAGLIST
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Killian Jones finding a woman attractive was nothing special. He’s had his fair share of dalliances over the years. Ever since what happened to Milah, Killian was in no hurry to find the so-called “true love” and settle down. His never-ending adventures at sea kept him plenty occupied—and so did his hunt for his Crocodile.
It was no surprise then that the woman named Emma Swan would draw his eye. She was just his type: bold, determined, and a natural leader. His interactions with her in the Enchanted Forest left him intrigued, and his curiosity of her only grew when they returned to Storybrooke and defeated Cora together. He expected his infatuation with Emma to grow the more time he spent with her, but what he was not expecting, was you to catch his eye instead.
The son of Prince Charming and Snow White, brought to a world without magic together with Emma as babies, put into a foster home. Despite all your bad luck as children, your inability in finding a place to call home, at least you managed to stay together. And as Henry brought her back to Storybrooke to break the curse, you followed with. You weren’t a Saviour like her, not by a long shot. But you did have your own skills and abilities, something that came with being a devilishly cunning detective. However much she hated to admit it, Emma would oftentimes turn to you for help in hunting down a bounty. A difficult bounty for her meant an afternoon of idle searching for you.
You never turned down an opportunity to tease her about it and she never hesitated to roll her eyes at you. Nonetheless, you felt incredible protective of her. You may just have been a few minutes older than her, but that didn’t stop you from putting on the big brother act—something she didn’t always appreciate.
Which is why, when you saw a certain pirate unashamedly flirting with her, those brotherly instincts kicked in immediately. You knew Hook was helping your family in getting Henry back from Neverland, providing passage on his ship, the Jolly Roger, and offering his being a guide on the island. But those facts did not give him the right to flirt with your sister.
You had already been at odds with the man when, at your arrival to the island, the ship was attacked by  a school of mermaids. Hook had stumbled in your direction and taken hold of the most stable thing closest to him—which happened to be you. His hand had gripped your waist, his hook coming to your chest as he fell against you. The closeness of his breath stirred something within you, something not entirely uncomfortable. Of course, it was not his fault that the ship veered to the side and that you had been closest to him when he stumbled, but that didn’t stop you from pushing him away from you the moment the ship steadied.
“My apologies,” he said, quite out of breath. His blue eyes were remarkably clear in the moonlight. “I usually offer a drink before getting so close to someone.”
Your glare was your only answer.
“I don’t believe we have been properly introduced.” He extended his hand for you to shake. You looked at it uncertainly.
“I’m Emma’s brother,” you said simply.
His eyebrow raised. “So you must be the infamous town sheriff y/n Swan. I s’pose good looks do run in the family.”
You began to scoff, but then your brain was able to fully comprehend his words. “I never told you my name.”
Hook glanced away, his confident smirk faltering. He cleared his throat. “I may have, er, asked someone for it.”
You shifted your head to meet his eye. “Someone?”
He let out a sigh. “I wanted to know who the handsome man that was traveling with us is, so yeah, I asked around. Really, you should be flattered.”
You scoffed at the grin that flashed across his face and turned on your heel. Like you’d said—shameless flirt.
Later, while searching Neal’s hideout, you watched him flash that same grin when talking to Emma. He stepped much closer, leaning towards her. You couldn’t stomach watching it. And you told yourself it was because she deserved better than a good-for-nothing scoundrel like him. No other reason.
So you watched from afar, leaned against the cave walls, as Hook winked at your sister. Emma glared at him, unimpressed. At least you wouldn’t have to worry about her falling for his charms. She was much too clever for that. You saw her walk away from him, away from the hand that he had reached forward to her and you smiled with grim satisfaction. But before you could step forwards, out of the shadows, David had approached Hook.
“Let me give you a bit of advice, Hook,” he said. “She’s never gonna like you.”
Hooks eyebrows shot into the air. “Is that so?”
“How could she?” David’s voice was laced with venom. “You’re nothing but a pirate.”
He seemed to want to reply, but nothing came out, and David walked away. Hook’s gaze followed him, his hand running down his face.
“He’s right, y’know,” you said, stepping forward.
A low growl slipped from his throat, Hook turning to face you. He looked almost crestfallen. “Can I not get enough of your bloody family?”
It was your turn to raise an eyebrow. “And here I was thinking you’d be glad to see me.”
Hook let out a dry chuckle. “Oh, I am very glad, love.”
“There’s that charm of yours,” you remarked humourlessly.
He smiled cheekily. “Doesn’t seem to be working on your sister, though.”
“Yeah,” you hummed. Step after step brought you closer to the pirate. You watched him closely, noting the way his eyes jumped over your figure. “Speaking of, we need to have a chat.”
He nodded absentmindedly, raising his finger to rub against his lips. The movement drew your eye to them. You knew he had noticed your gaze before you managed to tear it away when his lips curled into a smirk. You rolled your eyes. Goddamned pirate.
“If you’re going to stare at me like that, I’m going to get some mixed signals, love.” His voice was as smug and sweet as honey, only managing in irritating you more.
You were not known to be calm and level-headed. Anyone who was close to you knew to keep away when your anger threatened to burst, like an erupting volcano. Emma had once stolen one of your favourite pencils as a child and you had gotten back at her by spilling ink all over her favourite stuffed animal. But Hook did not know you well enough. He smiled sweetly.
Two steps forward and you were stood right in front of him, pressing against his chest. Rum and leather and sea salt filled your nose. The smell of him was overpowering and intoxicating all at once. You pressed one arm against his throat, pushing him back against the cave wall, the other bracing yourself against it. He grunted at the impact, groaning in displeasure, before meeting your gaze steadily.
“And to what do I owe this pleasure?”
The words growled out of your throat, through your gritted teeth. “Stay away from Emma, got it?”
“You may have gotten the good looks of your family. Not the manners, though,” he said lazily.
You cocked your head. “No, that is more my parents’ style.”
“You do have more of a bite than them,” he said. Then he tilted his head, as if in thought. “Huh, well, aren’t you a dark Swan, love? Or do you prefer Black Swan?”
Your brows knit together but you chose to ignore his words. Instead, you said, “I do agree with David that Emma will never fall for you, so you might as well give up now.”
Hook’s eyebrow raised. “If you’re so sure she won’t fall for me, why even bother threatening me? Surely, my flirting must be harmless.”
Your brows knitted together in suspicion. His eyes were annoyingly blue, piercing straight into yours. “Just leave her alone, Hook.”
“Does it bother you?”
“Does what bother me?” you asked, rolling your eyes.
“My flirting with her.” He leant forward a bit, throat straining against your arm. “Swan, are you jealous?”
You opened your mouth to protest. You? Jealous? Ridiculous. Then you noticed that his lips had curled into a cheeky smirk. “No,” you bit out.
Hook blinked, raising an eyebrow. “You sure?”
“Yes.”
“Heard you were quite the detective out in the Land of No Magic.”
Your head cocked to the side. “Yeah, so?”
He simply hummed, head falling back against the stone walls. His eyes traveled across your figure before jumping up to meet your gaze through his lidded eyes, something unintelligible in those swirls of blue. You ignored the warmth that pooled in your stomach at the sight of him like that.
“I will leave her alone,” he said calmly. “You have my word.”
You tried to detect the mischievous thoughts that were surely lying behind his eyes, but came up empty. You had no idea if he was telling the truth or not, but you let him go and stepped back in one swift moment. He cleared his throat, rubbing one hand across his collarbone.
“Fine,” you said, glancing away from his steely gaze. You weren’t sure what to do with yourself then, and you cleared your throat uncomfortably.
“Shall we?” Hook asked, gesturing to where the others had gone.
“Yeah,” you said simply, walking past him briskly.
You didn’t know what had suddenly overcome you or why you were now so uncomfortable in Hook’s presence. For the rest of that day, every time you glanced in his direction to make sure he was heeding your words of staying away from Emma—to which he did—you felt as if your nerves were standing on end. And on occasion, when he happened to be glancing your way as well and your eyes met, you felt shivers travel down your body, forcing you to break his eye contact. You thought you could see a smirk playing across his lips in those moments, but you chose to ignore him.
That same evening, you had found out David and Hook been ambushed by the Lost Boys. Apparently, Captain Hook had risked his life saving David from a poisonous arrow with Nightshade on it. You almost wanted to laugh at the idea of Hook doing something so heroic, but at the sight of David’s serious face you merely took a swig of the offered flask, like the others. You caught his eye right before he turned and stepped away from the others. You followed him behind a tree.
“I heard what you did for David,” you said. He stopped and turned to face you. “Thank you, Killian.”
His smile didn’t seem to reach his eyes. “I wouldn’t leave your father to perish on this island.”
You nodded, glancing away for a moment before meeting his eye. “I must ask, did you do it to get in my sister’s good graces?”
“I thought you weren’t jealous.” His eyebrow raised.
“Answer the question,” you bit out.
His smile dropped as he met your gaze. “No, I didn’t do it for her. I did it for you. And because it was the right thing to do.”
You couldn’t help the scoff that escaped you. “So now you’re all righteous, huh?”
Hook cocked his head. “I’ve always been chivalrous,” he said. “And, well, it doesn’t take a genius to know that getting your father killed would not help my courting you.”
You chose to ignore those last few words, your smile holding no warmth. “You’re right. You are no genius,” you said.
 “This doesn’t sound like a thank you,” Hook remarked, raising his eyebrows.
You let out a sigh, looking down at the ground beneath your feet. “I’m sorry.”
He scratched the nape of his neck. “Perhaps you could show me some gratitude to make it up to me.”
His gaze was dark underneath his eyelashes, his lips curling into a smirk. You thought you knew what he was implying. You wouldn’t let him get off that easily, though.
“Uh, yeah,” you said, the corners of your mouth lifting. “That was what the ’thank you’ was for.”
“Mmm,” Hook hummed. He took a step closer, so close now you could count his eyelashes. “Is that all your father’s life is worth to you?”
You rolled your eyes. “Please, you couldn’t handle it.”
“Perhaps,” he whispered, face leaning much closer to you. You could feel his breath against your skin. “It’s you who couldn’t handle it.”
Your eyes jumped between his, then to his lips. Those damned lips, curled into that damned smile. Oh Gods, why did you have to be attractive to a pirate. Without leaving any time for you to think your actions through, you took ahold of his jacket and pulled his face towards yours.
Hook let out a surprised gasp, which you swallowed into the kiss. He dragged himself closer, hand clinging to your waist. You felt his chest press hard against you as his lips moved against yours. It was harsh, quick, and angry—just like your feelings for him.
The warmth in your stomach deepened as you pressed yourself impossibly closer to him. One hand made its way into his dark hair, pulling lightly against it. He let out a deep moan at the movement, his eyes shooting open and lips pulling away for a moment.
You smiled at the sight of him, red-lipped, cheeks flushed and eyes full of desire. “Too harsh for you, captain?”
He groaned at your words, capturing your lips once more. His hook was pressing your waist against his as his hand grabbed your neck, bringing you into him. He was truly and well intoxicating.
Hook pulled away again, breath coming out in short bursts. “So I’m not good enough for your sister, but I’m good enough for you.”
You cocked your head and shrugged. “I’m not as good as she is.”
He smiled into the kiss when you pulled him closer again. His teeth captured your bottom lip lightly, but the feeling made a smile of your own erupt across your face.
“I don’t know,” Hook said. “I think you’re pretty good.”
“Killian.”
“My name has never sounded sweeter.”
“Shut up.” You rolled your eyes, smile still playing across your lips.
“With pleasure,” he murmured while pulling you close again.
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Tag list: @a-gay-dumbass @eunxhan @loverclear @shobolanya @edit-me-prettyplease @bookholichany @scriblezz
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w1w2 ¡ 1 day ago
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The Art of Confessing
Karina x Fem!Reader
Word Count: ca. 7k
Synopsis: Y/N finds herself inspired by her friend Karina. As their bond deepens, Y/N faces the ultimate decision to reveal her heart through her work.
Notes: Here's a little something I promised to celebrate 100 followers! Thank you so, so much for all the support babes! Also, I might have a thing for rooftops and balconies since I'm using these places quite often. Oops.
English isn’t my first language so I apologize in advance for any mistakes.
♡ Enjoy! ♡
The soft hum of a vinyl record filled the air, its crackling warmth wrapping the room like a comforting blanket. Y/N sat cross legged on the floor of her cozy apartment, a cup of chamomile tea steaming beside her. Around her, the space was a kaleidoscope of creativity, canvases leaned against the walls, some finished, others abandoned midway, each capturing fleeting glimpses of her innermost thoughts. Sketchbooks lay stacked haphazardly on the low wooden table, their pages bursting with pencil strokes, splashes of paint, and smudges that told the story of countless late-night bursts of inspiration.
Few knew about this side of her. As an idol, Y/N’s life was on constant display, each moment scrutinized by adoring fans and media alike. Yet this, the smell of paint, the quiet shuffle of brushes, was hers alone. It was her escape, her sanctuary.
That evening, the world outside her window shimmered with a thousand city lights, each one a tiny story flickering in the dark. Y/N traced her finger along the rim of her mug, her thoughts trailing back to the night before.
“Y/N, look at that!” Karina’s voice had been filled with awe as she pointed toward the horizon. They had sneaked away to a rooftop in the heart of the city, a rare pocket of freedom in their otherwise hectic schedules. The air had been crisp, carrying with it the faint scent of blooming jasmine from a garden below.
Y/N turned her gaze to Karina, the lights casting a soft glow over her features. She looked breathtaking, like a dream painted in strokes of moonlight and stardust. Karina’s long, dark hair cascaded over her shoulders, her profile serene yet commanding as she gazed at the cityscape.
“You’re staring,” Karina had teased, her lips curling into that faint, knowing smile that never failed to make Y/N’s heart skip a beat.
“I was just… appreciating the view,” Y/N replied, her voice faltering slightly.
Karina chuckled, nudging her playfully. “You’re impossible.”
Yet in that moment, Y/N couldn’t help but think how lucky she was to have Karina in her life. Karina, with her grounded warmth and quiet strength, was a constant source of inspiration. She had an aura that drew people in, and yet, it was the quiet moments, like the one on the rooftop, that Y/N cherished most.
Now, back in her apartment, Y/N’s fingers hovered over her sketchbook, hesitant. The image of Karina bathed in city lights lingered vividly in her mind, and for the first time in a long while, she felt the urge to create something deeply personal.
She picked up a pencil and began to draw, her hand moving almost instinctively. The curve of Karina’s jaw, the gentle slope of her shoulders, the way her eyes seemed to hold a thousand unspoken words, it all flowed onto the page. But as the sketch took form, Y/N’s heart raced with uncertainty.
Would Karina ever see this? Should she?
The doorbell rang, jolting Y/N from her thoughts. Her heart skipped as she glanced at the sketch in front of her, a delicate, unfinished portrait of Karina. Hastily, she grabbed a loose sheet of paper and slid it over the drawing, her cheeks flushing at the thought of someone, especially Karina, seeing it before she was ready.
Taking a calming breath, she headed to the door and swung it open. “Jimin!” she exclaimed, her voice a mix of surprise and delight.
Karina stood there, casually radiant in an oversized hoodie and faded jeans. Her hair was tied into a loose ponytail, a few strands framing her face. The understated look only made her more striking, as if she didn’t need to try to shine. In one hand, she held a bag of takeout, and in the other, two bottles of sparkling water.
“Thought you might need a break,” Karina said, flashing a grin that sent a familiar flutter through Y/N’s chest. Without waiting for an invitation, Karina stepped inside, her presence immediately lighting up the room.
“You’re the best,” Y/N said, closing the door behind her.
Karina placed the bag on the coffee table and glanced around, her sharp eyes taking in the colorful clutter of Y/N’s apartment. Canvases leaned against walls, brushes sat soaking in jars, and scattered pencils seemed to tell the story of an artist’s whirlwind evening.
“You’ve been busy,” Karina remarked, gesturing toward the organized chaos with a tilt of her chin.
“Oh, that?” Y/N waved a hand, trying to sound nonchalant. “Just… messing around.” She prayed her nervousness wasn’t obvious.
Karina arched a brow, her expression both amused and curious. “Messing around, huh? You’ve got a whole gallery in here. You’re so talented, you know.” Her tone was sincere, her gaze lingering on Y/N as if trying to decipher a hidden secret. “I wish you’d share your work more often.”
Y/N felt her cheeks warm at the compliment, a soft smile tugging at her lips. “Maybe someday,” she murmured, her voice quiet.
They settled on the couch, the soft glow of the overhead light casting a warm ambiance over the room. As Karina unpacked the takeout, steaming boxes of stir-fry and dumplings, she filled the air with easy conversation. She talked about practice, the antics of her fellow members, and a particularly chaotic video shoot that had them all laughing until their stomachs hurt.
Y/N listened intently, her laughter joining Karina’s at the funny parts, her heart swelling at the sound of Karina’s melodic voice. Despite the chaos of their lives as idols, Karina always managed to bring a sense of calm and grounding, as if she were an anchor in the storm.
At one point, Karina reached for a napkin and accidentally knocked over a small box of charcoal pencils on the coffee table. They spilled onto the floor with a clatter.
“Oops!” Karina laughed, bending down to gather them.
“No, no, it’s fine!” Y/N said quickly, diving forward and snatching up the sheet of paper that concealed her sketch before Karina could notice.
Karina’s gaze flickered to the movement, her brows furrowing slightly. “What’s that?”
“Nothing!” Y/N blurted, clutching the paper against her chest. Realizing how suspicious she looked, she forced a chuckle. “Just some random doodles. You know, practice stuff.”
Karina studied her for a moment, her lips curving into a teasing smile. “You’re acting weird, Y/N.”
“I’m not weird,” Y/N countered, her voice slightly higher than usual.
“Sure you’re not,” Karina said, her tone light but her eyes narrowing playfully. She reached out and lightly poked Y/N’s cheek. “Relax. I’m just messing with you.”
The exchange left Y/N flustered but relieved. Karina didn’t press further, though her curiosity lingered in the air like an unspoken question.
The evening continued, filled with shared laughter and moments of comfortable silence as they enjoyed their meal. Y/N found herself stealing glances at Karina, her mind racing with thoughts of the sketch hidden beneath her stack of papers.
When the clock struck eleven, Karina stretched and reached for her jacket. “I should head back. Don’t stay up too late, okay?”
“I won’t,” Y/N lied, already knowing she’d be awake for hours.
Karina smiled and leaned down, her face just inches from Y/N’s as she tied her sneakers. “You better not overwork yourself, miss artist,” she said, her voice soft but teasing.
Y/N’s breath caught, and she could only nod, her throat too tight to respond.
When the door clicked shut behind Karina, the apartment felt strangely empty, the warmth of her presence lingering in the air.
Y/N walked back to her desk and uncovered the sketch, her heart pounding as she studied the lines she’d drawn. This time, she didn’t hold back.
With each stroke of her pencil, she poured her admiration and feelings into the image, the way Karina’s eyes crinkled when she laughed, the softness in her expression when she was deep in thought, the strength she exuded even in her most relaxed moments. It all came alive on the page, vibrant and real.
As the first rays of dawn seeped through the curtains, Y/N set down her pencil, her fingers smudged with charcoal. She stared at the finished sketch, her heart swelling with a mix of pride and vulnerability.
It wasn’t just a drawing. It was a love letter, a silent confession written in graphite and paper.
Karina was her muse.
The days following that late-night sketch session felt like a whirlwind for Y/N. Her schedule was packed with rehearsals, performances, and photoshoots, leaving little time for anything else. Yet, despite the chaos, her mind kept drifting back to her secret project.
Every spare moment was stolen to work on it. Between practice breaks and after long days of filming, Y/N found herself sketching Karina again and again, her laughter, her focused expressions during dance practice, the softness in her eyes when she let her guard down.
But translating her emotions into her art proved to be more difficult than she’d imagined. Y/N wanted the portrait to capture more than just Karina’s beauty. She wanted it to hold the warmth of Karina’s laugh, the steadiness of her presence, and the way she made Y/N feel. Safe, inspired, and completely seen.
One evening, while sitting in the corner of her bedroom, Y/N stared at the half finished painting on the easel in front of her. The initial sketch had evolved into a vivid portrait, the details slowly coming to life under layers of paint. But something was missing.
She sighed, setting her brush down. “Why is this so hard?” she whispered to herself.
Her phone buzzed on the table beside her, pulling her attention away. It was Jimin. "Don’t forget, we’re rehearsing the collab choreography tomorrow morning.”
Y/N smiled, her frustration melting slightly. She typed back a quick confirmation before leaning back against the wall, her thoughts drifting.
The next day, the two groups gathered in a spacious practice studio, the mirrored walls reflecting their every movement. As the choreographer explained the sequence, Y/N found her attention slipping. Her gaze kept flickering toward Karina, who was listening intently, her brow furrowed in concentration.
When they began dancing, Karina moved like water, smooth and effortless. There was a quiet intensity in her every step, a confidence that made her impossible to look away from.
“Y/N, are you spacing out?” Ryujin’s voice cut through her thoughts, accompanied by a playful nudge.
Y/N blinked, realizing she had completely missed her cue. “Ah, sorry! Let’s go again.”
As they reset, Y/N noticed Karina watching her from the corner of her eye. Karina’s lips curved into a small, amused smile before she turned back to her position.
Y/N’s heart stuttered, and she quickly looked away, her cheeks burning.
Throughout the rest of the rehearsal, Y/N tried to focus, but Karina’s presence was like a gravitational pull. Every time they danced side by side or shared a fleeting glance, Y/N’s thoughts grew more tangled. By the time practice ended, she was thoroughly exhausted, not from the choreography, but from the effort of keeping her feelings in check.
Late that night, Y/N sat at her desk, sketching furiously. Karina’s focused expression from their joint practice earlier filled her mind. She could still see the determination in Karina’s eyes, the effortless grace in her movements. Y/N tried to capture that feeling on paper, but her hand faltered.
Letting out a groan, Y/N leaned back in her chair. “Why is this so hard?” she muttered, her voice cutting through the quiet room.
Her phone buzzed on the desk, and she glanced at the screen.
“Still awake?” Karina’s message read.
Y/N smiled, her frustration easing slightly. She typed back quickly, “Yeah, just working on some stuff. What about you?”
A few moments later, her phone buzzed again. “Couldn’t sleep. Thought I’d check in.”
She laughed softly to herself, imagining Karina typing the message with her usual casual ease. Y/N replied, “You should rest. We’ve got another long rehearsal tomorrow.”
“Only if you rest too,” Karina shot back.
Y/N placed her phone face down on the table, the ghost of a smile still playing on her lips. Even through a screen, Karina had a way of making her feel warm and cared for.
The next day, the two groups gathered in the studio, the polished floors gleaming under the bright overhead lights. The sound of sneakers squeaking against the floor and the rhythmic beat of the backing track filled the air. The collaboration stage was shaping up to be something spectacular, but the pressure to make it flawless was mounting with each practice session.
Y/N stood in formation, her body moving instinctively to the choreography she had drilled into muscle memory. Yet her mind wandered, drawn to the figure a few feet away.
Karina’s intensity was captivating. Y/N found herself watching the way the light caught Karina’s profile, accentuating the curve of her jaw and the focused set of her lips. Her heart skipped as Karina tucked a stray strand of hair behind her ear and reset her position, her gaze sharp and unwavering.
“Y/N, focus!” Ryujin’s voice snapped her back to reality.
Startled, Y/N realized she had completely missed her cue. Heat rushed to her cheeks as she mumbled, “Sorry!” She quickly stepped back into position, her face burning with embarrassment.
The choreographer paused the track, clapping his hands together. “Reset from the top! Let’s clean up that transition.”
As everyone moved to their starting positions, Y/N felt a pair of eyes on her. She glanced up, and there was Karina, her lips curled into a faint smile. It wasn’t teasing or judgmental, just soft, almost amused, as if Karina could read the flustered jumble of thoughts in Y/N’s mind.
Y/N’s heart stuttered, and she quickly averted her gaze, willing herself to concentrate. She couldn’t afford to mess up again, especially not with Karina watching.
The music started again, and Y/N threw herself into the choreography with renewed determination. Yet, in the back of her mind, she couldn’t shake the image of Karina’s knowing smile, a lingering echo that stayed with her long after practice ended.
That evening, back in her apartment, Y/N stood in front of her half-finished painting. The day’s events replayed in her mind, the way Karina moved, the way she smiled, the way her presence seemed to fill every corner of the rehearsal studio.
The painting stared back at her, the lines bold yet incomplete, as if waiting for her to find the missing piece. The form was taking shape, the details slowly emerging under her brushstrokes, but it still felt unfinished. Y/N didn’t just want to capture Karina’s beauty, she wanted to capture everything that made Karina who she was. Her strength. Her warmth. Her quiet, vulnerable moments.
She picked up her brush, dipping it into a soft shade of brown, and began adding more detail to Karina’s eyes. But the more she painted, the more her thoughts spiraled. Was she even capable of doing this? Could she truly convey everything she felt without ruining it?
Doubt crept in, tightening her chest. Y/N sighed, setting the brush down for a moment. Her phone buzzed on the table, the sound breaking through the quiet hum of her apartment.
She picked it up and smiled at the message on the screen.
“Did you eat yet?”
Y/N laughed softly to herself, imagining Karina sitting in her dorm, texting her between her own bouts of exhaustion. She quickly typed back, “Not yet. Thinking of ordering something soon. You?”
The reply came almost instantly. “Same. Want to order together?”
Her fingers hovered over the keyboard, her heart racing slightly. This was her chance to see Karina again outside of practice, to share a moment that was just theirs.
“Sure. Come over?” she finally wrote, her pulse quickening as she hit send.
Moments later, her phone lit up with Karina’s response. “On my way.”
Y/N exhaled, her heart still pounding. She looked around her apartment, suddenly self-conscious about the mess of paint brushes and canvases scattered everywhere. She quickly tidied up, covering the easel with a cloth and stacking her sketchbooks into a neat pile on her desk.
By the time the doorbell rang, she was ready, though her nerves still buzzed under the surface.
When Karina arrived, she was dressed casually in a hoodie and sweatpants, her face free of makeup but still radiant. She carried a bag of takeout in one hand and a playful grin on her face.
“Thought I’d save you the trouble of deciding,” Karina said, stepping inside.
“You’re a lifesaver,” Y/N replied, her nervousness masked by a wide smile.
They settled on the couch, the warm scent of food filling the apartment as they dug in. Conversation flowed easily, as it always did between them.
Karina glanced around the room between bites. Her eyes landed on the corner where Y/N’s easel stood, partially covered by a cloth. “You’ve been busy,” she remarked, gesturing toward the scattered art supplies.
“Just… experimenting,” Y/N said quickly, hoping her voice sounded casual.
Karina raised an eyebrow. “You’re so secretive about it. Can I see?”
“Nope!” Y/N blurted, perhaps too forcefully. “It’s not ready yet.”
Karina tilted her head, her teasing smile making a return. “You’re terrible at hiding things, you know.”
Y/N felt her cheeks burn. “You’ll see it eventually. Just… not yet.”
Karina didn’t push further, though the curiosity lingered in her expression. “Fine. But now I’m intrigued.”
Later that night, after Karina left, Y/N stood in front of the painting. The interaction had left her more determined than ever to finish it. Every brushstroke felt like a piece of her heart being poured onto the canvas.
But as the painting neared completion, so did Y/N’s anxiety. What if Karina didn’t understand? What if this changed everything?
Desperate for advice, she called Ryujin, one of the few people she trusted with the truth.
“I’m painting Karina,” Y/N admitted, her voice trembling.
Ryujin’s reaction was immediate. “Oh my god, like painting painting? The romantic kind?”
“Yes,” Y/N whispered.
“Y/N, that’s huge.”
“I don’t know if I can tell her,” Y/N said. “What if she doesn’t feel the same? What if it ruins everything?”
As Y/N stared at the nearly finished piece later that night, her heart swelled with a mix of hope and fear. The time to reveal it was drawing near.
The days after Y/N’s confession to Ryujin felt heavier. Each time she looked at the painting, a wave of doubt rolled through her. The details were all there, the delicate curve of Karina’s smile, the warmth in her eyes, the quiet strength she carried in every movement. It was a masterpiece in Y/N’s eyes, but also a fragile piece of her heart.
Would Karina see it for what it was? Or would she feel uncomfortable, pressured by the unspoken feelings woven into every stroke?
Y/N shook her head, trying to brush the thoughts away as she flipped open her sketchbook. She wanted to clear her mind by sketching something simple, but her hand moved instinctively, and once again, she began to draw Karina.
The lines flowed easily, forming the familiar tilt of Karina’s head, the soft curve of her lips when she smiled. She was so lost in her work that she didn’t hear the door open.
“Y/N?”
Karina’s voice startled her, and she fumbled with the sketchbook, nearly dropping it.
“Oh, hey!” Y/N said, her voice a little too bright.
Karina raised an eyebrow as she walked further into the room, her expression curious. “What are you working on?”
“Nothing important,” Y/N replied quickly, snapping the sketchbook shut.
Karina wasn’t so easily deterred. With a playful grin, she reached out and gently tugged the book from Y/N’s hands. “Come on. You’ve never let me see anything.”
“Jimin, wait!” Y/N’s protests fell on deaf ears as Karina flipped to the page she’d been working on.
For a moment, Karina didn’t say anything, her eyes scanning the unfinished sketch. Y/N’s heart pounded in her chest, her palms clammy as she waited for Karina’s reaction.
“This is…” Karina started, her voice soft. She glanced up at Y/N, her expression unreadable. “Is this me?”
Y/N swallowed hard, her mind scrambling for an explanation. “It’s just a practice piece,” she said, her voice strained. “I was messing around.”
Karina’s lips curved into a teasing smile. “You’re really good at this, you know. I didn’t realize you were so obsessed with my face.”
“I’m not!” Y/N’s cheeks burned as she snatched the sketchbook back.
Karina laughed, a sound that was warm and light, filling the room. “Relax, Y/N. It’s flattering, really. You’ve got talent.”
Y/N forced a shaky laugh, her stomach twisting in knots. “Thanks,” she murmured, clutching the sketchbook to her chest.
As Karina turned to grab her water bottle, Y/N exhaled a breath she didn’t realize she’d been holding. That was too close.
Later that night, Y/N sat on her bed, staring at the closed sketchbook in her lap. The encounter replayed over and over in her mind, each moment gnawing at her resolve.
What if the painting was too much? The sketch had been casual, yet even that felt vulnerable. How could she show Karina the painting when it held everything she couldn’t say out loud?
Her phone buzzed, and she saw a message from Minjeong.
“Hey, what’s up?”
Without thinking too much about it, Y/N replied, “Can we talk?”
An hour later, Y/N found herself sitting in a café with Minjeong and Ryujin. The small booth felt cozy, and the low murmur of other patrons provided a comforting backdrop. Still, Y/N couldn’t shake her nerves.
“So,” Ryujin said, leaning forward with a mischievous grin. “You called us here to spill some tea?”
Minjeong sipped her iced coffee, her eyes sharp with curiosity. “What’s going on?”
Y/N hesitated, her fingers fidgeting with the edge of her sleeve. Finally, she sighed. “I’ve been working on something… for Karina.”
Ryujin raised an eyebrow. “You mean the painting? You didn’t chicken out on finishing it, did you?”
“No, it’s done,” Y/N admitted. “Mostly, anyway.”
“Then what’s the problem?” Minjeong asked.
Y/N hesitated, her voice dropping. “She almost saw it. I mean, she saw a sketch of her, and even that felt so… exposed. I don’t know if I can show her the real thing. What if it’s too much? What if she doesn’t feel the same way?”
Ryujin exchanged a glance with Minjeong before leaning back in her seat. “Okay, first of all, you’re overthinking this. It’s a painting, not a marriage proposal.”
Minjeong gave Ryujin a pointed look before turning to Y/N. “What she means is, you’re letting fear stop you from sharing something beautiful. Karina’s not the type to make you feel bad about your feelings. She’ll see the effort you put into it and appreciate it.”
Y/N sighed, still unconvinced. “But what if it changes things between us? What if it makes things… awkward?”
Ryujin leaned forward again, her tone gentler this time. “Listen, Y/N. You’ve already poured your heart into that painting. Keeping it hidden isn’t going to make those feelings go away. Karina deserves to see it. And you deserve to let her know how you feel, even if it’s scary.”
Minjeong nodded in agreement. “Think of it this way. The worst that can happen is a little awkwardness. But the best that can happen? That’s worth the risk.”
Y/N looked between her two friends, their words sinking in. Deep down, she knew they were right.
“Okay,” she said softly. “I’ll do it. I’ll show her.”
Ryujin grinned, raising her cup of coffee in a mock toast. “That’s the spirit.”
As Y/N walked home, the city lights twinkled like scattered diamonds against the velvety darkness. The crisp evening air carried a faint chill, brushing against her cheeks and filling her lungs with a sharp clarity that mirrored the resolve forming in her chest. Each step felt lighter, as if the weight of her fear was slowly being replaced by a flicker of courage. It wasn’t overwhelming or all-consuming, but it was there, a small, steady flame burning quietly within her. She wasn’t entirely ready, but she was getting there.
Her thoughts swirled as she reached her apartment building and climbed the familiar stairs. Every moment with Karina flashed vividly in her mind, the way her laughter lit up a room, the quiet strength in her gaze, the unguarded moments when she let her softer side show. Y/N’s lips curved into a small, wistful smile as she unlocked her door and stepped inside.
The apartment greeted her with its usual stillness, the faint scent of paint lingering in the air. She set her bag down and crossed the room to where the painting rested on its easel, waiting like a secret she wasn’t sure she could keep much longer.
Standing before it, Y/N reached out and let her fingers trace the edges of the canvas. The surface was smooth under her touch, but the emotions it held felt raw and vulnerable. The colors were vibrant yet soft, carefully chosen to bring life to Karina’s essence. Her gaze lingered on the delicate details, the gentle curve of Karina’s lips, the light in her eyes, the quiet strength radiating from her expression.
It was more than a painting. It was a confession, a love letter written in brushstrokes and hues. Every inch of it held a piece of Y/N’s heart, a reflection of feelings she had carried silently for so long.
Her breath hitched as a wave of emotion washed over her, an ache of longing, a surge of fear, and a spark of hope all tangled together. Could she really do this? Could she lay her heart bare and trust that Karina would understand?
She took a step back, her arms wrapping around herself as she stared at the painting. The vulnerability was terrifying, but the thought of keeping it hidden felt even worse. This was her truth, and no matter how afraid she was, she knew it deserved to be seen.
Y/N took a deep breath, letting it fill her chest and steady her trembling hands.
The days that followed were a blur of anticipation and nerves. Every glance at the painting made Y/N’s heart race, her emotions swinging between fear and hope. She spent hours in her studio, touching up the smallest details, ensuring every stroke was perfect.
When she finally set her brush down, she knew it was time.
Y/N paced her apartment that evening, her mind racing as she rehearsed the words she wanted to say. None of them seemed quite right. What could she say to explain the depth of her feelings? How could she capture in words what she had spent weeks pouring into the painting?
Her phone buzzed on the table, pulling Y/N out of her thoughts. She reached for it with slightly trembling hands, her breath catching when she saw the name on the screen. Jimin.
“Hey, are you free tonight?”
The message was simple, casual, but it sent Y/N’s heart racing. She stared at the screen for a long moment, her thoughts spinning. This was it. The moment she’d been building toward.
Y/N’s fingers hovered over the keyboard before she typed back, “Yeah. Want to come over?”
The reply came almost instantly.
“Sure. Be there in an hour.”
Y/N stared at the screen, her pulse quickening. Her mind buzzed with a mix of excitement and nerves. She stood up, the chair scraping softly against the floor, and looked around the room.
The painting stood on its easel in the corner, draped in a soft white cloth like a secret waiting to be uncovered. Y/N adjusted the drape, making sure it covered the painting completely, then stepped back to take in the room.
The lighting was warm and dim, the soft glow of the overhead light complemented by a small lamp near her desk. Shadows danced faintly on the walls, giving the space an intimate, cozy feel. It was exactly what she wanted for this moment, a place where she could share something deeply personal, without the chaos of the outside world intruding.
But as the minutes ticked by, Y/N felt her nerves growing. What if this didn’t go as she hoped? What if Karina didn’t understand what the painting meant? She shook her head, trying to push the doubts away.
By the time the doorbell rang, her heart was pounding so hard she could feel it in her ears.
Y/N took a deep breath, smoothing her hands over her sweater before crossing the room. She paused for a moment in front of the door, steadying herself, then opened it.
Karina stood there, her usual casual elegance effortlessly on display. She wore a simple black sweater and jeans, the fabric hugging her frame in a way that was both understated and stunning. Her hair cascaded over her shoulders in soft waves, catching the light from the hallway.
“Hey,” Karina said, her smile as radiant as ever. “You okay? You look a little…” She tilted her head, studying Y/N’s face. “Nervous.”
“I’m fine,” Y/N said quickly, stepping aside to let her in. “Just… been working on something.”
Karina raised an eyebrow, her curiosity piqued. “Oh? Another secret project?”
Y/N led her to the studio, her heart pounding as she gestured toward the covered easel. “It’s finished now. And I… I want you to see it.”
Karina’s eyes softened, her smile turning gentle. “You’ve been so mysterious about this. I’ve been dying to know what you’ve been working on.”
Y/N hesitated, her hands trembling as she reached for the edge of the cloth. She paused, glancing at Karina. “Before I show you… just know that this is really personal. It’s not just a painting. It’s…” She trailed off, unable to find the right words.
Karina stepped closer, her expression reassuring. “Hey. It’s okay. Show me.”
Taking a deep breath, Y/N reached for the cloth, her fingers trembling slightly as they brushed against the soft fabric. She hesitated for a moment, her eyes flickering to Karina. The warmth in Karina’s gaze was reassuring, steady, and it gave Y/N the courage she needed.
With a single, fluid motion, Y/N pulled the cloth away, revealing the painting.
The room fell silent.
Karina’s breath caught audibly as her eyes locked on the canvas. Her lips parted slightly, her expression a mixture of awe and disbelief. She took a small step closer, her gaze moving slowly over the intricate details of the piece.
The painting was a masterpiece, a vivid and breathtaking portrayal of Karina that went beyond simple likeness. It captured not just her beauty but the very essence of who she was. Her eyes sparkled with a soft light that seemed alive, brimming with both strength and vulnerability. Her posture exuded quiet confidence, a testament to her resilience, while the warmth radiating from her expression seemed to fill the room itself.
“Y/N…” Karina’s voice was barely a whisper, the sound delicate and almost fragile. She stepped closer, her hand lifting instinctively. Her fingers hovered near the canvas, trembling slightly, as if she were afraid touching it might break the spell it had cast. “This is… me?”
Y/N swallowed hard, her throat tight as she nodded. “It’s you.”
Karina’s gaze remained on the painting, her eyes tracing every detail, every brushstroke. Her expression was unreadable, a mix of wonder and something deeper, something Y/N couldn’t quite name. Slowly, Karina turned her head to meet Y/N’s eyes.
“Why?” she asked softly, her voice filled with genuine curiosity and an undercurrent of something heavier.
The question hung in the air, heavy with meaning.
Y/N’s heart raced, her hands clasped tightly in front of her as she struggled to find the right words. Her voice trembled when she finally spoke. “Because… you inspire me,” she began, her gaze dropping for a moment before lifting again to meet Karina’s. “Every time I see you, every time we talk, I feel… something I can’t put into words. So I put it here.”
She gestured toward the painting, her hands shaking slightly. “You’ve become my muse, Jimin. Not just for my art, but… for everything.”
Karina’s breath hitched, the sound almost imperceptible in the quiet room. She turned fully toward Y/N, her eyes glistening under the soft studio lights. “You feel that way about me?”
Y/N nodded, her chest tightening as she fought to keep her emotions in check. “I do,” she said, her voice barely above a whisper. “And I know this might change things, but… I couldn’t keep it to myself anymore. You mean so much to me, and I needed you to know.”
The silence that followed felt endless. Every second stretched into an eternity, each beat of Y/N’s heart pounding in her ears. Doubt began to creep in, clawing at her as she stood frozen, her vulnerability laid bare.
Then Karina smiled.
It was small at first, a soft curve of her lips that grew into something tender and luminous. It was the kind of smile that melted every ounce of Y/N’s doubt, that quieted the storm of fear in her chest.
“Y/N,” Karina said gently, her voice steady despite the emotion thickening it. “This is… the most beautiful thing anyone’s ever done for me.”
Y/N felt tears prick at her eyes, her breath catching as she searched Karina’s expression for reassurance.
“You mean so much to me too,” Karina continued, her smile deepening. She stepped closer, closing the space between them. “More than I think I’ve ever been able to say. And now, looking at this… it’s like you’ve said everything I’ve ever felt but didn’t know how to put into words.”
Y/N’s lips parted, but no sound came out. The weight of Karina’s words, the depth of her gaze, left her speechless.
Karina’s hand reached out, hesitant at first, before gently brushing against Y/N’s. “You didn’t just paint me. You saw me.” Her voice was soft, her tone reverent. “And no one’s ever done that before.”
Y/N’s heart swelled, a warmth spreading through her that made her feel as if she might float. “I couldn’t help it,” she said, her voice trembling with emotion. “You’ve always been so much more than what people see. I just… I wanted to show you what I see.”
Karina’s smile turned wistful as she stepped even closer, their hands brushing again, this time lingering. “You’ve always seen me, Y/N,” she murmured. “I just didn’t realize how much it meant until now.”
In one fluid motion, Karina lifted her hand to Y/N’s cheek, her touch featherlight. Her gaze dropped to Y/N’s lips for a fleeting moment before meeting her eyes again, and in that shared look, the world seemed to fall away.
“Can I?” Karina whispered, her voice barely audible.
Y/N’s nod was almost imperceptible, but it was all Karina needed.
When their lips met, it was tentative at first, a gentle brush that held the weight of every unspoken word, every lingering glance, and every stolen moment they had shared. The softness of the kiss was electric, sending a shiver through Y/N that started at her lips and spread outward, warming every part of her.
For a fleeting second, the world seemed to hold its breath. Time slowed, the only sound in the room, the faint hum of the overhead lights and the quiet rush of Y/N’s heartbeat in her ears. Her hands hovered uncertainly by her sides before she found the courage to let them rest lightly on Karina’s waist, her touch tentative but steadying.
Karina responded with equal care, tilting her head slightly to deepen the kiss. Her fingers, which had been resting delicately on Y/N’s cheek, slipped into her hair, threading gently through the strands as if anchoring herself in the moment. There was a deliberateness in her movements, as though she wanted to savor every second, every sensation.
The kiss deepened, slow and deliberate, a dance of emotion that spoke louder than any words ever could. It wasn’t rushed or fleeting, it was grounding, a moment where they both poured out everything they had held back for so long. Y/N’s mind swirled, her senses overwhelmed by the softness of Karina’s lips, the faint scent of her perfume, the warmth radiating from her touch.
Y/N could feel Karina’s breath hitch slightly, a soft, almost inaudible sound that sent a jolt of vulnerability and affection straight to her chest. She tightened her grip just a fraction, her fingers curling slightly into the fabric of Karina’s sweater. It was as if she needed something tangible to hold onto, to remind herself that this wasn’t a dream.
Karina shifted closer, their bodies brushing in a way that felt both grounding and electrifying. The space between them disappeared entirely, leaving nothing but the shared warmth of their connection. Y/N could feel the faint, rapid rhythm of Karina’s heartbeat against her own, a quiet reminder that they were both equally affected by this moment.
When they pulled apart, Karina rested her forehead against Y/N’s, her smile soft and full of quiet joy. “I guess I really am your muse now,” she said, her voice laced with a playful warmth.
“You always have been,” Y/N replied, her own smile mirroring Karina’s.
They stayed like that for a moment, the glow of the studio lights wrapping them in a cocoon of warmth and intimacy. The painting stood behind them, a testament to everything they had finally found the courage to share.
The days that followed felt like stepping into a dream, one that was warm, steady, and more real than anything Y/N could have imagined. After the quiet confessions and the kiss that left their hearts irrevocably intertwined, Y/N and Karina slipped into a rhythm that felt natural, as though they had always been meant to find this harmony.
They were cautious at first, navigating the unspoken boundaries of their new relationship with soft touches and knowing smiles. Y/N found herself drawn to Karina in ways she hadn’t allowed herself before, letting her fingers linger when they brushed against Karina’s, leaning into her when they sat together, and allowing her gaze to linger openly now, no longer afraid of being caught.
Karina, for her part, seemed equally at ease. She’d taken to slipping into Y/N’s studio whenever she had free time, lounging on the couch as Y/N worked. She would sometimes glance at the painting on the wall, the one that started it all, with an expression that was a mix of pride and tenderness.
“It still feels surreal, you know,” Karina said one evening, her voice soft as she leaned her head back against the couch.
Y/N glanced up from her sketchbook, a teasing smile playing on her lips. “What does?”
“That someone could see me the way you do,” Karina replied, her eyes drifting to the painting again.
Y/N set her sketchbook down, crossing the room to sit beside her. “You make it easy,” she murmured, her fingers brushing lightly against Karina’s. “You’re everything I’ve ever wanted to capture. And now…” She hesitated, her cheeks warming slightly. “Now you’re mine to keep.”
Karina smiled, lacing her fingers with Y/N’s. “And you’re mine.”
The painting remained in its place on the studio wall, a symbol of their love and the moment their hearts had become one. It wasn’t just art anymore, it was a shared memory, a piece of their story. Y/N often caught Karina looking at it, her expression soft with nostalgia, as though reliving the moment she first saw it.
Months later, Y/N stood in her studio, a fresh canvas stretched across her easel. The room was bathed in the golden light of late afternoon, the warmth spilling through the windows and casting soft shadows on the walls.
She stared at the blank canvas, her fingers lightly gripping a brush as she mulled over her next creation. Beside her, Karina was perched on a stool, flipping through one of Y/N’s sketchbooks.
“Starting something new?” Karina asked, her tone curious.
“Yeah,” Y/N said, glancing at her with a playful smile. “And guess what? You’re still the muse.”
Karina laughed, setting the sketchbook down. “I feel like I’ve been promoted. What’s this one about?”
Y/N hesitated, a smile tugging at her lips. “Us,” she said simply.
Karina tilted her head, her eyes sparkling with curiosity. “Us?”
Y/N nodded, dipping her brush into a soft, rosy hue and making the first, tentative strokes on the canvas. “I want to paint us together,” she said, her voice soft. “Not just me looking at you, or you being the focus, but us, together, as equals. As…” She paused, glancing at Karina. “As lovers.”
Karina’s cheeks flushed slightly, but her smile was radiant. “That sounds perfect,” she murmured, leaning over to press a soft kiss to Y/N’s temple.
The studio was quiet except for the gentle rustle of brushes and the faint hum of the city outside. Y/N worked steadily, the strokes of her brush deliberate and filled with love. Beside her, Karina stayed close, occasionally reaching out to steady the easel or tease Y/N with playful comments about her artistic process.
As the first outlines of the painting took shape, Y/N felt a deep sense of peace settle over her. The canvas would take time to complete, but that was okay. They had all the time in the world now, together.
The painting, when finished, would hang beside the first, a continuation of their story. Where the first painting was a confession, this one would be a celebration: two hearts, two souls, and a love that had grown stronger with each passing day.
For now, Y/N smiled as she worked, Karina’s laughter filling the space beside her.
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sukunatoes ¡ 3 days ago
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Cardio
Personal trainer!Sukuna x Fem Reader
WC: 1.9k
Content: MDNI. Smut. Vaginal Sex. Oral Sex (Fem Receiving). Fingering. Age Gap (Sukuna mid 40s, reader mid 20s). All Porn, No Plot. Modern AU.
A/N: Hi! I’m trying to get back into writing and attempting to learn to write in second person. This is my first time writing an x reader fic so i apologize for any errors. It’s a short one-shot that’s basically all smut and just me trying my hand at something new. I may write a follow up to this fic if anyone enjoys it but mainly wanted to put it out there is all :)
Sweat beads pool on your forehead, and your breath grows ragged as you raise yourself back up following your final set of squats. A pair of large hands reach over, grabbing the weights out of yours and lift them away with ease.
“Not bad for a rookie,” a deep voice rumbles just inches from your ear, sending a chill down your spine. “You’re getting better.”
Ryomen Sukuna. A local boxer who’s apparently famous in the underground scene. You had never seen him fight or even knew much about the sport for that matter, but from what you’ve heard, the man was an unstoppable force.
A couple of months prior, you had been complaining to your friend Megumi about wanting to find a personal trainer to help you ease back into fitness, but every option you explored was beyond what you could afford. His father had overheard the conversation and suggested one of his friends who did training on the side for some extra cash. Said he usually worked with up-and-coming fighters, so someone like you would be easy work for him.
Sure enough, whenever you had first texted Sukuna, he thought it was a joke. It’s not that he wouldn’t be able to train you, but he was confused why you’d even come to someone like him for help. He agreed and invited you over to his home gym, and ever since, you’ve met with him multiple times a week to train. It was an unusual situation for him, but you assumed he chalked it up to easy money.
“It’s because I have a good teacher,” you smile up at him.
He rolls his eyes before placing a hand on your lower back to scoot you out of his way, letting it linger for just a second too long. “Whatever, brat.”
Heat immediately pools in your lower abdomen, and your mouth grows dry. He always does this. Touches that last a little too long or drift a little too close to places his hands shouldn’t be. Occasionally throwing out questionable comments. It’s not that you didn’t want it; you wanted him so bad it made you ache. Watching the way he towered over you, his broad, tattooed shoulders glistening with sweat as he instructed your every move. You yearned for his touch so desperately. However, he never went beyond those little touches or quips, but God, you wish he finally would.
“However, your squats still aren’t deep enough,” Sukuna remarked as he turned back to face you. He leaned down just a bit, his signature smirk plastered across his face. “You need to spread your legs wider.”
His eyes carried a look in them, almost like he was daring you to be the one to blur the lines between what was appropriate or not. You had wanted to for a while now, but the bravery needed had not yet taken root.
“I’ll be sure to spread them wider for you next time.”
You instantly cringe at the words you let slip. Heat rises to your cheeks as you immediately divert your eyes to the floor.
“Oh?”
“I— I meant I’ll make sure my squats are deeper next time,” you stammer as you back up. You lean down, quickly snatching up your keys and water bottle from where they rested on the floor.
“Come on, don’t get all shy on me now.” He trails behind you, veering off towards the wall. His hand hovers over the panel to open the garage doors for you as his mouth starts twisting into a wide grin. “If you want something, all you have to do is ask.”
“I—“ The words you want to say die on your tongue before you can even utter them.
He stares expectantly in return, waiting for you to finish. Foot tapping against the ground for a moment before releasing an impatient sigh and brushing his fingers against the button that would allow your exit.
“Wait,” you step towards him and gently tug the wrist that hangs at his side. His eyebrow arches up. You definitely had his attention now. “Well— I was wondering if maybe you would want— ”
Without warning, his hands are on your waist and pulling you in. You collide with his chest, and before you can even think, his fingers are forcing your chin up. His lips slam into yours. There’s nothing gentle about the way he’s kissing you. It’s hungry and desperate. He wants you just as bad as you want him. His tongue eagerly slides into your mouth and massages against yours. You can feel yourself melting under his touch as you snake your arms around his neck. Sukuna grips underneath your ass and lifts you from the ground, your legs locking around him. The kiss never breaking as he carries you and sets you down on the ledge of a bench.
He pulls back, his lips slippery with your salvia, and sinks to his knees in front of you. His fingers greedily slip into the waistband of your shorts, sliding them down your legs in one smooth movement as he traces his tongue along his top lip. Tossing them somewhere behind him, he leans in and pulls your legs over his shoulders. A thumb presses against the damp patch on the cloth covering your cunt. The smallest whimper falls from your lips at the sudden pressure.
“Is this what you wanted?”
You can’t muster up much more than a weak nod as he begins to diligently stroke your clit through the cotton.
“Use your words, brat,” he commands, retracting his hand away from the wet mess between your legs.
You look down at him, bottom lip slightly protruding at the loss of contact. “Yes, Sukuna. Please.”
That was all he needed. He sinks his face between your thighs, tongue lapping at your clit through the thong. Sukuna deeply inhales as if he’s breathing you in, only to follow it with a guttural groan. A finger slips underneath the fabric and inside you. It curls, immediately finding that sweet spot, and rips a breathy moan from your throat. His lapping turns to sucking and the fabric quickly becomes soaked all the way through.
Your hands begin to explore his blush colored hair, intertwining with the strands. You gently tug on them before arching your back. Your hips buck in response to the stimulus, aching for him to give you more.
He grunts in response before briefly pulling back. Using his free hand, he yanks at your underwear in one strong motion causing them to rip. Before you can even protest, the remnants are hitting the floor and his tongue finds its way to your bare clit. A second finger joins the first inside of you, now picking up a faster pace.
“Oh my god,” your mumbles are incoherent as you yank on his hair harder.
He releases his tongue from your clit, fingers still going at a steady pace inside of you. “Ryomen is just fine. Sukuna if you don’t want to get too personal.”
You looked down at him to be met with that shit eating grin of his. A thick string of salvia trailing between his bottom lip and your clit.
Arrogant bastard.
You dig your heel into his back in response, evoking a soft chuckle from him before he rejoins his tongue to you.
Between his swollen lips sucking on you and his fingers still hitting that sweet spot, it wasn’t long until a heat starts coiling in your lower abdomen. Your heart begins to pick up and your moans grow louder as you approach your peak and in an instant, Sukuna is retracting his fingers and pulling away from you.
An incredulous look flashes across your face as you glance down. “Sukuna.”
“What?” he inquires, his voice carrying a mocking tone.
Was he really fucking teasing you?
Before you can even react, you’re being hoisted to your feet and spun around. Your eyes are met with a mirror that completely covers one of the walls in his gym.
Hands wrap around your waist and you’re being pulled into him as his hard length makes itself known against you. Fingers, still viscid from your juices, slide up to your lips and part them. He hums in amusement as he slips them into your mouth while his other hand grips your chin and forces you to look ahead to watch your own reflection as you begin to lap the slick from Sukuna’s fingers.
He pulls his fingers from your lips, and brings his mouth down to your ear, his breath hot as it ricochets off of you. “I want you to watch who’s making you feel this good.”
His sweatpants drop to the floor and his hard cock briefly rubs against your skin before his hand splays against your lower back, forcing you to bend over. He wastes no time lining his tip up with your entrance.
“You’re fucking soaked.” is the last thing you hear as he slides his length into you in a quick, fluid movement. He’s massive. You gasp at the sudden stretch of your walls trying to accommodate him before letting out a visceral moan. The pain quickly melting into pure ecstasy.
His strokes start slow and deliberate. He pulls himself out almost entirely before rutting back into you, wanting you to feel every single inch of him. Massive hands grip into your hips, holding your tender flesh so tight you’ll undoubtedly be bruised for weeks. A hand wreathes it’s way down to your swollen clit, rubbing circles around it as his pace begins to pick up. Your eyes instinctively close for a brief moment before a sharp burning sensation spreads across your scalp. His hand, now entangled in your hair, forcing your attention back to him.
Staring at your reflection, he smiles, flashing his unusually sharp canines. His smile isn’t smug or seductive. The look in his eyes is dark, he looks like he wants to devour you. “Watch.”
He drops his hand from your hair and places it back at your hip, while the other is still stroking your needy clit. His thrusts become faster, deeper, and desperate. Sweat drips down his contorted face as a mixture of grunts, moans, and curses slip from his lips. “You’re taking me so fucking good.”
Your legs start to tremble as that familiar pleasure starts coiling in your lower abdomen. You watch as Sukuna relentlessly buries himself into you and everything starts to slow down. A white light flashes across your vision and you cry out as he pushes you over the edge. Walls pulsating around him, you feel your inner thighs grow viscous.
“Fuck,” is all he offers as his breaths grows labored. He brings his other hand back to your side to steady you as he thrusts into your cunt a couple more times. Sukuna pulls himself out at the last second and paints your lower back with hot, white ribbons.
He steps back, reaching for one of his sweat towels folded over a nearby machine. The sudden loss of contact has you reaching out, searching for something to help steady your wobbly legs.
One arm snakes around your waist to offer you the stability you need, while the other carefully wipes away the cum decorating your skin. “I had thought of something else I wanted to have you do before your session ended, but I don’t think you’ll have enough stamina left.”
You turn to face that smug grin you’ve grown to like a little too much, and glance up into his crimson eyes. “Guess we’ll add it to next week’s session.”
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tokkette ¡ 1 day ago
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・❥・ ── 𝒥AKE 𝒟ASH
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pairing. idol ex-bf! Jake Sim x fem!reader synopsis. Jake messed up, and now he’s determined to win back your forgiveness even if it means becoming your personal Door Dash. genre. exes-to-lovers, fluff, humor, redemption arc wc. 2,347 notes. this is something I came up with at 4 am so idk
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jake sim was standing on your doorstep. again.
“you’re late,” you said, arms crossed as you leaned against the doorframe.
“by, like, two minutes,” he muttered, holding up the bag of takeout. “cut me some slack. traffic exists.”
“excuses,” you shot back, snatching the bag from his hand. “but since i’m feeling generous, i’ll let it slide. for now.”
jake rolled his eyes but didn’t argue. he never did these days.
this wasn’t some casual arrangement. no, jake was here because he had to be. he’d been showing up with your food almost daily for weeks now, and the only reason you tolerated it and him was because he was paying penance.
“why are you still doing this?” you asked, leaning against the doorframe as he lingered awkwardly on your porch.
“you know why,” he said, his voice soft.
and you did. jake felt bad. no, jake felt guilty. ever since your breakup, he’d been walking around like a kicked puppy, and it wasn’t even you who’d done the kicking. he was the one who screwed things up, the one who let you down. and for some reason, that guilt had manifested into this ridiculous arrangement.
it all started three weeks ago when he’d shown up unannounced with boba tea.
“what are you doing here?” you’d asked, glaring at him from the doorway.
“i…i just wanted to apologize,” he’d stammered, shifting on his feet. “for everything.”
“and you thought bubble tea would fix it?”
“no.” he’d sighed, running a hand through his hair. “i just… i don’t know how to make it up to you. but i’ll do anything. seriously, just name it.”
you didn’t know why the words left your mouth. maybe you were still angry. maybe you wanted to see how far he’d actually go. either way, you’d looked him dead in the eye and said:
“be my personal door dash.”
jake had blinked. “wait, what?”
“you heard me,” you’d said, crossing your arms. “you want me to forgive you? then prove it. deliver my food whenever i want, no complaints, no excuses. maybe then i’ll consider it.”
and to your absolute shock, he’d agreed.
now, here he was, standing on your porch for what felt like the millionth time, looking equal parts tired and determined.
“don’t you have better things to do?” you asked, taking a sip from your drink.
“probably,” he said, shoving his hands into his hoodie pocket. “but i don’t care. i messed up, and i’ll keep doing this as long as it takes for you to forgive me.”
you stared at him, the straw frozen halfway to your lips. he was serious. he’d always been serious about you, even when he’d screwed things up.
“jake,” you said quietly, “you don’t have to do this.”
“yes, i do,” he said firmly. “i hurt you. and if being your door dash is what it takes to make it right, then that’s what i’ll do.”
you hated how your heart clenched at his words, how that stupid sincerity in his voice made you want to believe him. but you weren’t ready to let him off the hook just yet.
“well,” you said, leaning back against the doorframe, “as long as you’re here, i could really go for some dumplings tomorrow.”
jake’s lips quirked into a small smile. “you got it.”
maybe one day you’d forgive him for real. maybe one day you’d stop making him run all over town to bring you food. but for now, you were content to let him work for it.
after all, the boy owed you more than just dumplings.
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Š tokkette
102 notes ¡ View notes
withahappyrefrain ¡ 3 hours ago
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First off, this was beautiful. The relationship between Bradley and Smart Aleck is so amazing but also so realistic. Like their conversations are similar to ones I've had with my own husband. The chemistry is off the charts and I simply cannot get enough of them.
Also them being domestic?!?! Getting ready for a vacation?!?! My heart my heart!!
And now for my ramblings below:
But honestly it's so realistic that he fell asleep I don't blame him
Home - where he could finally wake up next to you and have you be right here - not an ocean apart. Bradley already dreaded the next time he’d have to leave you. 
IM ALREADY CRYING 😭
But later? He’d slap your pussy so hard you’d be begging for his cock in no time - in fact, maybe he should time you? See how long it took you to break, to babble, to beg. 
SIRRRRRR THE SWITCH??? from needing to cuddle her to THIS? Deceased.
“But I woke up beside you, so I can’t be too angry.” You leaned in to kiss him. “It’d be impossible to be angry now, actually.” 
I love them so much they're too cute your honor 😭😭😭
That tattoo gets me Everytime my heart breaks every time
He groaned. Fuck. He couldn’t believe he had a girlfriend who said stuff like that. It was like something out of a wet dream. “You seriously only took your fingers the entire time I was gone?” You nodded. “Good girl.”
😵‍💫😵‍💫😵‍💫😵‍💫😵‍💫
Him making her an audiobook I'm dead. Not just because that's hot as hell, but also the fact he wants to do research into the dynamic and make it right/good for her????? Like???! Bradley Bradshaw, the man that you are!!!
God, he would love missionary for how close it lets him be. A romantic at heart! I love him. Also love how he's obsessed with her tits like yes girl, get it!
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This fic is making me feel much better about gaining some weight, thank you for your service
She's dimming the light?! Baby girl he loves you, he loves your body!!! 😭😭 I feel for her, I feel her so hard. Also I really love that you gave her a struggle that so many of us have gone through. Like your insecurities don't just magically vanish when you're in a loving relationship, it takes time and work and I know Smart Aleck will get there!
Stop shaking the thought away Bradley! God, he's so close, so freaking close to figuring it out!!! And in a way I like that it takes him time because that's realistic but I still want to shake them both
Her not knowing what to wear 😭😭 God this is hitting me so hard. And Bradley is just trying to be supportive!! Honestly surprised I haven't cried yet because I feel her so much
You've also convinced me that yes, Maverick is Bradley's dad. I love that smart Aleck has a relationship with him as well!
Bradley's right, if I met a 30 year old man who went by Teddy, it would be an immediate red flag. Also the way he's so protective of her and Amelia?! My heart can't take much more Jordan 😭😭
THE PHONE SEX?!?!?! JORDAN ELIZABETH (idk your middle name, I'm just inserting one bc holy shit that was hot and entirely too short God, do they need a third??? Asking for a friend).
“Yeah?” Granted, if you kept rutting against each other like this, he’d probably cum in his shorts - there really wasn’t a lot of substance to the running shorts he was wearing - but god. He needed to sink inside you. 
THE WAY HE IS SO DESPERATE AND NEEDY FOR HER JORDAN I AM FERAL. FERAL!
Good. Then he wasn’t going to apologize for what he was about to do. Because Bradley had to fuck you, he had to be inside you right now. Something about you and being off and those tights and that dress and his run and the subsequent endorphin rush. 
OH MY GOD ITS THIS SCENE THE ONE YOU TALKED ABOUT
Idly, he recalled the jibe he had ignored from Hangman the other day regarding his leave: not all of us have rich girlfriends to take us on two week vacations.
Jake, that sounds like a personal problem my dude.
Hi, can I personally slap her mom?? Smart Aleck, Bradley loves your curves!! 😭😭I need the next part, I need Bradley to remind her she is more than her body, that he loves her no matter what size she is!!
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rocketman: part iii - Some things Cosmic
Summary: finally back home, bradley can focus on all the things he's missed while he's been gone. there's someone there to properly welcome him home, frantic reunion sex, prepping for an amazing vacation, family dinners, and the casual intimacy he's come to love between the two of you. but there's still something up with you and he can't quite figure it out. it'll be fine, right? catch up with [part 1] and [part 2]
OR sex, s'mores, and secrets
Pairing: Rooster x Fem!Reader 18.5k
Warnings: 18+, explicit language, body insecurity, suggestive dialogue, suggestive content, and sexual content (oral (f + m receiving), vaginal fingering, p in v, dom/sub influence, and praise, rank, and degradation kink). also on ao3!
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i want to be naked, i don’t mean my body, i don’t need my body i’m floating away
Bradley startled awake sometime later. It happened sometimes. He had these dreams were it felt like he was falling. Out of his plane, out of the sky, out of your arms. Falling and falling - with no end in sight. 
That wasn’t to say that they were necessarily nightmares or anything. (Because the distinction between the two was glaringly obvious.) 
They just unnerved him a bit. Left him unsettled, untethered. 
He rolled over and stretched his arm out across the bed, until his fingers brushed against something silky. Something warm and silky. He turned his head to find you sprawled out next to him.
You had changed between now and when Bradley had last seen you - he glanced at the clock on his nightstand - seven hours ago. 
Fuck. 
He had fallen asleep before you had even gotten upstairs. 
Goddammit, he felt like an asshole. He rubbed his hands over his face, sighing. This was the last thing he had wanted to happen, especially after what you two talked about earlier that evening. 
You’d give us your wild? Of course. Of course, of course, of course he would. 
Like you knew he was thinking about you, you shifted your hips, inching closer towards him. Your body was only half under the thick duvet cover and top sheet, so even in the early morning light he could still see the navy nightie you were wearing. 
Bradley liked to think that you had stowed it away someplace and changed downstairs in order to surprise him in bed. Except now he’d never know because he had fallen asleep on you. God, he was the worst boyfriend. 
Tonight, the night three months in the making, he had missed cuddling and kissing and all the best parts of getting cozy in bed with you because he had fallen asleep before you had even gotten upstairs. And sure, he had gotten a taste of what was to come on the couch while you laid underneath him and drew imaginary shapes across his chest with your finger and he held you tight and counted your heartbeats. 
But this was supposed to have been a big deal. It was the first time you both went to bed in the same room without the fear that you’d be leaving in the morning or later in the week to go back to your highrise. You were both home. Really, truly home. 
Home - where he could finally wake up next to you and have you be right here - not an ocean apart. Bradley already dreaded the next time he’d have to leave you. 
There was a future with you. There was that little boy - or little girl - from your dream. The perfect mix of you and Bradley. 
(Don’t ever be a Rocket Man. I mean it. 
When you’re out there you want to be here, and when you’re here you want to be out there. 
Promise me you won’t be like me.)
Suddenly, there was this overwhelming urge inside him that if he didn’t touch you and have you in his arms, that he’d slip away, back to space. Untethered. 
You kept him on the ground. You kept him safe. 
Bradley scooted over towards your side of the bed and wrapped his arms around you, unable to bear another moment untethered. There, that was better. You were soft and warm and felt so precious in his arms. And with your nightie rucked up around your hips and one leg extended out and the other hiked up, your body was on full display. 
Easy access.
Your thighs were so fucking soft and curvy and he desperately wanted to slot himself right between them. Have them bracket his head, while his tongue lapped at your pretty pussy. 
Would he start there? Eat you out until you were begging for his cock? Have you grind on his lap…until you were begging for his cock? Or…just generally begging for his cock? 
They all seemed appealing, but admittedly kissing you until you were breathless and then rocking his body above yours until you were both tumbling over the edge had plenty of merit, too. Bradley wanted to treat you like you were precious first. 
But later? He’d slap your pussy so hard you’d be begging for his cock in no time - in fact, maybe he should time you? See how long it took you to break, to babble, to beg. 
But that brought him back to the present. Could he wake you up, now? Bradley knew you’d been stressed and busy ever since your mom had come to town and because of all you’d confessed earlier; so, would it be fair to wake you? You hadn’t woken him up, afterall.
After an indeterminate amount of time of just holding you and watching you breathe, you rolled your bare ass against Bradley’s crotch and let out a pleased hum. He gave your hip a squeeze and you burrowed even deeper in his arms. Your skin was softer than the silk nightie you were wearing and he could feel the heat pouring off your body.
He slipped his hand down to knead your ass and you sighed. “Hmm, da-dley? Bubba?”
“Hey, kid.” He kissed your neck. 
Once you were a little more lucid and opened your eyes, you pulled your nightie down to cover your ass, though that didn’t stop Bradley from playing with the lace hem. 
You rolled over so you were now face to face and wrapped your right leg around his left. 
“Why didn’t you wake me earlier?”
You cupped his cheek. “Wanted you to sleep, you looked so tired. Pretty too.” 
It was dark in the room at five thirty-eight, but not completely pitch black, so Bradley could still make out your soft features. You had somehow gotten even more beautiful in the three months he had been gone. It wasn’t obvious, not at first, and not to anyone who wasn’t really paying attention. 
But it was obvious to Bradley because Bradley always paid attention.
“Well,” he kissed your forehead then your nose, “I’m still sorry, especially after what we talked about earlier, should’ve stayed up for you.” 
“But I woke up beside you, so I can’t be too angry.” You leaned in to kiss him. “It’d be impossible to be angry now, actually.” 
He hitched your right leg higher over his hip and groaned when he could feel your core through his joggers. You squirmed against him, cheeky little thing. But with his joggers and t-shirt still on, Bradley was definitely overheated and the sweat was building at the back of his neck, to say nothing about the heat your body was giving off. 
As if reading his mind, you grabbed the hem of his t-shirt and slowly dragged your fingers up his stomach, stopping at both his happy trail and then the patch of hair in the middle of his chest, before taking the t-shirt off completely. A soft thud rang out when you’d thrown it across the room and it presumably landed on the floor. 
“You gonna take these off, too?” He slipped a finger under the waistband of his joggers. 
“Been dying to all night - hips up, Bradshaw.” 
Bradley arched his back and helped you slide his joggers down his legs, taking his boxer briefs with them. Your gaze lingered on his body for a long moment, but you just gave him a coy little smile. 
“Fuck,” he sighed in relief, “How’d you let me sleep in those?” 
“How’d you fall asleep on me?”
“You got me drunk!” 
“Not my fault you’re suddenly a lightweight - Bradley!” 
He pinched your side and you wiggled away from him with a shriek. “Uh uh, not so fast.” 
Bradley pulled you close again, desperate to be nearer to you. You tangled your legs together and pointed your torso towards his, but remained perched on your elbow, while he was laying down flat.  
Suddenly somber, your eyes were drawn back to his body and he just let you look - drink him in and see what you had missed over the last few months. Every new freckle, scar, bruise, age line. 
Bradley couldn’t wait to do the same. What had he missed? What was different?
He could feel your eyes lingering on his abs. Normally, you remarked on his thighs and shoulders, but tonight it seemed you had a different focus. You appeared hesitant, biting your lip, as you dragged your finger across his stomach. 
Did you like how he looked - how he had changed in your time apart?
“You’re so handsome,” you whispered, almost to yourself. 
Bradley kissed you and returned the compliment. “And you’ve gotten even more beautiful since I’ve been gone.” 
You appeared bashful at the comment, which just let Bradley know he’d have to give you more of them over the next few weeks. “Come ‘ere.” Without waiting for a response, Bradley started pressing kisses all over your face, your cheeks, your neck, your lips. If it was possible at this point, he drew your body even closer.
“Bra-adley! We have an entire bed here, you know?” You giggled when he rubbed his nose into your neck.
“Mmmm, but it’s nice and warm here.”
You scooched down on the bed on your stomach so you were looking up at him. With a smile, you began to press languid kisses across his chest, starting just above his belly-button and creeping up to his pecs, heart, and shoulders. You loved his shoulders, you always managed to notch your head there during sex and press little kisses to the scars dotting them and his neck. Bites, too - marks to prove he was yours.
But tonight, it seemed you had a different path in mind and, while you still nipped at his shoulder, you didn’t stop there and instead went straight to the small tattoo on his bicep. You traced your fingers across the roman numerals:
x x x i x
Thirty-nine. 
As in thirty-nine years old. An age neither of his parents ever got to see. 
Bradley had gotten the tattoo when he was in flight school and a bit of a shit with self destructive tendencies. People never really asked what it meant and he never really wanted to tell anyone. 
He’d told Ezra, right around the time when they first started talking about moving in together, before that spectacularly failed. He also told Nat. However, the latter was only because he was drunk and pissed and he had just made lieutenant, once again surpassing his father in something.
Maverick had seen it about a year ago. He had never asked Bradley what it meant and probably never wanted to have it confirmed what it meant. But to anyone who really knew Bradley, it was easy to put together.
Bradley had told you about it on your fourth date. 
It was the second time you’d slept together. Because while your first time had been frantic and had taken you both by surprise (you, in particular, were freaked out that you’d slept with someone on the first date without a condom), the second time was much slower - softer. 
You had planned the date this time. Bradley had picked you up at your apartment - he even had come upstairs to get you - with flowers - and the two of you had dinner at Callie, followed by a performance at the San Diego Symphony. It was actually thanks to one of Bradley’s fun facts about playing the piano that you had gotten the idea. 
Both of you had gotten dressed up (a big departure from your third date hike in Torrey Pines), the food and drinks had been plentiful and delicious, and listening to Ravel’s Piano Concerto in G Major and Rachmaninoff’s Piano Concerto No. 2 was made all the more romantic by the way Bradley held your hand for the entire first piece and had his hand on your thigh for the entire second.
So, after eating you out on your kitchen counter and going two rounds in bed, Bradley had told you what the tattoo meant and about his parents and Maverick and you had told him about your mom and your accident during your junior year of high school. 
And if you had asked Bradley, it was after that date that he knew he was going to fall in love with you. 
It hadn’t felt scary to tell you any of it. It felt right and natural. Like you wouldn’t judge him or get scared when things got hard. Like he wanted to protect you at all costs. 
And because he had told you what the tattoo meant, it made the moments since when you’d really focus and hone in on it all the more sweeter. During this last deployment, Bradley had often felt like the ink was burning into his skin under his flight-suit. It kept reminding him that he had once thought he had a timeline or a stopwatch on his bicep, slowly ticking down. But with you, it was something to strive towards, to reach beyond and be there for LIX, LXXXIX, and even XCIX. 
“What’s it like flying at night?” Your question snapped him out of his thoughts and you pressed another kiss to his tattoo to calm him. “I kept thinking about it on my flight to London. And how you must see this all the time, is it still a big deal? Can you even stop and think about it? Just endless night with thousands of stars to guide you? Being in the middle of the ocean, nothing around for hundreds of miles.”
(What’s it like, out in space?
It’s the best thing in a lifetime of best things - oh, it’s really nothing at all. 
But you always go back.)
“You’d never thought about it before?” his voice came out thick, hoarse. 
You shrugged a shoulder. “Not in that way, I guess? I couldn’t sleep on the way to London, so I pulled up the shade in the middle of the night. I’ve never really thought to do it before, don’t know why - but then I saw all those stars, endless stars, thousands of them. I’ve never seen anything like it.” Your finger stopped tracing patterns on his arm for a moment before it started again. “And I though to myself this is what Bradley sees. This is why he loves it and for that brief blip in time I got it. I understood. Makes me love you even more in some way.” 
Bradley felt like he was going to cry, the feeling swept over him so suddenly. “I uhh - fuck.” 
“You don’t have to say anything,” you sounded contrite, “I just wanted you to know.”
Could he tell you? Could he tell you that flying at night with all the stars in the sky simultaneously made him feel closer to and yet farther away from his parents? It was like they were right there, but also so far out of reach. But he didn’t say any of that. He couldn’t say any of that, not now. The words couldn’t come.
Instead, he pulled you closer, putting your face at level with his own. “I love you.”
You smiled and he could’ve sworn there were tears in your eyes, but it was hard to make out in the darkness. “I love you, too. Now please kiss me.”
Bradley let out a chuckle, but leaned in to kiss you without another word. The kiss was sweet, but still had an underlying desperation attached to it that came with being away for months. But unlike every other kiss you’d shared since Bradley had gotten home, there was no need to stop or to prevent it from going further. No, now you were his. He could have you however he wanted.
Not breaking the kiss, you shifted and bracketed your thighs on either side of his hips, allowing him to slide his hands up your body. He’d never get tired of thinking it, but god, you were so fucking soft. Your hips, your thighs, your breasts, your hands, your lips - actually…
His next words were grunted against your neck. “Your lips are really soft - softer than normal,” he finished when you went to interrupt him. 
“Must be my lip mask. I put it on after I saw that you fell asleep on me…”
“Hey, hey,” he tickled your sides and you collapsed on his chest amidst your giggles, “I said you should’ve woken me up!”
“Would you have woken me up?” You had him there. “See? This way I could stare at you uninterrupted and get all moony over you. Plus, now isn’t this better? No more sleepy bubs.”
No. He was definitely awake now. And from where your core was laid on his bare stomach, he could already feel how wet your were and couldn’t wait to slip inside you. 
“‘Could kiss you for hours,” you said against his lips. You kissed him - once, twice, ten times, smiling all the while. He never wanted you to stop. “Bradley,” you whined, “Need you inside me. Gotta get used to you again. ‘m so tight.” You nipped his earlobe. 
He groaned. Fuck. He couldn’t believe he had a girlfriend who said stuff like that. It was like something out of a wet dream. “You seriously only took your fingers the entire time I was gone?” You nodded. “Good girl.”
You preened under the praise. Because it surely had to have been a bit of a challenge. “Yours are so much bigger, though.” Bradley rolled his eyes at your cheeky tone. “What’re you gonna think up for me to do next time you’re gone? Like what you talked about earlier?” You didn’t linger too much on the next time part of your question, so he didn’t either.
“Hmmm. What about tasks?”
“Oh? Like what?”
“Well, I’d have to do more research, but like you have to wear xyz or send me a picture of you doing something? Whatever we want.”
You nuzzled his neck. “Mmmmm, I like that. Wish we could really talk when you’re gone, though. I’m not sure I could handle every comms officer hearing what I need from you again…”
An idea suddenly struck Bradley. It was amazing he hadn’t thought of it before. “Maybe I can make you an audiobook?”
Your jaw dropped and you contorted your body to look up at him. “You’d do that? Seriously?”
His cheeks colored. “I mean, not like an actual one, but like a voice memo or something?” The idea didn’t sound nearly as good out loud as it did in his head. “If you wanted…”
“Oh my god, yes! I very much do want.”
Without another word, Bradley rolled you both over so now he was on top, knees bracketing your hips so as to not put his full weight on you. Your nightie was still covering your stomach and breasts, but that didn’t stop him from snaking his hands underneath the navy silk to play with them. They felt fuller than normal - not that he was complaining, but he hadn’t noticed earlier and now -
His cock brushed against your stomach in a way that had you bucking up against him, so desperate, so keen, so fucking good. Good girl. Your lips were eager against his as you poured every thought, every email, every Facetime call into your kiss. 
God, it had been so long. Fooling around on the couch earlier in the evening paled in comparison to how plump your lips felt and how keenly your body reacted to his. Because you felt so good. Months, weeks, days had passed and Bradley had never felt anything as good as your body beneath his. 
You sighed and squirmed up the bed so your head was laid across the pillows, all the while Bradley made his way down the bed. 
“More, bubs, please.” 
How could he refuse, especially when you had asked so nicely? He bent forward to give you a sloppy kiss on the lips before working his way down your body, from your neck and collarbones, to your breasts through your nightie, and finally to right below your belly-button. From there, you readily allowed him to bend your knees so your feet were planted firmly on the bed and your core was completely exposed to him. 
Even in the early morning light it was exquisite. You had the prettiest pussy Bradley had ever seen - and it was his, all his.
“Fucking gorgeous.” 
You startled at the first touch of his lips on your thighs, but let out the prettiest little sigh when he sucked on the skin by your birthmark. There was another as he licked along one of your lightning lines. And another as he kissed the hood of your clit. 
God, you smelled so fucking good and were groomed just the way he liked it -  like the perfect, obedient, good girl that you were. And perfect, obedient, good girls got their pussy played with until they were babbling like dumb little sluts.
“- Would have thought this would be your first stop?”
Bradley chuckled, but didn’t stop dragging his fingers across your inner thighs and lower lips. “Yeah? What, d’you think I’d do? Just dive right in? Take you on the kitchen table?”
“I would’ve let you.”
Once the words had sunk in, he stopped teasing you. His elbows gave out beneath him and he groaned with his face pressed against the sheets. Fuck. That was a conversation for another time, but just the thought of you letting Bradley basically use you had him grinding his hips into the mattress.
You were so good. 
He popped his head back up and slapped you - lightly - across your pussy. “You keep saying shit like that and next time I just might.”
In response, you arched your back and tried to close your legs around his head, but Bradley just tutted and spread them further.
“Uh-uh, need to have a look at her, I've gone three months without her.” Your hips jumped off the mattress as his fingers started playing with you, tracing circles over and dipping in and out of your cunt. “‘pretty pussy. She took such good care of you while I was gone, didn’t she? Look at you dripping for me, huh?”
His fingers scissored inside of you, dragging against your walls, while his thumb needled your clit. Your wetness spread across his fingers and he, in turn, spread it across your folds and inner thighs. He liked when you were messy. He liked to feel you all over his face.
“Bradley,” you whined. “Stop teasing.”
Neither of you really wanted that, so it didn’t even merit a response from him. Instead, he kept sliding his fingers inside you in and out, in and out and crooked them ever so slightly before he added a third. Above him, you gasped and jolted. 
“‘Atta girl, arch your back, just like that.” You whimpered at his praise and kept rocking your hips in tandem with his fingers. Fucking glorious, such a good girl for da -
“- Bradley…” He peered up to see that you had one arm over your eyes, while the other was pawing at your breasts through your nightie.
“God, you’re sucking on my fingers so tight, I would believe you’ve taken anything up this pretty pussy in months.”
“‘Want your mouth, please, please…” 
“Where?” his voice was muffled. Bradley sucked his lips around your thigh, right by your labia, but refrained from kissing you were you wanted him most. He wanted to mark you up everywhere, have your thighs and breasts and neck covered in little bites and bruises. 
Mine. Mine. Mine. 
Good. Good. Good. 
You whined. It sounded pathetic and he had barely even started. “My pussy. Please, Bradley? Please?”
Who was he to deny you? Because, god, you tasted so fucking good. It was hard not to absolutely devour you, especially after going for so long without you. Bradley slid his hands down from your hips to grab your ass and rut your cunt deeper against his face. As a reward, he got a slew of pretty little whimpers out of you.
He continued at a steady pace, alternating between probing your clit and slipping his tongue inside you. Above him, you arched your back and he pressed a firm hand on your stomach to keep you down. 
“Bradley,” you cried as you rode his face. 
God, you sounded so pretty now, he couldn’t wait to get you on his cock later. 
Pretty girl. 
Smart girl. 
Good girl. 
His girl with a body like Aphrodite. 
“Ahhh - fuc - ahhh.” You made that sound and he knew, without even looking up, that your head was tipped back in pleasure and you were close. “Bubs,” your voice came out small, “want you - inside me, now.”
“Uh-uh.” Bradley pulled his head back, but continued fingering you. “You need to come first.” 
Come on his face. 
You shook your head frantically against the pillow. “No.” You gasped when he purposely plunged his fingers deeper. “‘wanna with you - ahh inside me.”
Somehow you grabbed the hand he had pressed on your stomach and you dragged it up your body. His knuckles brushed against the silk of your nightie until you eventually pressed sloppy, open mouthed kisses to your interlocked fingers. And all Bradley could do was say your name in censure, which ultimately came out heavy with need.
“Please? Want it to be together our first time back.” You whined pitifully. “Haven’t touched myself in days.”
All you had to do was pout and he was gone. 
“Fine,” he smacked your thigh, “but I’m gonna make you come again after I finish inside you.”
“Yes, yes, anything, Bradley.”
You would be spent and whiny by then, it wouldn’t be hard. 
After swirling his fingers once more around in your cum, Bradley held his fingers up to your mouth for you to clean them off. “That good?” You hummed around the digits before he retracted them and tapped your cheek twice. “Atta girl.”
Next, he shifted up on the bed so his knees were straddling your waist. He was achingly hard at this point and bit back a smile as you made grabby hands for his cock. It pulsed in your grasp and you swiped your thumb over the slit to rub his pre-cum over the head. Fuck, that felt divine. While you may have relished how much larger his fingers were than yours, Bradley loved how large his cock looked in your smaller hands. However, he’d already let your tender touches go on long enough - another minute and he’d come all over that silk nightie you hadn’t taken off yet.
“You gonna be a good girl for me?” Your eyes were wide and you nodded. 
Trusting, needy, desperate. Such a perfect girl for him. 
“Wanna be full.”
He brushed the head of his cock against your pussy lips, making sure it was nice and wet and, god, you were fucking soaked and practically sucked him in. You whimpered and muttered something indistinguishable, but wrapped your arms around his shoulders and canted your hips up for more. Then, once Bradley slipped just the tip of his cock inside you, you gasped, but brought him closer. Your nails dug into his shoulders, hopefully pressing little crescents into the skin. He pulled back and slid in again, inch by inch, earning a breathy gasp from you every time. 
Holyfuckingshit. You were so tight. So fucking tight, even after prepping you with his tongue and fingers. 
Yours are so much bigger, though your voice echoed through his head. 
You were so fucking soft and warm and wet and felt perfect around him. With each thrust he’d grunt out your name and you in turn would give a whiny Bradley and eventually wrapped your legs around his hips. And then you were also clenching down on him like you’d spent the entire three months doing kegel exercises. 
“Fuck, you made me so hard - thinking about how much of a good girl you were while I was away, keeping this nice and tight for me,” he barely got the words out. 
“‘do anything for - for you. ‘d let you do anything to - mmhmm - me,” you finished with a whimper. 
Fuck. Your unwavering trust in Bradley always took him aback. Because you meant it. You really would let him do anything to you. If you had the slightest inclination that it would please him, you would do it. He had never had someone who trusted him that much. And that wasn’t something he took lightly. 
With that thought in mind, he snapped his hips against yours in a particularly hard thrust that had you crying out. 
“Mmm harder.”
He bent down to suck on your neck. This - the closeness - was why he liked missionary so much. It was perfect for this exact moment. There was plenty of time to take you hard and fast later.
“Oh, god. Feel so full - Bradley, Bra - Bradley!” With every utterance of his name, he drove deeper inside you. Harder inside you. You’d ride him next time, he’d make sure of it. But for now, breathing each other’s air, gasping against each other’s mouth, and feeling the sweat on each other’s brow, being so impossibly close to each other, it was hard to say where Bradley’s soul ended and yours started. 
Yours and mine are the same. 
He groaned your name and you opened your eyes to gaze up at him with an almost dazed expression. Grabbing the back of your knee, Bradley went in at a different angle, trying to get deeper. “Feel how much your little hole’s dripping? Just needed me to stretch you out again.”
“Mmmmm yes, yes, da-dley - ahhhh,” you cried out, “can I come? Please, please?”
Oh, you were such a good girl for him. Asking so nicely, so prettily. So properly. Thank god he had prepped you, he wasn’t going to last much longer, himself. It was kind of pathetic. Both of you were, to be frank. Obviously, you more than him in this instance, but -
“‘Course. There you go, sweetheart, come on my cock like a good girl.”
When you finally came a few moments later, it was with a strangled cry of his name that Bradley swore was the most beautiful sound he’d heard in months. As the shudder of pleasure swept over you and you tightened your core around him, Bradley hastened to find his own release. The slew of cries and whimpers against his lips as you tried to settle down only spurred him on further. He drove into you again and again and again. 
He had to get there with you - had to. You clung to him and notched your head by his neck, only to graze your lips along the tender skin there and bite. 
“Fuck,” he grunted. “‘You ready for me to come inside you, sweetheart? Know how much you missed it.”
You nodded against his neck. “Yes,” you whispered, “Bradley, please…”
He groaned your name. It sounded so good like that, so perfect. He had to say it again and again and again. With each stroke, your overstimulated pussy fluttered around him, pulling him towards his own orgasm. His jaw clenched and his back muscles tightened and Bradley could barely support his own weight over you for another moment - 
“‘s good, bubs, feel so full.”
Oh fuck. Fuck, fuck, fuck. That was it. That did it. 
With a final moan of your name, Bradley came inside you, painting your pussy with his cum. His cocked twitched one final time as the last streams of cum filled you up. He notched his head against your shoulder and he breathed in your sweet scent. 
Goddamn. 
Once he settled down and caught his breath sometime later, he moved to pull out, knowing that when he did so, both your cum would drip down your thighs. Your gorgeous, thick thighs. He already needed to get lost in them again. And wasn’t that just the thing? Bradley was obsessed with you. He could never get enough of you.
“No, no, not yet,” you whimpered. 
He stopped and pulled you closer, but slightly changed your position. There was some perverse part of him that wanted to make a comment about keeping you on his cock for the rest of the morning so you could get used to him again, but he refrained after thinking about the tone of your voice. You sounded so fucking good and docile and submissive. Such a good girl. 
“Pretty sure you owe me another one…” You burrowed your head against his neck and moaned when he shifted. “How ‘bout I stay inside you? ‘That okay?” You nodded and your pussy tightened against him. “Good girl.”
Keeping you close, Bradley slid one hand in between your bodies to play with your throbbing clit. You arched your back up towards him, trying in vain to get closer, though that was nigh impossible - the two of you were already as close as two people could be. 
Yours and mine are the same.
He needled your clit between his thumb and forefinger, rolling it back and forth, trying to get some moans and whines out of you. God, your body felt unreal. Still so warm around him, still so wet for him. All for him. 
Mine, mine, mine. 
As your body shifted, your pebbled nipples brushed against his bare chest and Bradley was remiss for not playing more attention to them earlier. But that could’ve been because you were still wearing that goddamn nightie. You were flustered and warm and your skin was glistening with the slightest sheen of sweat. 
He bent his head down and mouthed at your breasts through the midnight blue silk. They were already hardened to peaks, desperate to be suckled on, especially after noting their new size. There would be time for that later, he had to remind himself. 
For now, he nipped at the top of your cleavage and kept playing with your clit. You were so oversensitive, you were practically shaking in his arms. And in response, you raked your hands through Bradley’s hair, pulling on the strands. Fuck him. That felt divine, especially as he felt you tighten around him. 
“Brad-ley,” you whimpered, “’s too much.”
“Shhh, easy, easy, there’s no rush.” He tipped your chin up. “You want me to stop?” You shook your head. “Take a deep breath. That's it. Good girl.”
Little whimpers kept escaping your mouth, but you burrowed your face against his neck and trusted him to take care of you. You nipped at the skin there and he hoped it would leave a mark; let everyone know that he was yours and only yours for the next few weeks. 
Mine, mine, mine.
“I’ve got to take care of you, you were such a good girl while I was gone. My best girl, huh?”
“Mmmm.”
“So beautiful, so smart. Took such good care of things for me, huh?” He could feel as well as hear your breath hitching, letting him know that you were close. “‘gorgeous girl, so proud of you, sweet g -”
And that did it. 
So proud of you.
You came with a cry and your walls fluttered around his cock once again. A sudden gush of wetness coated both yours and Bradley’s thighs. God, it was beautiful. You were beautiful. Your name kept running through his mind and Bradley realized he was actually muttering it against your lips through kisses. There were tears in your eyes and he thumbed them away before they could slide down your beautiful face.
“Hey, too much?” He kissed your cheeks, which unfortunately only made more tears spring from your eyes. “I didn’t hurt you, right?” 
“No, no,” you shook your head, “I just missed you so much, think I’m overwhelmed,” you finished sheepishly. 
The tension in Bradley’s shoulders eased and he smiled down at you. “Now you’re gonna make me cry, kid.”
“I love you.” The words came out quietly, but it was like they’d only just come out of your mouth before Bradley was saying them back. 
“Love you, too.” The smile he got out of you warmed his heart and he pecked your lips before tucking your head under his chin.
The two of you laid there for some time with Bradley still inside you. In fact, he was pretty certain you may have dozed off at one point, but he didn’t want you to be too uncomfortable when you woke up later. With that in mind, he slowly pulled out and settled you on the bed beside him. You fussed a little, but Bradley kissed your forehead, heading it off. 
He started with your name, “I’ll be right back, okay? Going to the bathroom.” You nodded at him, your eyes wide and trusting. 
It was chilly out of bed, away from you, and Bradley only paused for a brief moment to slip on a pair of his sleep shorts from the dresser, before heading off to the bathroom to get a damp towel for you. He hastened back to the bedroom, now almost fully lit in the early morning light. You made such a pretty picture all tucked under the thick, white duvet. 
“Bradley?” You stretched out underneath the covers and let out a little whimper. “‘m sore.”
“Shit, sorry,” he said with your special nickname tacked on the end. “Come ‘ere.” Despite his words, he came to you and dutifully cleaned you up with the warm cloth. 
“‘s not your fault,” you slurred, “need to get used to it again. Missed you.”
The cloth passed over your thighs once, twice, three times, before Bradley brushed it against your core once, twice, three times. You sighed and gave him a lazy smile, which he easily returned. 
He leaned down and pressed a kiss to the inside of your knee. “Be right back,” he whispered. 
You’d barely managed to get back under the covers by the time he came back from the bathroom. And then, with all the care and love you deserved at the moment, he bundled you up in his arms. You were so warm and smelled so pretty and your nightie felt so soft against his rough fingers. Everything about that moment was perfect. You were so precious. You pressed your cheek against his chest and he hoped you could tell how fast his heart was beating. 
“I missed being with you like this, missed holding you.”
You pressed lazy kisses to his chest for a moment before you eventually tipped your head up to meet his eyes. “Can we stay like this? Just for a while? Don’t wanna get up yet.”
“‘Course,” he pressed a kiss to your forehead, “go back to sleep, I’ll be here when you wake up.”
--------------
When Bradley woke hours later, he did so slowly. He was pleasantly warm, he was finally sleeping on a true mattress, and you were slotted between his legs sucking his cock. 
Surely, there were few better ways to wake up than to have your sweet lips wrapped around him. It wasn’t something you did often, at least in terms of waking Bradley up this way, but he loved whenever you took the initiative. It showed how eager you were - how desperate. Really, the only thing that could top it would be your pussy sunk deep on his cock as you rode him.
You had to have been at it for a while, for he was achingly hard by this point. His hips bucked up, thrusting his cock deeper into your mouth and you let out a surprised moan, no doubt having thought he was still sleeping, before taking him further. Your tight grip on his thighs left him relatively grounded, else he would have set off a round of those gagging noises from you that he liked so much. That wet mouth that he liked so much - fuck. 
Bradley groaned your name. You peered up at him with those wide, innocent eyes like you weren’t getting him off while he slept. Like your pussy wasn’t soaking. Like you hadn’t been grinding it against his bare thigh for the last however many minutes. 
And you kept at it with Bradley’s hand grabbing your hair and guiding you. You kept working him, forcing him deeper down your throat. He moaned and you responded back in kind. Such a good mouth, such a good girl, taking care of him like this. It took him a moment to realize he was doing it, but he was mumbling your name, almost nonsensically. 
But then he felt, rather than saw, you remove one of your hands from his thighs to presumably put it between your legs to play with your needy pussy. And that just wouldn’t do.
“Fuck. Get up here,” he said and then punctuated it with a growl of your name when you stayed down. The whimper you let out had him bucking his hips up off the mattress. “I’m serious.”
Almost begrudgingly, you eased him out of your mouth and the resulting, wet pop echoed throughout the bedroom. You looked far too pleased with yourself as you sucked on your finger - the one that had definitely been shoved up your pussy only moments ago - and hummed in response. 
“Get up here - now.”
You braced yourself on either side of Bradley’s hips and teasingly brushed your pussy against his aching cock a couple times, practically begging for him to sink inside you. It would be so easy for you to ride him right now, but that wasn’t what he wanted.
“Bossy, bossy,” you teased and crept up his body, pressing kisses to his happy trail and chest along the way. But just as you were about to kiss him on the lips, he stopped you.
“Uh uh.” He stuck his finger in the air and mimed a circle. “Turn around.” 
Your jaw dropped. “Are you…” Again, just Bradley twirled his finger around and smiled. “F-fine.” 
“But,” at this you relaxed your thighs to press more of your weight on his stomach, “you have to take this off,” he finished by thumbing the navy fabric of your nightie. 
It only took a moment for the smile to creep across your face, but you didn’t take your eyes off Bradley’s as you slid the dainty straps off your shoulders, one at a time. You didn’t take the nightie off, it still covered all of your stomach, but it let Bradley ogle your breasts unimpeded for a moment. 
“Will that be all, lieutenant commander?”
He just shook his head in disbelief. “Cheeky little slut.” 
And then you smiled, looking so proud of yourself for rattling him that he had no choice but to slap the top of your ass. Hard. You huffed.
“Now turn around.” 
You rolled your eyes, but managed to turn around with Bradley’s assistance. The brief awkwardness of limbs strewn about was easily forgotten as soon as you got into position and he was rewarded with the sight of your glistening pussy in front of his face.
Bradley didn’t bother holding back a moan and started kneading your ass and running his fingers along your lower spine. Meanwhile, you wiggled down his body, dragging your breasts against his bare skin for the first time all morning. They were so soft, but your nipples were pebbled as they brushed against his stomach. He hissed when you lingered there for a moment to tease him.
Not one to let you get the upper hand, Bradley grabbed your hips to draw you close to his face and inhaled your sweet scent. Fuck. You were so good. You let out a mewl and startled when he first made contact with his tongue and then attempted to nose at your clit. That always got you going. Same with his mustache against the tender skin at the apex of your thighs. Maybe he would abstain from shaving on vacation, if only you’d ask.
“Fucking gorgeous,” he groaned your name against your skin and then he feasted. 
Meanwhile, the way your hands were playing with his balls right now had him already teetering towards an orgasm. After only being able to fantasize about having your hands on him - your sweet, delicate hands on him - for the last three months, this felt divine. And then you put your mouth on him and he was well and truly done for.
“Fuck.” 
Neither of you lasted much longer after that.
--------------
After your depravity filled wake up call, the rest of the morning took on a decidedly more chaste tone. The room was filled with giggles and the sounds of kissing as Bradley told you some of the more entertaining stories from the carrier and Australia, while you revealed that you had watched his 60 Minutes segment at least nine times. When he asked you why you’d watched it nine times, you just ducked your head and bashfully said it was because you sounded really smart.
It was finally around noon when Bradley said you two needed a shower and to have breakfast before embarking on the rest of the day’s activities, which included a tour of the house, complete with all the little goodies you’d amassed for him over the last couple months that he had glossed over last night, and getting ready for drinks with Nat, Caroline, and Max at six-thirty. Granted, the latter was six hours away, but Bradley had a feeling you both would be pretty slow to the take that afternoon. Probably would get a little distracted, too.
“‘m gonna take a shower,” his lips brushed kisses up and down your arms and over your once again silk clad breasts and he was rewarded with giggles, “you wanna come with me?”
“Oh!? Uhh - yeah, we could take a shower.” You pecked him on the lips. “Can you warm it up first, please?”
The pout worked - it always did - but Bradley still groaned, totally hamming it up. “Mmmm, I suppose...”
With one final kiss, he dragged himself out of bed and made his way into the bathroom. He flicked the lights on with a snap, going for full brightness on the dimmer, and turned around to give you a cheeky wink, only to see you worrying your lip between your teeth and staring intently down at your clasped hands on top of the duvet. He called your name and your eyes snapped up to meet his gaze.
“You good?”
You nodded and put a smile on your face. “Yeah, be right in.”
Odd. But then again, Bradley could’ve been reading too much into it. He hadn’t seen you since before Christmas, afterall. You were probably just tired. Yesterday had been a long day. And he had run you pretty ragged this morning. 
The water had warmed up while he was going to the bathroom and was the perfect temperature by the time he finally got under the spray. Just as he was about to call out to you again, he heard you enter the bathroom - and promptly dim the lights. 
“Woah, woah - hey!”
“Sorry!” you called out from behind the shower curtain. “I uhh - I just have a headache, don’t want the lights too bright too early in the morning.”
It was twelve-fifteen. 
Bradley frowned and looked at your shadow moving on the other side of the curtain. You were standing up straight - he would almost call it stiff. It was an odd request, to say the least, but it wasn’t exactly pitch black in the bathroom now, just a little darker, especially from the waist down. 
“Okay, just be careful when you get in - here,” he pulled the curtain back and held his hand out for you to step over the lip of the tub. You startled, but nevertheless took his hand. “There you go.”
The two of you stood face to face for a moment, allowing you both to get your fill of the other. It was definitely darker in the shower now, but Bradley could still make out your ample curves. Streams of water dripped down your chest as you tipped your head under the faucet and it was impossible for him to not watch as the droplets cascaded over your breasts. 
They looked fucking glorious by the way - he was slightly put out that he hadn’t gotten a chance to really play with them in bed earlier - you had only given him a glimpse of them for a few moments - but there was always later. Or now? Now was also good.
“Did these get bigger?” The words were out before he could think twice and he cupped a breast in each hand. Your nipples pebbled as his thumbs passed over them, back and forth, back and forth.  
Your eyes flew up to his face before glancing right back down at your breasts. “What? No, I don’t think - no.”
Bradley leaned back to catch your eye. “Sorry, I didn’t mean it in a bad way. They look great, feel even better, they’re just…”
“Oh! I guess I hadn’t noticed.” You turned your back to him. “Here, do you want to do my hair? Or I can do yours? Why don’t I do yours?”
Before he could even process what was happening, you spun back around and grabbed the shampoo bottle from behind Bradley and squirted some Ouai into your hands. He leaned forward so you could lather his hair up with the suds and appreciated your care in keeping them out of his eyes. For someone normally so dominant and in control, Bradley really did love when you fussed over him. He knew it wasn’t something you were comfortable with in every aspect of your relationship - taking charge like that - but it was nice in settings like this. Once the shampoo had set, he crouched down for you to rinse and then repeat the process with the conditioner.  
“I think we need a bench in here.”
“Yeah?” 
You hummed. “Just a little bump out, enough for someone to sit. You’re getting older, I wouldn’t want you to fall or hurt yourself during any rigorous shower activity.”
“Rigorous shower activity?” Bradley chuckled and nudged you with his shoulder before wetting your hair under the faucet. “You know, if I took all my showers with you, I wouldn’t have to worry about that, kid. Here, turn around, ‘s your turn.”
Gently, Bradley lathered up your hair and made sure to massage your scalp the same way you had done for him. You let out a pleased hum and then he repeated the process with the conditioner, though he might’ve used a bit too much. 
Once you were both back under the spray, you rested your palms on his chest and peered up at him with wide eyes. You looked like you were about to cry and he pulled you closer in comfort.
“I haven’t stayed here at the house too much while you were gone, just a night or two - like that night…with the email,” you confessed, “it didn’t feel right. I kept thinking you’d come home any minute.” Bradley pressed a kiss to the side of your head. “But I’d drop stuff off slowly, a couple boxes a week and whatnot.”
You both stood in the silence of the falling water for a few moments before you spoke again. 
“It just doesn’t feel real - all of this. I keep worrying that you’re gonna disappear again tomorrow. Or that I’m going to wake up or something. I don’t know what I’d do without you.”
And that was just the thing: Bradley didn’t know what he’d do without you either. He had never felt this way before; that there was someone else tied to him, someone else living for him, while he in turn lived for them. 
“Hey,” he tipped your chin up, “you’re not the only one worried about that. But I have you with me now and I’m always gonna do my damndest to come home to you, alright, kid?”
“Alright.” You wrapped your arms around his waist, keeping him close, and pressed a kiss to his chest. “Love you, bubs.”
Bradley instantly tightened his arms around you. “Love you, too.” 
I’ve never loved anyone the way I love you.
Before long, your kiss on his chest turned into a kiss on the mouth and your hands roved over each other’s bodies as you shared the loofah and soap. “So broad, so strong,” you said in wonder as you roved your hands over his chest and thighs and chased away the bubbles. 
And then, after multiple passes over your breasts at Bradley’s hands - it was unfair how good your breasts looked all sudsed up - it was time for a final rinse. He hopped out of the shower first and had a towel waiting for you when you got out, before you ultimately changed into your fluffy white robe. 
The two of you completed your morning routines side by side in comfortable silence until Bradley went back to the bedroom to put on some running shorts and a t-shirt. 
“You want breakfast?” He snuck up behind you at the bathroom counter and kissed your cheek. 
You smiled at him in the mirror. “Yes, please.”
“Anything in particular.” He kissed you again. “Pancakes? French toast? Ooooo maybe hash browns and bacon, too? The works?”
You had been giggling while he had been kissing your neck, but you suddenly turned sober as he rattled off your options. “Oh, uhh - maybe some eggs?”
Bradley frowned. “Like scrambled?” 
“Or poached? I’ve been eating a lot of egg whites lately…” With the way you were bundled up in your robe and with your hair still wet from the shower, you looked small - young. Egg whites?
“Oh, uh, yeah. Sure, I can do some egg whites for you.” 
Egg whites? Since when did you like egg whites? You had always liked your eggs scrambled and a little runny - with ketchup. Idly, Bradley remembered Max eating egg whites and low carb toast for the entire month of May to get in shape for yacht week in Croatia. He shook the thought away.
“Anything you want, kid.”
“Thank you.” You gave him a soft smile and a kiss on the check. “I’ll be down in a bit, okay?”
And with that smile and a promise, Bradley headed off downstairs to make breakfast. 
Egg whites, really?
-----------
Bradley’s homecoming weekend extravaganza - your words - could only be considered truly complete with a family dinner at Maverick and Penny’s on Sunday evening. Penny wouldn’t hear of you two bringing anything to dinner, so all that was needed to do upon returning from a morning hike in Torrey Pines was shower and change. 
You didn’t have to be there until six thirty, but it was already five forty-five and at least a 20 minute drive, so you were both a little more hurried than you were after yesterday’s shower. In fact, when Bradley got out of the shower, he was surprised to see that you were still in your bathrobe and staring at your half of the closet like it contained all of life’s mysteries. Granted, your hair and makeup were done, but you just stood there with your arms crossed over your chest, absentmindedly biting your thumb nail. 
How long had you been standing there?
“If it makes it any easier,” you startled at Bradley’s voice, “I’m sure Mav will just be wearing a t-shirt and jeans.” Barely looking at the shirt he grabbed to go with his chino shorts, Bradley fell into your line of sight. “You good?”
You relaxed your shoulders. “Yeah, just…not sure what to wear.” 
The two of you stood side by side to take in the full array of clothes in the closet. While not all of your clothes - some bulkier items and more formal dresses were in the guest bedroom - there were still dozens of options in front of the two of you. You took a hesitant step forward and eventually took a pair of boyfriend jeans off a shelf and held them to your chest. Just as you were about to grab a boxy oxford, Bradley snatched up a brightly patterned, tiered, sleeveless dress that would hit at the middle of your thighs. The empty hanger rattled against the rod, but it stopped you in your tracks, the oxford momentarily forgotten. 
“This would look nice.” 
Even to Bradley’s own ears, his voice sounded lame, almost a little desperate. But there was something about you choosing an oxford to wear after staring at your closet for ten minutes that gave him pause. You had such pretty clothes, it would be a shame for you not to wear them. 
“It’s not too much?” Bradley shook his head and held the dress up to your body. “I bought it to bring on our trip, but now I’m not sure…”
“It’s perfect, trust me, you’ll look gorgeous. And you better pack it for Mexico, too, okay?”
“Okay.” You appeared a little flustered, but had lost the sad look in your eyes from moments ago, so Bradley considered it a win. 
With a kiss to the side of your head, he told you to finish getting ready and that he would be downstairs when you were done. 
After getting his wallet and car keys together, Bradley made his way to the mudroom to put on his new sneakers. Though you wouldn’t admit it, you had definitely ordered them for Bradley during one of your many Ted Lasso rewatches while he was away. He reminds me of you sometimes, you would demure when pressed. It was cute. 
With one foot propped up on the bench to tie his shoes, Bradley noticed the row of jackets in front of him. He called your name. “You want a jacket?”
“Yes, please,” your voice carried from upstairs.
So, he grabbed your jean jacket, figuring it would look good with your dress, and got himself his oversized grey Navy crewneck sweatshirt. Maverick and Penny always liked to have drinks and dessert out on the back patio, and though it had been a relatively warm day for March, Bradley knew the breeze off the ocean would make it chilly later. Maybe they’d light the firepit and have s’mores? You loved s’mores even more than Bradley did, if you could believe it. 
Just as he had gotten the jackets and threw his sweatshirt on, you appeared beside him. And just like Bradley had thought, the dress looked perfect on you.
“See? You look gorgeous.” You ducked your head and muttered thanks. “Here.” Bradley held your jean jacket open and helped you slip it on while you put on your sandals. And then you set off for Coronado in the Bronco. 
-----------
After a lovely dinner filled with much chatter and laughter, Amelia and Penny dragged you upstairs to show you her dress for the sophomore semi-formal next week. This left Bradley and Maverick to clean up the dinner plates and get things situated outside on the patio.
It was completely beyond Bradley’s comprehension how to get Penny’s fancy fire pit started, but Maverick had a flame roaring in no time. The two sat across from each other - Maverick on one of the cushioned, wicker swivel chairs with Bradley on the matching loveseat - and sipped their beers in comfortable silence for a few moments. The sun had set about fifteen minutes ago, but the sky was still a kaleidoscope of pinks, purples, and oranges. 
“So, how’re you really doing?” Though the question has been asked at dinner already, Bradley had just given a vague answer. But now that it was just him and Maverick, he felt he could be honest.
“Fine, I guess.” Bradley made a face. “‘s always weird doing some stuff again. We went to the store earlier; always takes me back that first time.”
“It’s the cereal. Too many choices.” 
“Yes, thank you!” Bradley exclaimed, glad he had someone who could relate. Every time he brought it up with Nat or the guys, they just looked at him like he had seven heads. They went from having few choices on the carrier, to endless when on land. “And the chips. Too many options and sizes.” Maverick chuckled. “We went on the way back from Torrey Pines to get more Diet Coke and I wandered off like three times just to stare at the oversized boxes of Lucky Charms.”
Maverick smiled wryly and took a sip of his beer. “You don’t look as tired as you did Friday afternoon, that’s for certain.” Though the way he’d said it had been completely innocent, Bradley still blushed.
“Yeah, it’s been amazing. You should’ve seen her Friday night, she was so excited to make dinner and the house just -” he broke off, “it felt nice coming home to someone like that, I guess.”
Nice? I guess? Bradley sounded like an idiot. It had felt more than nice coming home to you. Coming home this time made him never want to leave again. But the real test would come tomorrow when you went to work. And Bradley would be alone for the first time in three months. Alone in your big, quiet, house. It hadn’t been quiet in three months. There was always something else going on around him. But not tomorrow. Tomorrow, he could do things on his own time and make his own food and pick his own clothes. He could have choices. Luckily, Maverick didn’t seem to notice his sudden unease.
“That was all she talked about last week.” 
It took a concerted effort on Bradley’s part not to be jealous that you’d talked to Maverick so much last week when all Bradley had gotten were emails. Beautiful, heartfelt, smutty emails, but emails nonetheless. Before Friday, Bradley hadn’t heard your voice in weeks.
“She did a really good job. The cake was unreal, I had a piece for breakfast this morning.” That got a chuckle out of them both. “It’s nice to see her comfortable doing something outside of her wheelhouse. She kept sending me pictures from her lessons and even cooked for me on Facetime once.”
Just as Maverick appeared to be gearing up for a follow up, probably about how he’d gotten the leftovers from those cooking lessons, Bradley rushed out: “But we really talked Friday night - about a lot of things. It was good, though.”
“What about?” 
“Kids,” the word slipped out before Bradley could think better of it, “family, that kind of stuff.”
Maverick pondered this and took a sip of his beer. “And you didn’t mind talking about that right when you got back? Seems like a lot.”
“No, it was good.” Not looking at Maverick while he was talking made it easier for Bradley. That way he couldn’t see his pity. He shifted in his seat. “I’d rather we talk about it now anyway, that way it isn’t hanging over our heads on vacation and whatnot.” 
The fact that Bradley thought you were keeping something else from him didn’t need to be brought up yet. He wouldn’t even be able to put it into words, it was just a gut feeling at this point. You just seemed a little off. The egg whites, the boxy oxfords, the chocolate cake.
There was hesitancy in Mav’s voice when he spoke next. “So, you looking to get engaged soon? It’s been what? A year?”
“Almost, yeah. But uhh no, no.” The denial was firm in his voice. “Probably still a year off at least. It’s gonna happen - we both want it to - but there’s no need to rush it. I’m excited for it to be just the two of us for a little while, you know in the house and everything.”
“Good, good,” he sounded pleased, “you two have a good thing going, I wouldn’t want -”
“- We’re not going to have kids until I’m out of the Navy.” Bradley said the words in a rush and he really hoped Maverick would ignore how thick his voice sounded. 
But of course he didn’t. Maverick snapped his eyes over to meet Bradley’s, but he was suddenly focused on a loose thread on the upholstery. Shit. Why had he said that?
“Oh.” It was a long time before either of them spoke again. Bradley finished half his beer. “Is that your idea or hers?”
“It’s both of ours.” Bradley winced realizing how defensive he sounded. “Well, I kind of brought it up first, but she was the one who said we’d wait.”
“And you’re okay with that?” Bradley nodded. “Jesus, Bradley, you’ll be at least forty by the time -”
“- Forty-two.” 
Maverick looked sad and Bradley hated it. Because he knew, without Bradley even having to spell it out why you were going to wait. Because Maverick had been there. Because Maverick had held Bradley’s mom as she cried on too many occasions to count. Because Maverick had taken Bradley to all the father/son events in the place of his own father. Because Bradley realized, as he had gotten older, that Maverick thought it was his fault that Bradley grew up without a father. 
“Listen, we both know that a million things can happen between now and then and maybe the timing will be all wrong, but we want to wait. If it gives either of us the slightest peace of mind, we’re going to try and wait.”
The silence was heavy this time around. 
“Well, I guess it’s good you’re talking about it now - even if I don’t entirely agree with it. You should be enjoying your life together, not waiting around…” Maverick seemed to think better of what he was saying and took a sip of his beer. A beat passed until he spoke again. “Also reminds me of some stuff I wanted to talk to you about.”
“Oh?”
Maverick waved him off. “It can wait until after your trip. Just some estate planning and whatnot, I know the four of us are in a really good place, so figured it was a good time.”
Estate planning? The four of us? The whole family was involved? Bradley’s curiosity was most definitely piqued. 
“Oh, err yeah, sounds good -”
“It’s nothing bad - promise!” he quickly backpedaled, “More paperwork than anything -”
“What’re you ladies gossiping about?” Amelia breezed onto the patio and messed up Bradley’s hair before she plopped down on the other end of the sofa. Naturally, he in turn had to elbow her in the side. Not hard, mind you, but hard enough for her to kick him back. 
“We were actually just talking about the dance coming up next Friday,” Maverick replied smoothly and Bradley stifled a snort. Since when had he become such a good liar? Regardless, Amelia preened. “I was just about to tell Bradley about your date…”
“What?!” Bradley exclaimed.
Amelia pouted, clearly put off that it had been brought up in front of him. He liked Amelia, he was protective of her, fucking shoot him. “Mav likes him!”
Maverick slightly cowed under Bradley and Amelia’s stares. “He’s nice, they’re on the debate team together.”
“Debate team?!” Alright, now he was putting it on a little bit, but as someone who had also been on the debate team in high school, Bradley knew that those guys were also smart, which generally meant they were way more trouble than the typical jocks.
Clearly misconstruing his comment, Amelia frowned. “Listen, I know you were rocking the middle part and puka shell necklace when you were on the debate team, but it’s cool now…”
“Puka shell necklace?” your voice chimed in from the doorway. “Pete never mentioned that when he was telling me of your high school heroics.”
Bradley’s cheeks colored. “Yeah, well, it was the late 90s and I thought Pacey Witter was cool.”
“The 1990s!” Amelia feigned hysterics and got a chuckle out of you and Maverick. “Next you’re going to be talking about where you were on 9/11 -”
“I was in kindergarten, we couldn’t go outside for recess,” you teased.
You sat yourself between Bradley and Amelia on the sofa and he threw his arm over your shoulders, pulling you closer. He knew you’d get cold soon, but didn’t want you to run inside to get your jacket or a sweatshirt just yet - he just wanted you beside him. Plus, there was also the fear that you’d get one of Maverick’s sweatshirts from inside if you forwent your jean jacket and that just wouldn’t do.
Amelia groaned, but still turned her attention back on you. “Okay, but you were definitely Joey Potter, breaking hearts left and right. No debate captains for you.” She stuck her tongue out at Bradley for good measure.
“Ha, I wish. No, I was actually kind of lame in high school, very angsty.” Bradley knew why, but Maverick and the Benjamins were still in the dark.
“Really?” Amelia frowned. 
It was easy to understand her confusion since you were just about the coolest person she knew - her words. Amelia had told Bradley so the first night he’d brought you over for dinner. Can you ask her where she got her sneakers? A couple weeks later, you and Bradley had gotten Amelia the very same sneakers for her birthday. She always blushed when you wore them at the same time.
So, the next words out of your mouth clearly surprised her. “Oh, yeah, I was knee deep in Mazzy Star and Vampire Weekend. The dark preppy vibe, if that’s even a thing?”
“Jesus, I wasn’t even that bad.” Bradley squeezed your shoulder and got a smile out of you with his teasing.
Maverick and Penny were talking off on their own, so you turned your full attention towards Amelia. “I was in a car accident my junior year of high school. Kind of set me back with school and then - well, private school kids are kind of vicious so…” 
“What happened? Sorry - that was -”
“- It’s oka -,” you started to say, then seemed to think better of it. Because nothing about that night had been okay. “I was in a car with someone and we got t-boned. I got pretty banged up, broke my right arm and leg. It seemed like I had a perpetual concussion for the next six months. He just broke his arm,” you finished wryly. 
He. 
He just broke his arm.
Bradley pursed his lips at the mention of Teddy Cavanaugh. Fucking prick. To say you’d gotten pretty banged up was putting it way too mildly. Thinking about it again made him just as upset as it had that night all those months ago on your fourth date when you’d told him the entire story. 
And more recently, Bradley had had the unfortunate experience of meeting Teddy over Thanksgiving when Bradley had played golf with your dad one afternoon up in Berkeley. As a rule, Bradley tried not to hate people on sight - at least not anymore. 
But god, he really fucking hated Teddy Cavanaugh. He wanted to fucking deck him on the first tee at Claremont Country Club. He wanted to slam his nine-iron into the Porsche 911 he was driving. And Bradley was pretty sure your dad did too. 
It was such a cunty move to get the same car.
Plus, what self respecting twenty-nine year old still went by Teddy anyway?
But the truth of what happened that night wasn’t exactly appropriate for a post dinner conversation, nevermind the fact that Amelia was only a year younger than you had been that night. 
The realization made Bradley freeze. 
You had only been a year older than Amelia when it happened. Amelia, who still slept with the stuffed cow her grandparents had gotten her for her sixth birthday. Amelia, who still played with her American Girl Dolls when she didn’t get invited to a friend’s house on Friday nights. Amelia, who still made Bradley a new welcome home banner after every deployment. Amelia, who still huffed whenever Bradley ruffled her hair as a hello. Amelia, who Bradley promised he’d teach how to drive that spring.
You were Amelia. You had been that young, that sweet, that trusting and Teddy Cavanaugh had thrown it all back in your face.
Bradley could feel his chest tighten, even as he ignored the chatter around him. Maverick and Penny had joined in whatever conversation you were now having with Amelia, but all Bradley could do was sit there. 
Without a word, he pulled you closer, so you were bundled up in his arms. It was still proper enough in front of his family, but he needed to have you close. Your legs were plastered together alongside Bradley’s right side and you burrowed yourself under the arm he draped across your shoulders. 
Everything was right as it should be. Bradley was with his family, Bradley was with you, here. Not on a carrier in the middle of the Pacific or the passenger seat of Mr. Cavanaugh’s Porsche. 
Here. And nothing bad was going to happen here.  
Soon, the conversation changed to whichever HBO show Amelia and Maverick were excited to watch later that night, while Penny went inside to get the dessert: s’mores. 
“‘You need any help?”
Penny waved you off. “I’m all set, everything’s already measured out.”
Once she was gone, Bradley pressed a light kiss to your shoulder and you shivered. “‘You getting cold, kid?” You nodded. “‘You want my sweatshirt?” 
“Please?”
“I’ve got one in the mudroom if -” 
“No, it’s fine,” Bradley cut off Maverick, “she can have mine.”
Quickly taking off his own sweatshirt and putting it over your head, Bradley didn’t even have the time to linger on how pathetic he sounded. Who did Maverick think he was, offering to let Bradley’s girlfriend borrow a sweatshirt? Didn’t he realize Bradley was more than capable of taking care of you?
“Thanks.” You smiled at him, now cozy and wrapped up in the still warm sweatshirt and Bradley nearly forgot why he had gotten so huffy in the first place. Nearly. 
“So,” Penny popped back out onto the patio with a heaping tray of marshmallows, a bowl of chocolate squares, and stacks of graham crackers, “who wants s’mores?”
“Me, me!” Amelia called, pushing her way towards the tray and subsequently dishing out the marshmallow sticks. 
Little shit gave Bradley the worst one, even knowing Maverick wouldn’t have any and therefore didn’t need one. As payback, he kept putting his marshmallow wherever Amelia’s was. It meant that he didn’t roast a single good marshmallow, but the glare she kept sending him was too funny to make him stop. 
Eventually, after Bradley had to blow out yet another marshmallow - Oh, shit! Not again! - you took over s’more duties. Just as well, really; yours were the best. You turned marshmallow roasting into an art form - a perfectly golden, gooey art form. While you didn’t eat any with graham crackers, you did have one you roasted over the fire with the chocolate already stuffed in the marshmallow. You smiled at Bradley’s shocked expression and then wordlessly made him three exactly like it.
All the while, you answered Penny’s questions about how your dad and Mary were doing and when they were next coming down to San Diego and if they would want to get dinner with her and Pete, just the four of them? But when you started nodding off against Bradley’s shoulder, he knew it was time for you both to head home. 
-------------
Mon, March 22, 1:43pm
How was your meeting? 
it was fine, but ran over and i didn’t get to have lunch before my one o’clock ☹️
At least have a snack or something, don’t want you wasting away on me, kid. 
i won’t! what’re you up to?
Stopped by the base for a bit, saw the guys and then went to the gym.
I might get a haircut later. 
you can’t get a haircut without me! i don’t trust you not to get it too short! plus i like it a little longer 
Oh yeah? 
i like when it gets curly at the ends, it’s always really soft too. can you wait till after the trip?  please bradley please?
Fine, but only because you begged me…
i’ll make it up to you later, promise and i did not beg you…
Or you could make it up to me now?
Is the office busy today?
no  it’s pretty quiet
You wore that navy skirt, right?
yeah with my white silk blouse 
What’d you wear underneath it?
bradley! i don’t know, boring underwear? 
You wanna show me? Just to check?
you can see when i get home, i’ll even try and sneak out a little early 
Wanna see now
Show me
fine, just give me a sec. i’ll go to the bathroom 
No
At your desk
Now
bradley!
Sweetheart I’m aching
[image: Mr. 7.5 Gs]
fuck holy shit bubs what were you doing before you texted me?
Jerking off, I’m bored
charming
Wanna be inside you
fuck bradley wish i was home to take care of you god you’re so pretty hold on
Keep thinking about you in your office, acting all proper and then I’d barge in and fuck you on that fancy desk of yours
[image: miss ‘the one day i’m wearing plain underwear’]
God such a good girl for me
Are you wet
mmmm  getting there this is so hot unless i get fired
I’d bend you over
Take you from behind
You’re always tighter that way
[Sent with Siri]
bradley
Need your mouth on me
I’d make you get on your knees and suck me off in front of the window
Fuck your throat
[Sent with Siri] 
bradley you’re not playing fair
No you’re not
Need more pictures of you
[Sent with Siri]
What do you want me to do? [Sent with Siri]
Shove your fingers up your cunt
Knuckle deep
[Sent with Siri]
I’d have to use three to feel like yours [Sent with Siri]
Need a video need to hear you too
[Sent with Siri]
[for bradley’s eyes only.mov]
Fuck you’re fucking gorgeous like that 
Always do just what I ask 
Fuck I need you so bad 
[Sent with Siri]
Need you too fuck [Sent with Siri] i can’t believe you got me to do that at work
When are you coming home? 
-------------
There was something up with you. The thought kept running through Bradley’s head Tuesday evening while he was on his run.
Bradley would never have described you as skittish, but that’s how you had been acting over the last couple days. You were still affectionate and kind and you. And had told him countless times how much you loved him and how happy you were that he was home. 
So, it had to be a physical thing. You were guarded whenever he touched you - whether you were being sexually intimate or he had just grabbed your waist to cuddle you closer on the couch or in bed. It was always your waist or stomach area, really. That was the hot spot.
At first, Bradley thought he’d been too rough with you that first time back, but he knew you trusted him enough to tell him if that was the case, so that was out. Plus, later that morning when you were riding him, you’d asked him to grab your hips so hard he’d leave behind marks. You liked whenever he marked you - and he liked whenever you marked him. And you weren’t shying away from sex with him, not at all. In fact, you were pretty insatiable.
Then, he’d thought you might have hurt yourself while he had been gone and had a scar or something that you hadn’t wanted him to see? But your skin was free of new blemishes, baring the zit on your cheek you’d been complaining about since Saturday night. 
At one point, Bradley had even contemplated that you might be pregnant. He had been gone for three months, an entire first trimester. But something about the theory didn’t sit right with him. 
First, you would’ve fucking told him on Friday night, especially after you both talked about waiting to have kids and how you were on the same page. Because Bradley wasn’t dying in an F-18 with a family at home. 
Then, there was the fact that you had an IUD and the possibility of getting pregnant on an IUD was even less than on the pill (<1% a year - he’d looked it up). And finally, you’d be showing by now, even if only a little bump. But now that he thought about it, in all the days that he’d been home and all the times you’d had sex, Bradley had only seen you completely naked once. One or both of you were always partially clothed. And he would have noticed - right? Your boobs were definitely bigger, but it wasn’t - that wasn’t it, no, he was sure you weren’t pregnant.
It had to be something about your body, your stomach in particular. Because you were still affectionate, still wanted him, were still relatively yourself, your boobs looked great, and you loved him. So, why did you practically jump out of your skin whenever Bradley’s hand grazed your stomach? 
He would give you until Friday to tell him on your own before he asked. That would be a week from when he’d gotten home, more than enough time. Plus, maybe being on vacation would get you to open up a bit? 
Because this just wasn’t you. You didn’t really keep any secrets from Bradley. He wouldn’t be so naive to say that he knew everything about you, but in general you were honest with him. Was there a hint in one of your emails? Some little detail he had glossed over in his haste to read any scrap of news from you, in your voice? Bradley had read all of them at least three times, some even more, but maybe he had missed something?
The run he’d gone on to clear his head left the problem no more clear than when he’d set off forty-five minutes ago. He ran up the back steps to the mudroom and toed off his sneakers before heading to the kitchen for a glass of water. You’d be home soon, he needed to start dinner.
Last night, you’d marinated some steak tips and made some rice pilaf, while Bradley roasted some vegetables. There was plenty of leftover steak for dinner tonight, he just had to decide what to make with it. Taking a peek in the fridge, he took a quick inventory of anything you’d need to finish before leaving Thursday morning. A couple peppers laid in the crisper along with an eggplant, which stumped him as neither of you liked eggplant. He could do steak fajitas with those? There were always fresh tortillas around. Content with his plan, Bradley grabbed a bottle of Pellegrino from the side door and poured himself a glass. 
As he put the bottle back, his eyes landed on the chocolate cake, perfectly ensconced in glass snapware, on the top shelf. How the hell was there still leftover chocolate cake? In addition to what you’d had Friday night, the two of you had had some for breakfast Sunday morning - well, Bradley had had some for breakfast Sunday morning and you’d let him feed you a couple bites. He shut the fridge door with a little more force than necessary and started prepping the peppers and onions. 
You loved chocolate cake. And you’d worked so hard on it. Why the fuck weren’t you eating it? Plus, now that he really thought about it, you’d barely had a s’more at Maverick and Penny’s and instead kept yourself occupied by lovingly making Bradley’s for him. And then there were the egg whites.
It would be a lie to say that none of it had seemed off at the time, but looking at all the incidents together just showed how truly off things were. And then coupled with how off you were with other things like your clothes and stomach - oh. 
No way. No fucking way. That could not be it. 
No, no. You couldn’t be worried about how - 
Just as he was finishing up the peppers to go along with the onions he’d already prepped, Bradley heard the back door open.
“Bubs?” you called out, “I’m home!”
“Hey!” 
“How was your run?”
Bradley quickly washed his hands and went over to meet you in the mudroom. And there you were, looking polished and professional in a black tweed, sleeveless dress that he hadn’t gotten a glimpse at before you’d left for work that morning, thanks to the blazer you’d thrown over it. The bodice of the dress was decorated with what he hoped were functional gold buttons that were just begging to be ripped open. And to top it off, you were wearing semi sheer black tights and those black slingbacks he liked so much. 
Actually, you were leaning against the wall trying to unbuckle those slingbacks he liked so much. But all Bradley could focus on as you asked him about his afternoon was the curve of your hip and the fact that your breasts looked unreal in that dress.
His pretty girlfriend. His pretty girlfriend who looked so smart and absolutely fuckable right now. His. His. His. His -
You stopped trying to take off your shoes and shot him a questioning look as you approached. “Bradley?”
“Sorry, I uhh - yeah, it was fine. Saw the Thompsons finished their patio - is that a new dress?” His fingers idly brushed against the fabric and you froze. 
“Oh, uh, no. I’ve had it for a while. Since the move, I’ve been going through my clothes trying to see what I actually wear and - I know it’s a little small now, it keeps riding up my hips a bit, but I still think it looks nice on top…” You ventured out of the mudroom. “Does it look bad?”
No, it very much did not look bad on you. It was definitely tighter than anything you normally wore to work, but it looked good. And weary from the work day with your hair a little mussed and the dress a bit askew from when you tried to take off your shoes, you looked absolutely divine and Bradley had to have you immediately. 
“No! I’m just,” he goaded you further into the kitchen, “surprised you wore it to work - in a good way!” 
The shy look on your face gradually slipped away and you crowded into Bradley’s space. “In a good way, huh?”
His hands found their way to your waist and he waited for a reaction from you. Getting nothing but a smile, his thumbs rubbed circles along your hips and he brought you chest to chest. 
“I gotta ask, though?” You hummed. “Do these really work?” He dragged his fingers up and down the front of your dress, spending the slightest bit more time along the square neckline and your breasts.
“And what if they did?”
Bradley groaned your name and rested his forehead against yours. “Then I’d have to unbutton every last one of them right now.”
You kissed his neck, paying no mind to the stubble he had been growing since Friday night. If you’d asked, he would shave it in a second, but you loved the roughness against your neck and inner thighs. As your lips kept up their targeted attack on his neck and jawline, your right hand slid between your bodies to palm his cock through his athletic shorts. 
“But if you did that, then you’d have to take me right here…”
Barely a beat passed before Bradley grabbed your hips and plopped you down on the kitchen table. It shook under your weight. Your chest was heaving at the sudden action, in turn drawing his attention to your breasts and those tempting buttons. They reminded him of the ones on his old Naval dress coat from Oceana. 
“Lemme help you out there.” 
His nimble fingers made quick work of the four brass buttons that revealed your black lace bra. Out of the corner of his eye, he could tell you were pleased he didn’t tear off any of the buttons. Knowing you, his spoiled, prissy girlfriend, the dress was probably expensive. Good.
Next, Bradley pushed the wide straps over your shoulders, leaving your black lace bra as his final impediment. “So pretty,” he muttered into your chest. Your head tipped back and you pulled him closer, deeper.
“You didn’t send me any texts today,” you barely got the words out as Bradley made quick work popping one of your breasts, then the other, out of your bra. It was technically a lie; he had texted you, but it had been a do you know where my Theragun is text, not a show me your pussy right now text. “I even wore pretty underwear for you.”
Bradley tutted against your left breast. “Guess I have to make it up to you now.” 
His mouth latched onto your nipple and he needled the little nub with his tongue. You carded your fingers through his hair and gave the ends the slightest little tug. 
“Thought about you all day, bubs,” you whispered the words against Bradley’s ear before nipping at the lobe. 
“Yeah?” Granted, if you kept rutting against each other like this, he’d probably cum in his shorts - there really wasn’t a lot of substance to the running shorts he was wearing - but god. He needed to sink inside you. 
Today was the first time since he’d gotten home that you hadn’t fucked in the morning. You had had to hustle out of the house for an early meeting and even Bradley had an eight-thirty physical at the Naval Medical Center. There had barely been time for a heated makeout against the refrigerator - to say nothing of a good fuck - before you’d left with your lip gloss slightly mussed.
“Would’ve come home sooner if I knew you were wearing these fucking shorts.” You slipped your hand under the waistband of his compression shorts that were borderline painful at this point and grabbed his cock with an expert touch. 
“Fuck…” Bradley allowed your touches to go on for a few more moments before he pulled back, knowing he’d spend in your hand if you kept this up. “Hold on.” You pulled your hand back and he yanked his t-shirt off over his head and threw it on the breakfast bench. Your hands crept across his chest before they eventually rested on his shoulders. 
But now it was Bradley’s turn to touch you. Your tights felt particularly soft beneath his hands as he inched higher and higher up your thighs. He loved when you wore stuff like this, so prim and proper. Especially when you got all squirmy beneath him. Cheeky little thing. The heat was pouring off you where Bradley was touching you between your thighs, even though your underwear and tights. Your arms wound around his neck to pull him closer and press your lips to his in a bruising kiss. God, he could kiss you for hours; he never tired of it.
“Bradley…” you sighed through his ministrations. “More, bubs.” 
He smiled, of course, anything for you. Anything to be inside you. But first, he had to ask: “These the thick ones?” You froze under him. “The tights? The thick tights? Like from Thanksgiving?” 
They had a more formal name, but he was focused on other things at the moment, namely if he could rip a hole in them to get to you faster. Over Thanksgiving, he’d found out the hard way that your tights were often rip resistant. Which really put a damper on a portion of your wine cellar escapades. 
“Oh?” The furrow between your eyebrows disappeared. “Oh! The tights! No, no, they’re cheap ones from J Crew or something.”
Good. Then he wasn’t going to apologize for what he was about to do. Because Bradley had to fuck you, he had to be inside you right now. Something about you and being off and those tights and that dress and his run and the subsequent endorphin rush. 
He had to have you.
Before he could talk himself out of it, Bradley tugged at the seam of your tights and ripped a hole in them large enough for his hands - and his dick - to poke through. You sighed when he broke through the nylon and slid your panties to the side to circle your clit with his thumb.
“So good,” he muttered reverently. 
God, what a pretty picture you made. Dress rucked up around your stomach, chest bare, and pretty pussy on display just for him. 
“More, please, Bradley.” You whimpered while he teased you with one finger, then two. “Anything. Need it - you.”
“You get stressed out at work today?” You nodded and then burrowed your head against his neck, rubbing against him like a cat in heat. “Poor thing, da - I’ll take care of you, yeah. Make you forget.” 
Bradley thrusted his fingers deeper inside you, crooking them just slightly so you’d buck up against him. You bit his neck when he tweaked his fingers just right. There you go, just a little more and you’d be ready for him. God, he was aching. He couldn’t fathom teasing you anymore. He needed you, now. 
“Just need to slip inside you, sweetheart. You made it so perfect for me.” Wet. Hot. Tight. Perfect. His. “There we go, just like that, good girl.” Bradley took a moment to line his cock up and slid inside you in one motion. “Fuck,” he punctuated the word with your name, “good?”
“Yes, yes.” 
You got into a steady rhythm that kept increasing. The table creaked under your combined weight and had anything been on it, it surely would’ve toppled over by now. 
You tightened around his cock and met his hips thrust for thrust. A wave of heat swept over Bradley’s body and he could feel you slipping deeper into a lustful haze. Knowing he was also close and would be near useless in moments, he hiked your left leg higher up on his hip so your heel was digging into the back of his thigh, anchoring you to him. 
“That’s it, that’s it,” Bradley said mindlessly. 
Your faces were so close, you were breathing each other’s air, stealing the word’s off the other’s lips. Yours and mine are the same. You cried out suddenly and snapped your eyes up to meet Bradley’s brown ones. God, you were beautiful. You both were beautiful. This was beautiful. Being together like this was beautiful. It was wet and loud and messy, but it was beautiful. 
Everything about it.
“‘m so close,” he finished with your name on his lips like a plea. “Wanna wait for you.”
“Don’t, ‘ll be right there.”
His thrusts eventually got sloppier and slower, but he could still feel you clenching around him as he spent himself inside you. 
“Fuck,” he panted your name. “That’s it, that’s it.”
“‘s full, bubs.” Your nails dug into his shoulder, centering him so he could turn the focus back on you.
All he needed was a few more shallow thrusts and a punch of your clit to get you there alongside him. You came with a cry, utterly spent, but sated. 
Your legs relaxed their hold against his thighs, but you didn’t totally release him. Meanwhile, he pressed kisses across your cheeks and lips, before finding himself notched along your neck. 
“There you go, good girl. Did such a good job, huh. So beautiful.”
It was quiet between the two of you for a few moments, all Bradley could hear was your breaths panting against his cheek, while your index finger moved lazily across his shoulder blade. But then you started shaking. 
And at first he thought it was from being overstimulated until he realized you were shaking from silent giggles. Bradley picked his head up from where it was buried in your neck and leveled you with a look that had you properly bursting into laughter. He wanted to make some smart comment, something cheeky, but the gorgeous smile on your face had him losing his feigned stoicism and he started laughing right alongside you. 
“So,” you said after your laughter subsided, “what’s for dinner, bubs?”
--------------
The following morning, Bradley poked his head into the dining room where you’d made up your office for the day. It was on the tip of his tongue to ask why you weren’t using the office upstairs, but he held back. He liked that you were downstairs, he liked that you were close to him. 
Of course he’d seen you work from home before. But there was something about seeing you holding meetings and taking calls for the first time in your home that made him smile. 
And though you were taking a half day to prepare for leaving tomorrow, Bradley knew you’d be checking your email and Slack for the rest of the afternoon before officially logging off for the next 10 days. 
10 days in Punta Mita - just the two of you, no distractions, no emails, no training runs, nothing but the sun, sea, sustenance, sleep, and sex. 
Just you and me, kid.
Bradley inched further into the room and leaned against the doorframe. “I’m gonna go for a run, but should be back for lunch.”
You took out your Airpods before responding. “Sounds good, how much are you thinking?”
“Probably a quick 10k?” It had been ages since Bradley had run his usual route through Balboa Park, so these last few days had been a treat.
“‘A quick 10k,’ he says. I should be done by the time you get back?” He nodded. “We can have lunch and then I’ll head out on my errands.”
Errands? “Oh? I didn’t know you were going out?”
You sat up straighter and fully focused on him. “Yeah, I have to get my nails done and then have to pick up a couple things - like your special sunscreen...”
“Can I come?” he asked, completely ignoring the sunscreen comment. It wasn’t special per se, it was just high SPF since he burned easily. 
“Really?” You sounded surprised. “It’ll be pretty boring.”
“No, I wanna come with you.” I wanna spend time with you. 
A bashful smile appeared on your face. “Okay, I’m trying a new salon.”
“Ditching your old stomping grounds?” Bradley asked, referencing your old neighborhood near Gaslamp. 
You nodded your head. “Figured I’d try someplace around here, but the only one that looks promising is way up on 30th?”
“I think we can make due with that,” he pecked your cheek, “alright, I’ll see you in a bit, kid. Don’t work too hard.”
“Har, har, see you soon.”
Bradley shot you a wink and set off. Who knew, maybe he’d set a new PR in his haste to get back home to you?
And sure enough, after his quick 10k through Balboa Park and the surrounding neighborhood, Bradley bounded up the back steps and quickly disposed of his sneakers and his sweat stained grey t-shirt on the mudroom floor. It had been stupid to even wear one in the first place, he’d had to tuck it into his waistband before he hit the first half mile. 
“New personal record!” 
Your face lit up with a smile as Bradley came into the dining room. “See, now, how do I know you just didn’t milk a 3 mile run or something?”
He rolled his eyes and gestured down at his torso, which was gleaming with sweat, even in the soft mid-day lighting currently cloaking the dining room, and showed you his running app for good measure. “Does this look like I milked it?”
“Come ‘ere.” You held your arms out.
“I’m all sweaty, kid…”
“Nope, don’t care, please?”
Hey, if you weren’t going to complain that Bradley was too sweaty or smelled, then he wasn’t about to put you off. He wrapped his arms around you over the back of the chair and put his chin on the top of your head.
“You know, if you like the scent of someone’s sweat that means you’re soulmates…” 
“Is that right?” You sounded amused.
Bradley burrowed his face in your neck, forcing a giggle out of you even before he pressed butterfly kisses everywhere. “Mmmhhmm, yup. You always smell perfect.” 
“That’s just my perfume!” 
“Nope, just you kid.” 
Bradley could feel you relax and let out a sigh. The two of you sat there in silence for a moment, content to just be with each other, until your Mac dinged with an Outlook notification. You stretched your arms out in front of you to reply to the email, but Bradley didn’t let you go. As he watched you type out a response to your coworker about if ESG investments were just virtue signaling or not, his eyes caught a glint of gold on your wrist.
“You really wear that bracelet everyday, huh?”
You turned your head to look up at him and he was pleased to note you looked incredibly flustered. “Of course I do. You got it for me.”
The matter of fact way you responded had him blushing. “Guess I’ll have to get you the necklace for your birthday…”
“You better not!” He just kissed your cheek. “Bradley, I’m serious! That’s too much - especially for just a birthday.”
“Then I’ll get it for you for our anniversary.”
“Bubs…” You were pouting now and it only made him want to get you the necklace more. “It’s too expensive for something like that; I looked it up online.”
“You’re no fun.” 
And so he would continue to be denied the pleasure of seeing you in the matching jewelry - at least until he wore you down. You did have a point, though - the necklace was almost twice as much as the bracelet. But then again, you bought Bradley little (and not so little) things all the time?
Idly, he recalled the jibe he had ignored from Hangman the other day regarding his leave: not all of us have rich girlfriends to take us on two week vacations. Bradley’s reply that it was only for ten days, not two weeks hadn’t exactly done him any favors. 
But it was a points game! It was practically free. (He knew it wasn’t, but…) And you were going dutch for all the incidentals and room charges. It was going to be perfect. Absolutely fucking perfect. 
Ten glorious days of no work, no distractions, just the two of you. 
You turned around in your chair so you were properly facing him. “Do you want to get lunch out? Make an afternoon of it? We don’t really have much in the fridge, so it’s either lunch or dinner out and I know you still have to pack.”
A smile crept across his face and he kissed your nose. “I’d love to go to lunch with you. You sure you won’t get sick of me? All this one on one time?”
You just shook your head. “Nope, not that easily. Well, unless you sit next to me at the salon, I’m not very chatty while I’m getting a pedicure.”
“Woah, woah.” Bradley held his hands up and you grabbed one to examine it. “Since when am I getting my nails done?”
“You’re getting a pedicure at the very least. I don’t want to have to look at your weird feet on the beach all week.” 
“Oh-ho, now you’ve done it.” 
He bundled you up in his arms and started tickling your sides. That was your sweet spot. And hopefully if he was tickling you, you’d forget to be jumpy when he touched you there. He hadn’t forgotten about that.
“Bradley! Bradley,” you giggled. “Okay, okay, I’m kidding, I’m kidding. No pedicure.”
But Bradley did end up getting a pedicure, even if it only entailed getting his feet buffed. If pressed, he would say it was because he wanted to sit in the massage chair and the nail tech told him he could only sit in the chair if he was getting his nails done. That was the only reason why. It wasn’t because of how pretty you looked while you were smiling at him out of the corner of his eye, like you couldn’t believe he was really there.  
Absolutely not.
--------------
“Do you need any help packing?” 
Bradley nodded, he hoped he didn’t look too sheepish. At thirty-six years old, he absolutely could pack his own clothes, but he liked when you fussed over him and made sure your clothing was complementary to each other. It was sweet. Plus, you always packed stuff he hadn’t thought to bring or wear together.
The two of you were a well oiled machine. Bradley would roll his underwear, pajamas, and gym clothes into his packing cubes while you helped pick out his bathing suits and later his dinner and day clothes. To his great surprise, you managed to fit all his clothes - for ten days, mind you - into his Samsonite carryon. His toiletries and extra pair of shoes and other incidentals would go in his backpack.
Once his suitcase was zipped up and ready to go, Bradley nodded towards your Rimowa stashed by the bedroom door. “‘You need any help? You don’t normally check?”
You normally lived by the carry-on rule, so it seemed out of character for you to check a full-size bag. Which, of course, wasn’t the first thing that seemed out of character for you since Bradley had gotten home. But he promised himself he’d wait until you came to him with your problem. Or till Friday.
“Oh, uhh, yeah, I guess I just have more stuff this time.” You shook your head. “I packed earlier while you were taking a nap, but thanks.”
He clicked his tongue. “Guess it’ll be a surprise then.”
“Hmmm, I’ll let you see my shoes?”
Bradley sat on the edge of the bed and leaned back on his elbows. “You’d do that? For me?”
You giggled and then mimicked his pose on the bed, except you made sure to snuggle up next to him, all earlier awkwardness gone. “I’d do anything for you actually.”
“Sap.” He kissed you. 
“Nerd.” You kissed him. 
“See, now you’re killing the vibe,” he teased. You giggled and kissed his shoulder through his t-shirt. “You ready for tomorrow?” You nodded. “You’re not gonna get sick of me, right?”
You shook your head. “Never, even if you are a nerd who gets pedicures -”
“- I was coerced! The massage chair!” You giggled. “Alright, alright, walk me through tomorrow.”
At this point, Bradley was laying on his back, staring up at the ceiling, while you were tucked under his arm, peering up at him. 
“We should leave by six if our flight’s at eight forty-five, especially if we want to go to the lounge beforehand. It’s spring break-ish and I’m not sure if it’ll be crazy in the terminal, so the lounge might be a good idea.”
“Got it, United lounge for breakfast, good.” 
“Flight’s like three hours.”
“Mmmmm, perfect for a nap.”
You chuckled. “I think we get in around one o’clock with the time difference and everything. The hotel’s sending a car and then it’s like an hour drive to Punta Mita.”
“So, if we play our cards right, we could be on the beach by three-o-one?”
“Oh, for sure,” you feigned seriousness, “If anyone can, it’s the two of us.”
And ain’t that the truth? Bradley held his hand up for a high five, which you heartily returned. “Nice job, kid. It’s gonna be great.”
Ten days. You and Bradley at some tony resort in Mexico. No cares, no worries for ten whole days. Fucking perfect. 
Everything was going to be perfect.
-----------
If at all possible, in the three months that he had been gone, Bradley had gotten even more handsome. 
Sure, you’d seen a grainy image of him every two or so weeks over Facetime and had noticed him mentioning going to the gym a lot on the carrier. You’d known he was going to look different. His hair was going to be longer and blonder and his skin darker. He was still your Bradley and you loved him all the same. 
But seeing him on the 16 inch screen of your Macbook compared to all six foot one inches of Bradley Bradshaw in person was an eye opener. 
Because you hadn’t been prepared for how it made you feel in comparison. Because he was so strong and fit and beautiful - and you didn’t think you were any of those things. Not anymore at least. Not after what happened.
Not after how often you’d been skipping pilates to spend some extra time in the office or all the meals you’d eaten on the go or out with clients. You should have taken your mother’s words to heart at lunch two weeks ago when she had told you to watch your figure, boys like Bradley are used to certain standards. 
That afternoon when you’d gotten back to your apartment, you’d gone straight to your walk-in closet and scrutinized every inch of your body in the full length mirror. 
Certain standards.
Why did you let her get in your head? Why did you let any of it get in your head? It wasn’t true, it wasn’t true. None of it was true. 
Certain standards. 
And then, when you finally picked Bradley up on that cloudy, late March day, you wore an oxford of his and a pair of baggy jeans. You still looked cute, you still looked like you put in an effort, but you didn’t look as dolled up as some of the other wives and girlfriends and partners and maybe you should have? Maybe you should have worn a cute little sundress and forgotten your underwear or some other ridiculous thing? Let him fuck you in the back of the car right in the middle of the parking lot? 
That wasn’t you, though. That wasn’t either of you.
But Bradley loved you. He had told you in about 159 different ways (re. emails) while he was gone. He loved you, he wanted you, he was going to live with you, build a life with you. You knew he loved you no matter what you looked like. 
Certain standards.
But when he fucked you softly and slowly that first morning back - only after originally falling asleep on you, which you tried not to be too upset about - and you told him how much you loved him and missed him, you did so with the lights completely off and with your chemise on before snuggling in his arms. 
It was stupid. The entire thing was stupid. You knew that. And you knew you’d feel this way until you confronted Bradley and he ultimately proved you wrong. But doing that wouldn’t fully stop those feelings from brewing inside you either. 
And yeah, for the first few days you’d been too caught up in the ecstasy of him finally being home - in the home that you two finally shared - to really give it much thought. But tomorrow you were going on a ten day long beach vacation to Mexico and you couldn’t help but toss and turn all night wondering if you were up to certain standards. 
-----------
a/n: oops! this was super long, sorry! but there's such an interesting story here and i'm so excited to show how it'll unfold in the next chapter when they're in mexico!
tagging a couple people: @sometimesanalice @withahappyrefrain @cherrycola27 @notroosterbradshaw @gigisimsonmars @pisupsala @dissonannce @laracrofted @heartsofminds @briseisgone
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spideyhexx ¡ 1 day ago
Text
A miscellaneous night with mr coriolanus snow
this is longer than it was meant to be but also happy bday to me for writing😭enjoy :)
Coriolanus internally winced at the state of the elevator when he gestured for you to walk into the lobby of his apartment building. He was hoping all day that it would be magically fixed by maintenance, but he should have known better. 
He brushes his hair back at his left side and clears his throat, gesturing towards the stairs, “We’ll have to take those, I apologize.”
“No worries. We need the walking after taking the trolley,” you chuckle and nudge your elbow into his side, letting him take the lead. 
Coriolanus tries his hardest not to touch the spot on his side that you touched, afraid it’ll make his cheeks flush more than they already are. He manages a small laugh in response to your words. He had been adamant the two of you take the trolley since it was dark out and then adamant that he paid for you both. It was his last two tokens. Something he’ll tell himself tomorrow was a slip-up, but for now it was the best decision he could have made. 
You typically studied with him in the library after classes, but as of late, Coriolanus found talking about anything and everything with you to be more than splendid. Perhaps it’s because you knew of the Snow's state and never made a snide comment about it. Or the way your posture was ever so perfect. The way your leg crossed over the other, poised gracefully more times than not. There was an air of elegance about you, yet the way you spoke so kindly to him, so interested in him, reminded him of something warm and comforting. Not the fake elegance that many of his Capitol peers put on to form alliances and kiss-up to the ones above them. No. You were genuine, he decided, a long while ago. 
When the two of you reach his door, he takes the key out and turns it in the lock, silently praying that his grandmother was asleep already. To his luck, neither her or his cousin are in sight, and he locks the door behind him after you step in, setting the keys in a small dish tray in the foyer. 
“We can go to my room if you uh…,” he trails off as you look around the living space with a curious glint in your eye. 
Your eyes find the stained glass portrait of his father and he almost wants to yell your name to bring your attention to…to what? The fireplace? Dirty. The couch? Stiff. Himself? Too conceited. 
But you don’t speak a word on it and he breathes a sigh of relief. Your eyes fall on the stray mannequin draped in some dark blue fabrics and a smile graces your lips, “I suspect this is Tigris’ doing?”
“Yes. Her friend lent her some fabrics to mess with, but she hasn’t made a choice on what to do yet exactly. I don’t know why this is out here,” Coriolanus says as he takes a few steps closer to be at your side. 
“There’s good light in here,” you suggest, glancing to the windows where you can see the dilapidated building across the street. 
Coriolanus nods and follows your eyesight. He shifts on his heels, then toes, hands clasped to the strap of his book bag, “If I’m not doing my reading in my bedroom, it’s usually out here.”
The grin you give him almost makes him forget why he invited you over. Ah, yes. He had told you he had an edition of a history book written by your great uncle, that you so desperately wanted to get your hands on. Your family had none (because said uncle went rogue and joined the districts). Coriolanus is not sure why he had the book in his possession in the first place. It had to have been at the Academy and he forgot to return it, but after the uncle fled to whatever district he left for, they threw out any and all books written by the man. 
Part of him thinks he should be concerned as to why you want the book, but he’s read it himself. There’s nothing radical there that could turn you into something else to his memory. He offered to give the book to you. Coriolanus planned on bringing it to class the next day to give to you but you insisted it would be better to hand it off privately. He had a sneaking suspicion you just did not want to go home, but he didn’t push. 
At first, he was hesitant to let you come to his apartment. He had a multitude of plans in place to specifically keep his friends from not coming to his apartment. But he couldn’t find it in himself to follow any of them when it involved you. 
When he realizes it’s been silent for too long, he clears his throat, “My room is just this way,” and walks down the hall, wincing to himself at the creaky floorboards. 
He turns the knob and at first, the door doesn’t open. Coriolanus pushes his shoulder against his door as subtly as he can, which pushes it open and his cheeks heat up at your small chuckle. 
His room is not messy, but nothing to write home about. The only thing a little messy is his dresser, which had a drawer open a shirt hanging out of it that he quickly, subtly, pushes into the drawer and closes it. 
“Oh my god,” you say and he freezes, wondering what he’s left out that warrants that reaction. 
He watches you walk over to his bed and point at the stuffed dog that lies next to his pillow. He’d like to be swallowed whole right about now. 
“That’s so cute. He needs a wash though.”
You think it’s cute? Oh, he’s in over his head. 
“Uh, yeah. Yeah, he needs a wash, I guess,” Coriolanus mutters, putting his book bag down on his desk chair and watching you carefully pick it up. 
“Does he have a name?”
“Horace.”
“Naturally,” you mumble, holding the stuffed dog up as though you are examining it. “I like him.”
“Just don’t go telling everyone at school, they’ll have a whole laugh about it,” he chuckles. He’s trying to come off as joking, but he’s also maybe completely serious. 
“Don’t be ridiculous, Coryo, I won’t mention it.” You put the dog down gently next to his pillow, patting it’s head twice, then you set your book bag on the floor. 
He gestures to his room once your eyes meet his, “I know this isn’t much but-”
“Coryo.” 
The look you give him makes him shut his mouth and he lets his shoulders ease only the slightest bit. He barely realized how tense he had been. 
“It’s still your room. That’s nice. I don’t care what it looks like,” you tell him and each word hits right through to his heart. 
He nods and then clears his throat, turning to his small bookshelf to find the book for you, “It might be a little dusty, but I haven’t touched it since I read it.” Pulling out the gray spine of the book, he blows over it, grimacing at the dust and then brushes off the cover, handing it over to you. 
Coriolanus feels a sense of pride in his chest at how happy you look, clutching it to yourself and then looking at the forward, “Thank you, Coryo. I’ll let you cheat off my biology exam for this.”
He chuckles, “I don’t need that.”
“I know,” you say, and a lull falls over the two of you. For the first time, he sees you be the one to clear your throat awkwardly and you bend down to grab your bag. 
Coriolanus thinks himself a respectful man, but he does look at your thighs as you do. He rationalizes that it’s fine because that one time in seventh grade he was pantsed and you saw his thighs so who cares if now he’s-
“Coryo.” 
He blinks and returns his gaze to your face, “yes?” 
“Is it cool if I stay a little longer?”
He’s nodding before he’s speaking, but maybe he should have thought it through. Maybe it was bad to have you stay. Distraction. That’s what you are, really. Or are you? You do study with him and the studying has definitely helped him over the past year. So is it really a distraction? 
Staying a little longer turns into two hours passing.
Coriolanus tells you about his neighbors across the street and how he loves people watching from his window. You relay your own people watching stories and he shares laughs harder than he has in recent weeks. 
You’ve migrated to his bed, feet on the ground, but your back against the stiff mattress. Coriolanus sits backwards in his desk chair, facing you, and after another bout of silence, he says, “That cannot be comfortable.”
“It is if you tell yourself it is.”
He snorts. Since when does he do that?
“No. I know my bed. That’s not comfortable,” he sighs, “I’m sure your bed is miles better.”
Your face twists up into an emotion he cannot decipher. Distaste? Disgust? Contempt? Whatever it is, he feels as though he’s said something wrong, so he jumps to say, “I didn’t mean like-”
“It is more comfortable, but I’m okay here.”
Coriolanus wonders if he’s on the precipice of learning something new about you. He’s never been to your residence. Only heard of your high-achieving father and high-achieving mother. You rarely talked about them, other than to occasionally complain about their pressure on you. 
“Will they be worried about where you are right now? Your parents, I mean,” he says in the softest tone he can muster. He prepares what to say in case you blow him off. 
“I called them while we were in the library. When you went to the bathroom.”
“Ah,” he nods, “And?”
“And…they don’t mind. Though I should go back before midnight,” you glance over at his small clock on his nightstand. “I would just rather be anywhere else tonight. It's too stuffy there.”
Coriolanus wants to laugh. Stuffy? In your nice, expensive, big apartment? “Why’s that?”
“Cause they just…,” you trail off and gesture aimlessly with your hand, “they’re always a lot, okay? But on my birthday? Fuck, they’re even worse. I would much rather spend it with someone I like, hence,” you gesture again, but to him this time. 
Coriolanus wants to celebrate the small victory that you like him, but he pauses. “Birthday? It’s your birthday?”
You turn your head so you’re able to see him while still laying down, “yeah.”
His eyes widen then he chuckles, “and you didn’t mention?” He feels bad he didn’t know. He should have, right? But the fact you hadn’t told him and he didn’t see anyone mentioning your birthday today tells him you seldom want people to know. 
“Didn’t feel the need to.”
“Right. Well, happy birthday to you,” he says, his voice having a slight sing-songy lilt to it at the end and it gets you laughing. He can’t wait to tell Tigris about this tomorrow.
“Thank you, Coryo. And I meant it. I’m glad to be spending it here with you,” you say and he watches your hands fiddle like you’re nervous. 
A rush of boldness overcomes him and he stands from the desk chair and plops down on his bed right next to you, his arm fully against yours. Shoulder to shoulder. Coriolanus stares at the ceiling, inhaling deep, “I wish I knew how to bake. I’d make you…I don’t know…double-double chocolate cake?”
“You remembered!” 
He laughs and nods, recalling the very chocolatey cake you had three slices of at a party the Plinth’s were throwing a couple of months ago. He wonders if that’s the day he decided you were worth being distracted. 
“Do you remember my favorite pie?” 
You narrow your eyes to think, turning to look at him. He mimics the face you’re making, which causes you both to dissolve into giggles. 
“Blackberry. Or pecan,” you finally say and he nods, “Yes to both.”
His index finger twitches and touches your fingers as he studies your face. The soft smile on your lips and the slight tiredness in your eyes. Your hair is less kept than it had been earlier, which feels so unlike you, but you are being so you right now that it doesn’t matter in the slightest. He’s sure his own curls are out of order. 
Coriolanus keeps lightly lingering his fingers on yours, his voice a drop quieter, “Do you ever think that…everything you’ve worked hard for…can be lost because you…care too much?”
You look taken aback at the question at first, then you settle. His heart jumps when you let your hand hold to his instead of the dance your fingers had been doing. “I guess sometimes I do. Caring a lot is painful in many ways but…it’s also…”
“Nice,” he finishes in a whisper. Coriolanus doesn’t intend to look at your lips, but he does and he’s sure you notice. 
“It’s nice and…shows others how passionate you truly are.” You decide, playing with his fingers instead of your own. 
“But isn’t it also a weakness? Something others can pick out and use against you?”
Your brow furrows slightly in thought, “Sure…but you just have to be smarter than those against you so they can’t exploit it. And I happen to know for a fact that you, Coriolanus Snow, are one of the smartest people I have and will ever meet.”
The weight in his chest melts and smiles, not sure how to respond to such a grand compliment, other than saying, “Snow lands on top.”
It makes you laugh. A full laugh that has you gripping to his hand firmly and somehow bringing the two of you closer until you rest your chin near his shoulder, “You’re aware that that is extremely cheesy, right?”
“Oh, always,” he mumbles, and takes that risk of looking at your lips in a more obvious way, and he tries to convince himself that he’s imagining it when you shift closer. Your nose brushes and he envisions a world where he can kiss you whenever he wants. Where he can make you happy and laugh the way you just did forever. 
“At least you’re self-aware.”
“I’m incredibly self-aware,” Coriolanus mutters, as your nose brushes and nudges to his. It’s like a dance of who’s gonna make the jump first. 
You grin and bite your cheek to lessen it. His heart feels like bursting out of his chest and he wishes he wasn’t holding your hand because he’s definitely getting clammy. But he can’t think of that. There’s no way Coriolanus can dwell on the other parts of his body when your lips are so close that he can feel your breath on his lips. That he can see your eyes go through the thought process, wondering if you should kiss him or if you should let him kiss you first. 
You’re not sure who does it first, but your lips meet in a gentle touch. Hesitant on both ends, yet searing with an undeniable surge of something warm. Something satisfying. Coriolanus is the one to deepen it. Squeezing to your hand (for his sake), he tilts his head and kisses you deeper, memorizing the feel of your lips on his. When you shift on the bed to turn more towards him, he doesn't break the kiss, not even when he feels your hand rest near the collar of his shirt, like you’re tugging him in. 
When you inevitably break for a breath, he chases after you, only to pause and clear his throat from embarrassment. 
“Sorry, I was just-” Your lips find his once more and Coriolanus melts into it, letting you bring his hand to the side of your face right when your tongue slides along his lower lip. He hopes he’s not a bad kisser, but when you hum into his mouth and rub your hand to his neck, the confidence surges in him. 
He’s not sure how long the two of you kiss, on and off, tongue and no tongue, wandering hands that never quite go to places more intimate. But when you break off and duck your head into his neck, resting against his side, he doesn’t hesitate to wrap his arm around you and bring you closer. His lips find the top of your head, kissing there, and rubbing your arm. 
When you fall asleep against him, he fights with himself over whether to wake you and get you home safely, or to let you stay there in his arms. Coriolanus will mull it over in a couple of minutes. For now, he relishes in the moment. Who knows if he’ll let himself have it again. 
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