#someone is trying to take that away from him while hes doing his best for mikey to have the best birthday ever?

[sixeyesonathiel]

a sunset ferris wheel ride turns into a minor disaster when satoru unknowingly tests your fear of heights—thankfully, he has a very… hands-on way of calming you down.

the thing is—you really thought you could power through it.

you love him. he said he wanted to ride the ferris wheel. he looked so excited with his stupid beaming face and that oversized soda in hand like a golden retriever getting a treat. you’d ridden high-speed trains, drones, even elevators with glass walls. how bad could a ferris wheel be?

the answer: horrific.

you’re sitting stiffly across from him in this tiny swaying metal cage, twenty feet up and climbing, while he’s sprawled across the seat like he’s in a massage chair. legs wide, head tilted back, sunglasses on (it’s sunset), sipping his drink like this is peak romance.

his hair—christ, his hair—catches the dying light like spun platinum, each strand moving independently in the breeze that rocks this death trap. not silver, not white, but something rawer, like moonbeams tangled in morning frost. it shifts and falls across his forehead as he moves, and you hate how beautiful it looks even when you’re about to die.

“babe, look,” he points lazily, gesturing out the clear window with fingers that are too long, too graceful for someone who’s basically a human weapon. “you can see the whole fairground from here. the cotton candy stand looks like a little ant. that’s crazy—”

“don’t point,” you snap, voice tight as piano wire. your knuckles are bone-white where they grip the safety bar, tendons standing out like cables under your skin. “every time you move, this thing swings.”

he freezes mid-gesture, arm still extended, and his sunglasses slowly slide down the bridge of his nose. those eyes—god, those eyes—peek over the rim like arctic lightning trapped in glass. not just blue. blue doesn’t do justice to the way they seem to hold their own light source, like staring into the center of a glacier where the ice burns coldest.

“…are you scared?”

he sounds genuinely confused, head tilting with that puppy-dog bewilderment that makes you want to strangle him and kiss him simultaneously. like the idea never even occurred to him that you—his unshakeable, razor-sharp girlfriend—could be anything less than invincible.

you glare at him with every ounce of the dignity you have left—which is rapidly crumbling as the wheel climbs higher and the ground shrinks away beneath you.

“no. i’m fine.”

you are not fine. you are gripping the metal bar so hard your knuckles are white and your shoulders are hunched up around your ears like you’re trying to disappear into yourself. your legs are glued together, pressed so tightly that your thighs ache, and you can feel sweat beading along your hairline despite the cool evening air. your breath comes in shallow, measured sips like you’re rationing oxygen.

“wait,” satoru says, sitting up straighter. the movement makes the cart rock slightly and you flinch so hard you nearly bite your tongue. his sunglasses slip further down his nose, revealing more of those impossible eyes that seem to see straight through you. “you’re actually—oh my god. you’re scared of heights?”

“shut up.”

“but you’re like… the scary one!”

“i said shut up.”

he stares at you for a long beat, and you can practically hear the gears turning in his head. the ferris wheel stops—god knows why—and sways slightly in the breeze. you flinch again, a full-body shudder that you can’t control, and your bottom lip starts trembling despite your best efforts to keep it together.

suddenly his expression shifts. the teasing light in his eyes dies, replaced by something softer, more serious. his mouth—usually curved in some variation of a smirk—goes slack with realization.

“…baby.”

you don’t answer. your eyes are glued to the floor of the cart like it might open up and swallow you whole, anything to get you out of this nightmare. he reaches across the gap between your seats and takes your hand—firm, warm, grounding. his palm is slightly callused from training, and his fingers are impossibly long as they wrap around yours.

“you should’ve told me,” he says, quieter this time. his thumb traces small circles on your knuckles, and you can feel the slight tremor in his usually steady hands. “i wouldn’t’ve dragged you up here.”

you squeeze your eyes shut, trying to block out the sensation of swaying, of being suspended in nothing but air and prayer. “i was fine. i was fine. until we got stuck.”

“ohhh. yeah. that’s on me. this is kinda high, huh.”

he peers out the window again, and you make a sound that’s half whimper, half growl. your free hand shoots out to grab his wrist, nails digging into his skin.

“okay, okay, i’ll stop looking. you’re okay. i’ve got you.”

you’re not even sure when he moved, but suddenly he’s sliding next to you on your bench, the vinyl seat creaking under his weight as he presses flush against your side. his thigh is warm and solid against yours, and you can smell his cologne—something clean and expensive that makes your head spin in ways that have nothing to do with the altitude.

“hey,” he murmurs, nudging your cheek with his nose. his breath is warm against your skin, carrying the sweet scent of the soda he’d been drinking. “look at me.”

you shake your head, jaw clenched so tight it aches. “i can’t. i’m going to cry.”

“then cry,” he says, and there’s something in his voice—something tender and raw that you’ve never heard before. “you still look hot when you cry.”

you make a choked sound, equal parts laugh and sob, and his thumb brushes your jaw with a touch so gentle it makes your chest ache. his skin is warm and slightly rough, and you can feel the callus on his index finger from how he holds his phone.

“you want me to distract you?” he asks softly, voice dropping to that low register that makes your stomach flip. “i can make you forget we’re even up here.”

you turn to him finally, wide-eyed and a little breathless. your vision is blurry with unshed tears, but you can still see the way his hair falls across his forehead, the way his lips part slightly as he waits for your answer.

“how are you going to do that?”

he grins—stupid, bright, dangerous—and for a moment the dying sunlight catches in his hair again, turning it into a halo of white fire. his eyes crinkle at the corners, and there’s something wild and reckless in his expression that makes your heart skip.

and then he kisses you.

you yelp against his mouth, nearly jerking away, but he’s already cupping the back of your head with one large hand, fingers tangling in your hair. his other hand finds your waist, thumb pressing against your ribs through your shirt. his lips are soft but insistent, and when his tongue sweeps across your lower lip you part for him automatically.

it’s not gentle. it’s not shy. he kisses you like he means to erase every thought in your brain—including the part that remembers you’re dangling two hundred feet in the air in a metal death trap.

his tongue slides against yours, hot and demanding, and you can taste the sweetness of his drink, the slight salt of his skin. he tilts his head to deepen the kiss, and you feel his teeth graze your lower lip before he soothes it with his tongue.

your brain turns to static.

his hands are everywhere—one still tangled in your hair, tugging slightly at the roots in a way that makes you gasp, the other sliding down your side to grip your hip. his thumb finds the sliver of skin where your shirt has ridden up, and the touch of his skin against yours sends electricity racing up your spine.

“better?” he murmurs against your lips, but doesn’t wait for an answer before kissing you again, harder this time. his hand slides under your thighs, fingers digging into the soft flesh as he pulls you onto his lap in one smooth motion.

you go willingly, straddling his thighs with your knees on either side of his hips. the new position brings you closer, chest pressed against chest, and you can feel the rapid thud of his heartbeat against your ribs. his hands span your waist, thumbs tracing the line of your ribs through your shirt.

“that’s it,” he breathes against your mouth, voice rough with something that makes your core clench. “just focus on me.”

his mouth trails to your jaw, pressing open-mouthed kisses along the line of your throat. you can feel the heat of his breath, the slight scrape of his teeth, and when he finds that sensitive spot just below your ear you arch against him with a soft moan.

your hands find his shoulders, fingers digging into the firm muscle through his shirt. he’s broader than he looks, all lean strength and sharp angles, and you can feel the tension in his body as he holds himself back.

“satoru,” you whisper, and his name comes out breathier than you intended. he makes a sound low in his throat, almost a growl, and his hands tighten on your waist.

“say it again,” he demands, mouth moving against your throat. his teeth graze your pulse point and you shiver.

“satoru,” you repeat, and this time it comes out as a whimper. his control snaps.

he drags you closer, eliminating any space between your bodies, and claims your mouth again. this kiss is hungrier, more desperate, and you can feel his need in the way his hands roam your body, the way his hips shift beneath you.

your fingers tangle in his hair—god, his hair—and it’s softer than you expected, like silk threads between your fingers. he makes a sound of approval when you tug gently, and you file that information away for later.

his hands slide under your shirt, palms warm against your skin, and you arch into his touch. he traces the line of your spine with his fingertips, each touch leaving fire in its wake, before his hands settle on your lower back, pressing you impossibly closer.

you’re lost in the sensation of his mouth on yours, the way his tongue moves against yours with practiced skill, the way his hands map the curves of your body like he’s memorizing them. time becomes meaningless—there’s only the heat of his skin, the taste of his mouth, the way he whispers your name like a prayer.

you forget. you genuinely forget. about the height, the sway, the goddamn ferris wheel. there’s only satoru—his hands, his mouth, his body pressed against yours.

when the cart finally jolts and resumes its descent, you pull back with a gasp, eyes wide and unfocused. your lips are swollen and tingling, your hair is messed up, and you’re sitting on his lap like you’ve lost all sense of pride.

he’s grinning at you—flushed, breathless, but still managing to look smug. his hair is disheveled from your fingers, sticking up in impossible directions, and his lips are dark and slightly swollen from your kisses. his eyes are bright with satisfaction, like he’s just won some kind of contest.

“better?”

you want to kill him. you want to kiss him again. you want to do unspeakable things to him in the privacy of your apartment.

instead, you try to salvage what’s left of your dignity. “that was... adequate.”

he laughs, the sound rich and warm, and his hands squeeze your hips. “adequate? baby, you were practically purring.”

“i do not purr.”

“you absolutely purr. you purred when i did that thing with my tongue—”

“shut up,” you hiss, but there’s no real heat in it. the ferris wheel is descending steadily now, and you can see the platform approaching. your heart rate is finally starting to slow, though whether that’s from the impending return to solid ground or the lingering effects of his mouth on yours, you’re not sure.

when the ride ends and the doors open, you both stumble out—your lipstick smudged beyond repair, his collar askrew, and a family in the cart behind you definitely saw everything. the teenage daughter is staring at you with wide eyes while her mother tries to shield her view.

a teenage girl side-eyes you as you pass. her friend whispers, “they were in there for like ten minutes.”

you practically bolt, face burning with embarrassment. satoru just strolls after you with his hands behind his head, looking proud of himself like he’s just accomplished some great feat.

“you’re not getting laid tonight,” you hiss over your shoulder.

“what?!” he chokes, long legs eating up the distance between you. “after i just saved your life with tongue?! that was like—emergency mouth-to-mouth but romantic!”

you glare at him, but it lacks your usual venom. he’s right, and you both know it. if he hadn’t distracted you, you probably would have had a full panic attack up there.

he grins again, that stupid, beautiful grin that makes your knees weak. his hair is still messed up, and there’s a faint lipstick stain on his collar that he hasn’t noticed yet. he looks thoroughly debauched and entirely too pleased with himself.

“…next time we do the haunted house instead?”

despite yourself, you feel your lips twitch upward. “next time, we’re staying on the ground.”

“deal,” he says, then adds with a wink, “but if you change your mind about tonight—”

“not happening.”

“we’ll see,” he says, and the confidence in his voice makes you suspect he might be right. again.

you hate how well he knows you. you hate how easily he can unravel you with just a look, a touch, a kiss. you hate how much you want him, even now, even after he just thoroughly embarrassed you in public.

mostly, you hate how much you love him.

but as he slings his arm around your shoulders and presses a kiss to your temple, his lips warm and familiar against your skin, you think you might be okay with that kind of hatred.

“love you too, babe,” he murmurs, like he can read your thoughts.

and maybe he can. maybe that’s just another one of his many annoying talents.

you lean into his side despite yourself, breathing in the familiar scent of his cologne mixed with something that’s purely him. “you’re still not getting laid.”

“we’ll see,” he repeats, and this time you don’t argue.

after all, you both know he’s probably right.

[harmonysanreads]

oh i almost forgot this idea so i'll share it now: you know how sometimes best friends will pretend to hate their friend's partners? in a sort of "UGH how dare you take them away from me" but it's not meant to be taken seriously? i had this passing thought of phainon not at all taking it as a joke as your bestie clings to your arm and fake pouts while he's left standing there like "oh it's on /srs" type of way LMFAOOO

That's hilarious. For a man who everyone would use the word ‘amicable’ on to suddenly be not-so-cool and unable to wave something off as a simple joke, it's funny and... quite shocking.

Phainon is quite confident that he wouldn't be swayed at all by something like this had it been someone else. But, it's you we're talking about! It's not news to everyone that you have some kind of a secret talent for jeopardizing this man's mental faculties, making him act ‘out of character’ in many scenarios. But that's not exactly how Phainon views the matter.

Outsiders don't know how much mental duress Phainon had to go through, how much he prayed, wished for and strived to become someone you'd proudly introduce as a lover. And the problem is exactly here, Phainon himself doesn't really question whether the effort he's been putting in is a bit too much or not and neither does he give himself enough time to digest it all — much too swept by the exhilaration that comes with the knowledge that you're his, at last.

This is entirely on him and Phainon isn't really trying to shift the blame to anyone else either. So, just like how he minds his own business, can't your bestfriend try to mind theirs, as well? It's just a joke, yes. Well he's joking as well! And many such passive-aggressive word battles your bestfriend will have to face if they push this matter. Really, the smart thing is to not attempt to twist words on a seasoned debater.

And when all is said and done and your bestfriend has finally left you alone, do be prepared for a demonstration on actual pouting and jealousy from the man. Which, well, you probably will not be able to hold a grudge against for too long. Because Phainon is nothing but the best in knowing how to utilize his strengths, after all.

[deerspherestudios]

Asking about Mycheal’s sense of morality and thoughts on kindness sort of got me thinking - what are his thoughts on justice?

Some examples on what I mean (that you do not have to specifically address!): If someone has harmed someone else, does he think that justifies hurting them back in any sense? And if someone in power continually abuses that power, does that justify hurting or killing them to prevent more harm in his opinion? Does it depend on the degree? Where does he draw the line? Or is it completely unacceptable - does he think we should always try to use mercy to solve conflicts? What about in situations where mercy can’t be used? And how does what he’d say verbally on the matter differ from how he’d actually act in a satiation where justice might be needed (eg. he says that he would never hurt anyone in any situation, but in reality there might be situations where he’d bring harm - or he says that he would hurt someone to prevent more damage but couldn’t bring himself to in reality). I’d be interested how his isolated upbringing impacted his thoughts on right and wrong as well - I’d imagine he prioritizes interpersonal relationships over the good of the whole (of any group he’s been rejected by especially), but, if so, by how much?

Again, these are just examples of generally what I’m going for by asking for his take on justice, please don’t feel pressured to answer any of the questions in that wall of a paragraph specifically! I’d love to hear your thoughts on his opinions in the area of morality in general - whatever comes to mind, even if it doesn’t relate to any of my example questions or the points I brought up. Thank you so much for your time and the love you pour into your work, and I hope you have a wonderful day!

Oo now this is a doozy of a question, from an anon no less :-0! I actually love these kinds of questions, but save them in my draft for months until I'm up to answering since I wanna do my best for them haha. Now's the time for this question to shine!

Long!!!!!! (possibly mad?? character opinions about justice and morality???) ramble below:

Regarding justice, I find myself struggling to answer to be honest! While I, the creator, have my own views on it, I'm not sure how someone like Mychael would feel about the concept of justice. This kind of thing warrants a society, of which he is isolated from. You don't really bother to be justified if something you did was wrong unless it's in the eyes of someone else, if that makes sense? Otherwise you'd end up arguing with yourself. And when stuck between committing a crime to survive or moral righteousness, it's obvious which one he would go for.

From your example, he's not really the type to believe in "an eye for an eye" as he's a pretty forgiving person. But of course, an extreme situation would change his mind like any of us!!

Now morality is a pretty nuanced topic, but after digesting the question a bit and gathering my thoughts, for the sake of conversation, I think his sense of morality can be simplified into a few traits:

First, he tries to be kind in all situations.

In the past, he's seen cruelty and kindness, how humans are capable of both, and the effects of those actions. Whether it's towards himself or others, he obviously prefers the latter treatment over the former. No matter what, he'll try to do the good thing (or at least, what he perceives to be the good thing) in most situations. He's aware it's naive to think so, but when you claw for something to live for, he insists "kindness above everything" is the best he could hold on to without losing himself.

Second, at times, he will be self-serving.

Just because he tries to be kind, doesn't mean there aren't moments where he'll be selfish. While his self interest isn't his top priority, in the rare instance he wants or needs something for himself, he'll likely skew odds in his favor. This is kinda clear from the game itself with how he treats MC when they start pulling away from him (another example is how he got his chickens and it's implied he does shoplift groceries/supplies no matter what he wants you to think.)

And finally, mercy is a tricky thing.

Let's say we equate mercy to forgiveness or compassion. Already in the game we see Mychael being callous towards the injured rabbit but also refuses to kill Rosie even though she doesn't really serve a purpose anymore other than being an attachment for him. With that said, you are definitely correct in saying "he prioritizes interpersonal relationships over the good of the whole" since with his background, interpersonal relationships are few and far in between. He might forgive a lover of his for murdering someone in front of his face, but wouldn't do the same for a stranger. He doesn't have the same sense of a judicial system like us humans, so with the above traits combined, he'd brush off the frankly heinous crime easier than most.

I hope that answers the question? Re-reading my answer a bunch I'm not even sure if I gave the points you're asking for but mmMM I spent spoons on this so have it like so 🫴❤️❤️❤️!!

[offlinefiles]

A CAMERON LOLLAPALOOZA !

‘ baby , you wanna go lollapalooza ? ’

boyfriend!rafe takes the reader to her first ever festival …

word count ; 1.2k

“Baby, you ready?” Rafe’s voice cut through the low hum of the fan as he slouched deeper into the couch of the Airbnb that you had rented for the weekend.

You had been saying ‘five more minutes’ for the last half an hour, but he didn’t mind waiting, not for you. Especially when he was scrolling mindlessly through your instagram.

“Holy shit…” he muttered under his breath with a soft sigh, his eyebrows raised slightly as he shifted in his seat, leaning in to get a better look at your newest post.

You weren’t even trying to show off in that picture, but Jesus. Your body? Fucking unreal. He groaned as he licked his lips. He’d taken the picture for you this morning, just messing around as you posed, but you looked insanely good.

Your skin, curves… you looked like a god damn angel. Rafe shamelessly adjusted the jeans he was wearing. He was the loudest and proudest boyfriend ever as he flooded your comment section with heart eyes and fire emojis, as well as reposting it to his story.

“Okay, sorry baby, I’m ready.” You said as you stepped out of the bedroom, standing in the doorway. “Ugh, picking an outfit is so hard. Like, is this okay? I feel like I’m gonna look stupid. What do people even wear to festivals?”

Rafe looked up, and froze.

You looked absolutely stunning as you stood there, adjusting the stack of bracelets on your right wrist. Your hair was done, lips glossy, and you were so hot. Rafe slipped his phone into his back pocket as he stood up slowly to walk towards you.

“Jesus, baby…” he said, his breath caught in his throat as his eyes dragged over you, completely entranced. “…Fuck, you look amazing.” Rafe let out a shaky breath followed by a groan as he entrapped your body in his arms, nuzzling his face into the crook of your neck.

Your cheeks flushed, giggling softly as he soaked you up with a tight grip. You pulled away to adjust your top, leaving him staring at you with those big, blue eyes. “Shut up…”

“No, I’m serious…” Rafe reached out to grip your waist again, giving you a kiss to your neck. “Dunno how I’m gonna focus today..” He breathes your scent in. “Fuckin’ perfect…” He smiled as he pulled back slightly, to plant a kiss to your lips.

“You’re already the best dressed, babe.”

The crowd was buzzing and swelled with noise, the sun staring to dip as the first headliner of the festival came out, Tyler, the Creator. The lights flared while the bass sent vibrations through the ground. Rafe stood behind you with his arms wrapped loosely around your waist, swaying gently to the beat of the music.

Your hands were swaying in the air, your body moving against his while you sung along to the songs. Your hands found the nape of his neck as you softly scratched it, his eyes rolling.

He leaned down, his lips brushing your ear. “You like it?” He mumbled while staring intently at you.

“I love it!” You shouted over the music. “This is amazing!”

Your happiness lit him up, leaving him grinning ear to ear. He was pulled out of his loved up moment when someone clapped him on the back.

“Yo.” Topper was half drunk already, a lazy smirk on his face. “Hey, Topper.” You beam brightly, looking back to the performance.

“You look good, girlie.” He smirks, his right hand in his pocket as he lifted a bottle of beer to his lips with his left. Rafe’s eyes narrow, just slightly.

“Yea, my girl always does.” He hums, giving Topper a one over before resting his head on top of yours and starting to sway with you again.

The VIP lounge was bustling with low noise, strung with warm lights and red solo cups all over the floor. You and Rafe were curled up on a low couch, you basically sitting on his lap.

“My throats so dry.” You groaned. “I need a cold one.”

Rafe looked up from his phone immediately. “I got you baby, just water?” He asked as he gently moved you to the side and stood up with a stretch. When you nod, he leaned down to kiss your cheek and sauntered towards the bar.

You barely had time to sit back before someone dropped themselves right up against your side.

Oh.

“Where’s your bodyguard? Thought he didn’t leave you anywhere.” Topper slurred slightly, putting an arm around the back of the sofa. You looked to him and offered a tight smile.

“Getting me water.” You said shortly, looking over to the bar trying to spot Rafe. Topper leant in a little more. “You look good tonight…” His eyes dropped to your chest.

You nodded with an awkward chuckle, leaning back and pulling your phone out to message Rafe.

‘can you come back lol’

As you stood up to put some space between you and Topper, his hands slid behind you, grabbing a full hand of your ass. You jolted away, a shocked expression on your face.

“Are you serious-,” Before you could finish your sentence, Rafe’s voice cut through the air, turning a few heads.

“The fuck did you just do?”

He was already there, his eyebrows furrowed and eyes narrowed, a look of disgust on his face as he glared at Topper, the bottle of water already forgotten on the ground.

Topper held up his hands as he stood up, smirking slightly. “Chill, bro-,”

Rafe shoved him back and gripped the collar of his shirt. “Don’t fuckin’ bro me, we’re not friends.” He spat out behind gritted teeth. “Touch her again, and I’ll knock your fuckin’ teeth out clean.”

You gasped and stepped in quickly, gently tugging Rafe from Topper, who was left stumbling, and moved away from him. “Rafe, baby, listen…” You spoke softly as your hands held his face.

He did, breathing heavily with his jaw clenched. “You okay?” He asked under his breath, his fingers finding the hem of your shirt to ground himself as he gripped it.

“I’m fine, let go, baby..” your hands slip down to his, pulling him away from the scene. Rafe glared once more at Topper, his hand slipping into your back pocket as you walked away.

When you got back to the Airbnb, the quiet was broken as Rafe was all over you, kissing anywhere his lips could reach as he backed you into the bedroom.

You both were tangled in each other on the bed, his mouth moving over yours sloppily and lazily, like he was trying to submerge himself in you.

He pulled back gently with a soft hum, his lips swollen and a dark glint in his eyes. “Sit back…” He said, voice rough.

“What?”

“Just for a sec, sit back. Pose, baby…” murmured, pulling his phone out of his pocket. You laughed, rolling your eyes, but posed anyway; your knees bent, head tilted, pouting as you threw a peace sign, your lipgloss smudged over your mouth.

Click.

He snapped the photo on his phone, mumbling a quiet ‘fuck’ as he looked at it, clicking a few buttons before he tossed it behind him, resuming to kissing you with his hands tangled in your hair.

It was posted to his instagram, which was already basically a fan account of you.

The caption?

Mine. Try again next time.

[redrose10]

Mafia Boss Yoongi x Female Reader

Summary: When your father can't repay a debt to The Min Family, you’re forced to marry Yoongi, the cold, feared son of Min Haneul. But behind his hard exterior, you discover a gentle, protective side—one that just might take you and everyone by surprise.

Warnings: Violence, guns, swearing, arranged marriage, gangs, gambling, smoking, drinking, murder

Word Count For This Chapter: 2,388

Chapter 1

You had been seeing the black SUV parked outside of the restaurant for the last few days. Tinted windows so dark that you couldn’t see inside even with the brightest of lights. But you already knew who was inside.

You knew that it was the most powerful and feared mafia boss in the city if not the entire country.

You also knew why he was there, why he had his men scoping out the place for the last several weeks before he himself decided to make an appearance.

It all had to do with your father. The man who took out a loan from The Min Family three years ago in order to buy the restaurant you were currently working in. The man who took any profit you made from that same restaurant to the casino and gambled it away instead of paying off the debt like he was supposed to do. The same man who disappeared like a coward once he realized he was being watched and left you alone to run the restaurant you never wanted all while you waited for the inevitable end.

It was just before closing time when the door opened for what you hoped would be your last customer for the day.

“Table for two?”, you asked the men who nodded as they followed after you. As you started walking them towards a table in the back you began to feel uneasy. They were way too dressed up in three piece suits to simply be dropping in for some tteokbokki especially in this part of town.

When they reached for the menus in your hands your worst fears were confirmed. Both of their wrists marked with crest of the Min Family, a familiar symbol you’d seen around town for most of your life. The Min’s owned 85% of the businesses including the police force so they had no reason to hide and showed no intention to do so. You did your best to keep your cool as you took the men’s orders and went back to the kitchen to prepare the items.

They were at least very polite to you during their meal with always saying please and thank you and complimenting the food many times. Maybe you had misjudged the situation you secretly hoped as you finally placed the bill down in front of them.

They gave you cash to pay for it and as you were completing the transaction with your back turned you could sense a presence walk up behind you. Seconds later there was a cold metal being pushed against the back of your skull, “Don’t make sound.”, they hissed. The sound of the gun being cocked into place sounded like a bomb going off to you.

“Where is he?”, the man asked.

When you didn’t answer he spun you around to face him, the gun now pushing into your forehead, “The boss wants his money…or a body. Which one do you want it to be?”

“I…I…I don’t know where he is. I haven’t seen him in months. I swear.”, you cried.

“Not good enough.”, the second guy spoke also taking his own gun out of his back pocket and pointing it at you as well.

In desperation you dropped down to your knees and begged, “Please please believe me. I don’t know where he is. He took any money we had and disappeared. I’ve been trying to find him too. You have to believe me.”

“I guess we’re going with a body then.”, the first man laughed. You squeezed your eyes shut knowing there was no use in begging any more. All you could do is hope that it was quick and painless.

Just as the man stepped in front of you to take the shot the chimes on the front door signaled someone else had entered the building.

“What are you two idiots doing?”, an unfamiliar male voice said.

“Um well what you asked us to do boss.”, one of the men said after clearing his throat.

Your eyes were still squeezed shut, but you could hear footsteps getting closer. Your body began to shiver in fear.

“Open your eyes little one.”, he said when the footsteps finally stopped.

Slowly you cracked them open adjusting to the light. The tears that had been building up were now feeling falling down your cheeks.

Min Haneul, the leader of the Min Family, squatted down in front of you curiously looking you over.

“Are you okay?”, he asked, “They didn’t hurt you did they? I’m sorry about them. They’re still…they still in their training phase.”

You shook your head as the two men began to protest, “Boss you said to get the money or kill them. You can’t be upset with us. We just did what you asked.”, they frantically explained worried for their own safety.

“I said…”, he began in a booming deep voice, “I said to get the money or bring me the body of Ji-Woo. In this family we don’t kill women or children.”, he spat helping you off of the ground.

“S-Sir I promise I don’t know where my father is. I haven’t heard from him in months.”, you sniffled, “Please don’t kill me. Take the restaurant. All of the money in the register is your. Just please don’t kill me.”

“Shhh Y/N, just breathe. I’m not going to kill you.”, he said pulling you into an uncomfortable hug, “I already know where your father is anyways.”

You stepped back in shock as he continued, “This was just a test. Well mostly…”, he glared at the two men for their mix up, “I just wanted to see how submissive you would be. I need a woman like that to marry my son. Someone who will please him at his command. Feed his ego let’s say. I think you will be perfect and we will go through with it after all.”

“I’m sorry what?”, you coughed. First you came within seconds of being killed then he says he knows where your father is and now you are supposedly getting married.

Min Haneul continued, “I’ve made a deal with your father. In exchange for not taking his life he agreed to give your hand in marriage over to my son Min Yoongi.”

“But…but…but.”, you tried to say unable to form a thought. You had heard of the heir to Min empire, but thankfully you had never met. Yoongi was known to be devilishly handsome, but with a cold heart and ruthless demeanor. He was just as if not more feared than his own father.

“It’s time he grows up. I need to make sure that he has an heir before I allow him to fully take over the family business. Since he won’t find a wife for himself I found one for him.”, he said walking away finally giving you space.

“Sorry for giving you such a scare.”, Haneul said grabbing a few bottles of soju from the refrigerator behind the bar, “My people will be in contact with you over the next couple of weeks with more information.”, his men followed him to the front door before he turned and gave you a light nod, “Oh and don’t worry about coming to work tomorrow. I own this restaurant now and no daughter in law of mine will be sweating next to a stove cooking food for strangers. Good night Y/N.”

Haneul was true to his word. Over the next couple of months a lavish wedding was planned. Money was of no concern. You thought it was ridiculous spending that much on things that didn’t mean anything to you, but you didn’t have a choice anyways. You just went along with it and occasionally selected a color or small detail when you were given the choice.

The day of the wedding was the first time that you saw Yoongi in person. According to his father he had been very non compliant about the whole arrangement and refused to participate up until this point.

You had hoped your father would be in attendance especially since you were only doing this because of him, but as you finally got to the alter you accepted that he had once again disappointed you.

Yoongi greeted you stone faced, but took your hand and lead you up to the officiant. It was the first time you saw the deep scar that ran through his right eye. Immediately you wondered what had happened. You saw pictures of him as a child and it wasn’t there, but it didn’t look fresh either. It could have been due to a surgery you thought at first, but then remembered who you were marrying. He was a gangster so there was no telling what had cause it and you feared for what the other person looked like if that was how he walked away.

The ceremony was long and drawn out and unnecessarily dramatic. You couldn’t wait for it to be over with. When it finally came time for the kiss you were shocked when Yoongi actually went through with it. His lips were softer than expected. He tasted like whiskey and he smelled like cinnamon and vanilla, a dangerous combination.

The reception was even more obscene being held on the top floor of the most elite hotel in the country. Armed guards were posted at all entrances and there was even a no fly zone over the area. Haneul had gone all out to ensure the safety of the event and also make a statement at the same time.

You were pranced around the room by him like the trophy wife you agreed to be to his son. You were introduced to celebrities and athletes, politicians, and even a Queen. Women came up to you trying to be your new best friend. Men flirted with you until they saw Yoongi looking their direction making them run off in fear.

You still couldn’t help, but notice that your father was nowhere to be found and every time you tried to question your new father in law he would change the subject. After a while you were so overwhelmed by everything that you stepped out onto the balcony to get some air. Yoongi seemed to have had the same idea as he was already out there lighting up a cigarette.

He looked at you with a cold stare making you turn to go back inside.

“You can come over here.”, he grumbled, “I won’t bite.”

“You sure about that? What about putting a gun to my head? That seems to be how your family shows affection.”, you scoffed.

You knew that you should technically be more scared of Yoongi than anyone else. He had the reputation for it. You knew what he was capable of yet you barely knew him as a person. You never would have spoken in any kind of way like that to his father, but there was just something about Yoongi, something different. Something familiar and almost comforting.

“Depends…don’t piss me off.”, he replied to your earlier question making you nod in agreement, “Noted. Don’t piss off the husband.” For the first time that day you saw the tiniest hint of a smile begin to form on his face.

Yoongi sipped on a glass of whiskey as the two of you silently looked down over the city that his family and now you pretty much owned.

“Do you know where my father is?”, you decided to ask the less scary (to you at least) Min, “I know he’s not a great person, but he wouldn’t miss my wedding.”

“Just let it go Y/N.”, Yoongi replied taking a hit of the cigarette, “For your own good.”

“He’s already dead isn’t he?”, you asked trying to keep your voice strong.

Yoongi being not one for beating around the bush nodded to your question, “He was killed as soon as he signed the contract to agree to this marriage.”

“So I was forced to marry you to save my father’s life and he was killed anyways?”, you asked out loud more to yourself than anyone, “What a sick fucking joke.”

“Yeah tell me about it. I only agreed to this marriage because I was told your father would be spared if I did. Then I was the one sent in there to kill him.”, he scoffed, “Like a sick fucking joke.”

Your stomach turned at his confession. You stared at the man you just married. You knew he didn’t have the best of morals, but hearing him confess to a murder, to the murder of your own father nonetheless, sent a shiver through your body. He said with such ease like it like it was just another day on the job for him. And somehow that still did not fully scare you away.

“Sir, your father wants some photos together.”, the photographer came out and said to the two of you. Yoongi sighed and put out his cigarette against the concrete railing.

“Let’s get it over with.”, he mumbled walking after the man. You tried to follow close behind, but tripped over your dress losing your shoe in the process making you stumble forward slightly.

Yoongi turned around to see what all the commotion was and noticed you struggling to get your shoe back on thanks to the volume of your dress.

“Here let me do it.”, he said kneeling down and helping to slide your shoe on making sure the strap was properly secured around your ankle this time.

You couldn’t help but softly giggle at the situation. He looked up at you still on one knee and with a raised eyebrow, “Is there something funny about this?”

“No no.”, you shook your head, “It’s just that it’s kind of like Cinderella.”

You could tell he wasn’t quite understanding what you were getting at so you explained further, “You know like how she looses her shoe and then the shoe fits and she’s wearing a pretty ball gown and then she marries Prince Charming. We are doing it a little backwards, but you’re kind of like the Prince Charming to my Cinderella.”

Finally understanding your explanation Yoongi stood up with a smile. “Y/N…I’m no Prince Charming.”, he huffed while straightening out his tuxedo, “I’m quite the opposite actually. And the sooner you accept that…the easier this marriage will be for the both of us.”

[coquettepascal]

better than pregnant!

summary: you're about to get your period and hesitant to freak because of it. joel does not gaf and needs to get freaky with his beautiful girl. 

tags: 18+, smut, p no plot, established relationship, post-outbreak, jackson!joel, kind of not really period sex, thigh fucking, misuse of baby oil, reader is afab, use of "good girl," joel is a freak and he likes to freak you, humping i guess, cuteness at the end somewhat, yay for no babies.

a/n: drabble i wrote in under an hour because i really wanted to write a fic today but it's so hot that i'm dying and someone should kill me.

my masterlist - askbox

wc: 1.4k unedited no beta

“Are you sure? It might mess up the bedsheets,” you ask softly. Joel sighs and you feel it against your back, the puff of his chest pressing into you. He’s holding you from behind with his pajama pants rucked halfway down his legs. You lost your pajama shorts somewhere along the way, as well as your undies. 

You’re days, or maybe even a day, away from getting your period, and you’ve been super clingy. Sometimes your cycle comes and goes without issue, the only symptom being the fact you’re bleeding. But other times, like now, you’re achey, emotional, and frustratingly aroused. All night you’ve been laying in different positions in an attempt to soothe the pain that’s braided itself into your spine, only to find the warmth of Joel’s chest soothes it best. Joel could care less about your grouchiness though, he’s just happy to hold you. It also doesn’t hurt that he’s about to get his dick wet (kind of.)

“Baby you ain’t even on it yet,” he reminds you quietly. You watch his hands as they pop open the ancient bottle of baby oil, pouring it into his palm. Joel’s leg nudges yours and you shyly open your legs clamshell style. His hand cups you first, careful not to slide his fingers too deep into your slit. You’re sensitive in many ways right now, he doesn’t want to upset you or overstimulate you. 

“There you go. Just some oil, right? You wanna make me feel good?” 

His voice is quiet as he talks, pulling his hand away so he can pour more oil into his palm. Now he lathers your inner thighs with it, all while he presses kisses into the back of your neck. “So soft,” he says to himself, squeezing the plush inner of your left thigh. Joel truly adores you. He runs his hand up, cupping your core again, and you feel his erection throb against your lower back where it’s pressed. 

Breathing is tough as your chest shakes with need and anxiety. You’ve never done anything like this, not on your cycle, and so it feels… scary. Part of you wants to go “but what if you get blood on you?” But that’s never really been a problem for Joel, not as long as you’ve known him. It’s also probably a dumb question to ask when he’s already throbbing and half naked. Duh, he wants this. 

“You with me?” He asks as he shifts down the bed. Part of you feels a little distant right now, fascinated by the fact he’s so willing to do this with you. Staying grounded is difficult when the most attractive guy you know is about to stick his dick between your thighs and rut into the softness there, but you manage. You keep your eyes trained on the window, taking soft breaths, and Joel waits until you can confidently answer.

“Mhm,” is what you manage. Your hand comes up and reaches for the one near your head, attached to the arm that’s snaked beneath your neck. He squeezes it reassuringly, then readjusts. 

“Gonna use you nice,” is all you get to hear before his dick is shoved between your thighs. Joel’s pushing into the oiled softness with vigor, like he’s the one who’s sexually frustrated and unable to get fucked. You can see the head of his cock barely peek out with each thrust, watching as a sticky pearl of precome suddenly disappears as he plunges in and out. Joel is groaning, the arm wrapped around your torso grasping at anywhere but your tits, since he knows how sensitive they are right now. He keeps trying to talk but he can’t quite catch his breath. His face drops into the crook of your neck and you feel him breathing heavily out of his nose and onto your skin.

“Good girl, fuck,” he curses softly. The arm tucked beneath your head suddenly is yanked away as Joel uses it to prop himself up. This changes his angle signficantly, and instead of fucking into your thighs and just grazing your cunt, he’s fucking the head of his cock up into your slit. The tip awkwardly bashes your swollen clit at first and you whine in annoyance. He’s quick to catch on and eases his movements.

“Like that, Joel, that’s– mmh!” You cover your face with your hands. It’s so difficult to try and be sexy or dirty when you fear that you’re bleeding all over him. You know he’s going to pick up on it if you keep talking, so you just shut up. 

“Yeah babygirl? Like this?” He asks, grinding his hips up. His tip feels like it’s making out with your clit now. The sensitive nerves are slathered in a mixture of your wetness, his precome, and the babyoil, and it’s making for a deliciously slick mess. Joel pumps at a quick pace, remaining mindful of your sensitivity, but his energy and words are almost rabid.

“Makin’ me crazy earlier, kissin’ on me in the kitchen and then makin’ me sit through dinner.”

Oh, maybe that’s why he’s being so ravenous. 

“Thinkin’ that being near your period is gonna make me keep my hands off you.”

Blood rushes to the tips of your ears at that. It’s so easy to forget that Joel finds you sexy, not just beautiful. Here in bed it’s easy to remember. The way he’s desperately fucking his dick into your legs is more than enough proof that he is desperately attracted to you. Joel’s teeth press into your neck in slight hesitation, knowing he shouldn’t be too rough, but he lets them drag across your skin. 

“So fuckin’ wet, I can tell that isn’t just the oil.” Your cunt clenches on nothing as he talks more. Joel is such a fucking talker, you wish he spoke this much outside of the bedroom sometimes. Maybe he’s just a pervert though and that’s why he’s so quiet.

Your mouth opens slightly and drool starts to leak out as he becomes more intentful with his thrusts. He’s purposefully grinding the head of his dick into your clit at the end of each thrust. You can feel the thickness of his dick rubbing down your sensitive slit each time he’s done grinding and it only holds you in anticipation. Surprised noises keep leaving you, as if you’re not aware of the insatiable man behind you. It feels so much different than the usual sex that you have with him, it feels like he wants to ravage you, take you apart. 

“This take your mind off your back pain, baby? Just needed my dick?”

Your head nods weakly and you start to whine “yes,” repeatedly. It isn’t wrong, you have no clue if your back is hurting anymore, not when you’re right on the cusp of an orgasm. 

Joel’s nose is tucked behind your ear now, ensuring that you hear all the filth he’s spewing. Everything is so wet now, even your ass is somehow wet. His hips snap into you relentlessly as he starts to ask if you’re close and you have no words to answer. You’re beginning to get so wet you can’t feel anything at all, but finally he pushes at just the right angle and the ridge of his tip drags over your clit, sending you over. You gasp desperately, grabbing at the pillow beside your head as your body seizes up, shivering. Your thighs clamp down hard around Joel’s cock, sending him over too. The first spurts of come spill out from between your thighs, but then he pulls back and shoves himself back against your slit. His dick throbs as it coats your cunt in hot come, and your clit throbs right back against his tip. 

“Good, good girl,” Joel grunts as his arm collapses back into the bed. He lays back down on his side, careful not to move too much. There’s a lot of mess on the bed already, he doesn’t want to clean anymore than he’ll already have to. 

“Your back still hurt?” He asks after a moment. Back to sweet and caring, as if he wasn’t just a totally dirty mouthed perv. 

“No. Might need a shower though,” you tease. Joel huffs slightly, amused.

“Uh-huh. Me too.”

Joel pulls away from you very carefully, hissing as he grows soft and sensitive. You look over your shoulder cautiously, praying you don’t see red. 

One thin line of red is smeared on his shaft. You look up at him apologetically right away, but he’s smiling. 

“What? Are you laughing at me?” You ask worriedly. Your lungs feel small as you try to breathe away embarrassment. 

“No,” Joel grins, “S’just that this is better’n you being pregnant.”

--- <3 --- yayy thank u for reading. tagging some of my faves @evolnoomym @pascalssbabyy @mochamadeleines @joeloverture

[nenlio]

Against All Odds BoyFail Danny Scores a Dilf

> DP x DC #0.3 - Copper Ice <

this one goes out to @chekhovs-slinky o7

"up through the rabbit hole, round the big tree-"

"Danny thats for tying shoelaces not ties"

" well SAM if you know so much why don't you try it then?!" Sam rolled her eyes at his complaints, still she got off the couch to help.

" You must be really nervous if you've forgotten how to tie a tie, im pretty sure you learned how to do that in highschool for prom." Danny glared at her, more annoyed than angry. Pushing up the knot Sam pat him on the shoulders, " there we go, all ready to sweep your man off his feet"

Dannys glare softened his grin turning mischievous "thanks for the help Sam, ill be sure to give you the role of best woman at the wedding"

They both chuckled at his words, " I better be! Me dragging you to the Gala is the only reason you even met!" Sam nudged his shoulder, "though your little ghost instincts are getting ahead of yourself don't you think? Let this first date happen and then well see about your wedding planning"

Danny flushed in embarrassment shoving her to the side, " leave me alone, I know its too soon but you tell my core that"

Her expression hardened at his words, " be careful or you might develop an obsession with a capital o on him"

Grimacing at her words, Danny looked away, " I know Sam, I know better than anyone how badly a obsession with someone can turn" Danny turned back with a small smile "I just haven't felt this kind of immediate connection before him. I don't want to lose my chance you know?"

She smiled back, she was proud of Danny for thinking more about how his ghost instincts could affect a relationship. It was a reason she'd broken up with him, citing her inability to truly understand his ghost and hero side and him not taking those sides in mind when concerning their relationship. It'd been awkward for a few months, but with the help of Tucker and Jazz they'd realized they were better as friends.

Sam walked toward the door, exiting with a small wave, "well good luck on your date! text us if you need anything" "Thanks!"

Turning to the mirror once more, Danny grinned at his reflection, mouthing 'I got this' before grabbing his jacket and exiting the apartment.

On his way to Wayne Manor Danny called Alfred, letting him know he would be there in less than half an hour. As he was about to tell him about his plans a call from Ellie came in, " sorry Alfred, my daughter is calling ill call you back in a bit" He heard a faint gasp on the other end of the phone before hanging up.

Wait...had... had he not told Alfred about Ellie?! .....Shit...

Answering the phone a shrill cry greeted him, " MOOMM!! HOW COULD YOU NOT TELL ME YOU WERE DATING AGAIN?!!!!" faint cackling could be heard in the background. Great. Dan had also heard the news.

"Hello to you too sweetie, Dan. Technically I haven't started dating yet since we haven't had our first date yet. As for why I didn't tell you. Well.. you do tend to push potential suitors away."

"whaAttt?? nO i dOnt!?" Her tone clearly indicated otherwise. While he loved his daughter, Danny knew she still didn't like the idea of his attention being split from them even more. It'd been harder when she was younger but even as a young adult she still valued the little time they spent together too much to approve of a relationship that would affect that time.

Dante's voice then came through the speakers "settle down squirt. Mom's been single for years now to take care of us, he should find someone to be with if he wants."

Aww his little world ender had matured! "thank you Dan, and sweetie you don't have to worry about me loving you any less or us spending less time together. Even if me and Alfred do start dating seriously I will always put you and Dan first.

"yea yeah I know Mom" Ah she clearly wasn't fully on board yet. Well there was plenty of time to get used to the change.

"how about you guys tell me about you day, it would make me less nervous while I drive?" "okay!! so yesterday me and dan-"

Listening to his childrens antics calmed his nerves a little more, making the drive peaceful. He felt a thought nagging him before dismissing it. It would come to him later if it was important.

When the call from Nightingale had come everyone had been present in the manors dinning table for lunch.

Alfred had just finished serving the meal, moving on to drinks. when the landline in the kitchen had begun ringing.

"ILL GET IT!!" Dick launched himself towards the phone. "Wayne Residence, Richard Grayson speaking, how can I help you?" A pause before his face lit up "Oh hi Danny! Yeah Alfred is here let me get him for you." He put the phone on hold before handing it to his grandfather who had just reached the kitchen.

Nodding his thanks, Alfred took the phone off hold, "Hello Alfred speaking, yes good Afternoon Danny how are you today?"

Dick returned to the dinning table smirking at his familys curious looks. "It was Danny, I think hes calling to let Alfie know hes on his way"

"And you didn't think to listen in??" Steph bemoaned

"hey if you want to be on the receiving end of a disappointed stare be my guest."

After a short while Alfred returned with a tray of side dishes, Bruce and the rest immediately noticed his expression slightly wavering. "Alfred? everything okay?"

Setting the dishes down calmly Afred answered his question, "ah yes Master Bruce, everything is okay simply Danny telling me some unexpected information abruptly. Apparently he has a daughter"

Silence.

"HE HAS A WHAT?!" "Did he not tell you that before Alfred?" "Do you mean Daniella Nightingale-Masters? I believe he also has a son, a Dante Nightingale-Masters" "How old are his kids?" " Dude really dropped a bombshell before the big date"

Silence again.

One of those responses was not like the others. Everyone turned to face Damian who apparently knew more than his family.

'tt' Damian looked away "He has clearly mentioned them before in interviews for his conservation efforts, that you didn't check further is simply oversight"

Tim, connecting the dots cut in "wait you said Nightingale-Masters right?"

Damian nodded

At his confirmation Tim's voice got tighter "Masters like the owner of Dalv.Co? who named Nightingale his heir? That Masters??"

An uneasy feeling settled at the dinner table. Everyone clearly coming to the same conclusion. If Danyal's kids were given the Master's surname was the connection between Nightingale and Masters more than family friends? And if the children were such high profile figures due to relations why did they not show up in Danyal's background check?

Sensing the tension Alfred cut in, "While I appreciate the concern I believe Danny and I can sort this out ourselves. Now if you would all please finish you meals, the food is getting cold"

Temporarily placated, the table resumed their conversation and breakfast was finished. Nothing that couldn't be conveyed by pointed stares and gestures was kept to themselves.

It was then that the landline once again rung, Alfred answering and heading to the coat rack near the entrance. "Danny is here to pick me up, I will be back before dinner, I shall see you all later"

Once the door closed all hell broke loose.

Reigning in the chaos Bruce gave out assignments "Dick head to the cave and inform Barbara about the situation, ask if she can find anymore information on the Nightingale-Masters children. Damian go with him, see if you can help. Everyone elss help me with the clean up and then well head to the cave"

Nodding everyone headed to do their tasks.

....It was going to be a long day..

[iamquiantrelle]

WHAT WE ARE (part one) • virgil van dijk (iamquaintrelle)

# pairings: virgil van dijk x fem! filipina/black reader (fc: michelle domingos) # summary: virgil is your boyfriend…but he also has a wife. ♡ masterlist // send me an ask # tags: @kyoshithewriter, @snowseasonmademe, @euqsblog, @kennaskorner, @peyiswriting, @laylaynaynay130, @toutouslilwrld @thatgirlevag # warnings: cursing, polyamory, football b.s., angst, eventual threesome, smut - 18+ only!!! # author’s note: i have a vague idea where i want to take this but i also know that it can’t be too long/multi chapter fic (like 20+ chapters; thinking more like maybe 6 or 8) & if you don’t like idea then don’t read it! this is for my virg girlies ❤️

The notification sound from your phone cuts through the comfortable silence of Virgil's car, and you already know what it is before you glance at the screen. Another Instagram comment, another tweet, another fucking opinion about your life that someone felt entitled to share with the world.

"Still can't believe VVD is openly cheating and we're all just supposed to be cool with it 🤡"

"The girlfriend is at another match... this is so weird"

"Imagine being the wife watching this play out publicly"

You swipe the notification away and toss your phone into your lap, staring out the window at the Liverpool streets rushing by. Five months. It's been five months since you and Virgil made your relationship public, since he and Rike posted that carefully crafted statement explaining their arrangement, and people still act like you're some home-wrecking villain in a soap opera.

"You're doing it again," Virgil's voice is low, that familiar Dutch accent wrapping around his words like it always does when he's trying to be gentle with you.

"Doing what?" you ask, though you know exactly what he means.

"Reading the comments." His large hand finds your thigh, thumb stroking over the fabric of your jeans. "Thought we agreed you were gonna stop torturing yourself with that shit."

You let out a humorless laugh. "Yeah, well, easier said than done when every other person in Liverpool thinks I'm a manipulative gold-digger who somehow convinced you to destroy your marriage."

Virgil's jaw tightens slightly, and you catch the way his grip on the steering wheel shifts. He hates this part—the way people talk about you, about the situation, like they have any fucking clue what goes on behind closed doors.

"You know that's not true," he says firmly. "And you know I don't give a damn what strangers on the internet think about my life."

"But I do," you admit quietly, and it's the truth that's been eating at you for months. "I care, and I hate that I care, but I fucking do, Virgil."

The car slows as you approach Anfield, and you can already see the clusters of fans gathering outside the stadium. Some are holding up scarves, others have their phones out, hoping to catch a glimpse of the players arriving. You know that by tomorrow, there'll be photos of you and Virgil online, accompanied by the same tired headlines and the same judgmental comments.

"Five months," you murmur, more to yourself than to him.

"Five months," he agrees, understanding immediately what you mean. Five months since the world found out about your relationship. Five months since Virgil van Dijk, Liverpool's captain and one of the best defenders in the world, confirmed that yes, he has a wife in the Netherlands, and yes, he also has a girlfriend in Liverpool, and no, it's not cheating because everyone involved is a consenting adult who understands the arrangement.

The statement had been clinical, professional, posted simultaneously on both his and Rike's Instagram accounts with comments disabled. It explained their open relationship, their mutual decision to see other people while remaining married and committed to co-parenting their children. It was dignified, mature, and completely fucking useless in terms of stopping people from having opinions.

"Magi texted me earlier," you say, pulling up the message from Mo Salah's wife. Both she and Saffie have been one of the few bright spots in this whole mess—the only other WAGs who treat you like a normal human being instead of some sort of exotic zoo animal.

Virgil glances over. "Yeah? What'd she say?"

"Asked if I wanted to grab lunch with her and Saffie tomorrow. Said she's tired of the others being weird around me." You show him the text, and he shakes his head with a mix of affection and frustration.

"Her and Saffie are good people," he says. "Wish the rest of them would get their heads out of their asses."

You've tried, really fucking tried, to fit in with the other wives and girlfriends. You've shown up to the coffee dates, the charity events, the dinners. But there's always this undercurrent of discomfort, like they're not sure how to categorize you. Are you a wife? A girlfriend? A mistress? The fact that you don't fit neatly into their understanding of relationships makes them treat you like you're carrying some sort of contagious disease.

"Remember that lunch last month?" you ask, and Virgil's expression immediately darkens.

"The one where what's-her-face asked you if you felt guilty 'taking Virgil away from his real family'?" His Dutch accent gets thicker when he's pissed off, and you can hear it now.

"That's the one." You'd wanted to throw your fucking salad at her perfectly made-up face, but instead you'd smiled politely and explained, for the hundredth time, that you weren't taking anything from anyone. That Virgil's relationship with his wife and children was completely separate from his relationship with you. That everyone involved was happy with the arrangement.

She'd looked at you like you were speaking Klingon.

"I wanted to grab her by the shoulders and shake some sense into her," you continue. "Like, woman, it's 2024. People have different types of relationships. Get with the fucking program."

Virgil chuckles, but there's no real humor in it. "Dutch people get it more," he says, which you know is true. When you visited Amsterdam with him last week, meeting his friends and some of his family, the reaction was completely different. A few raised eyebrows, sure, but mostly just acceptance. The Dutch are practical people, and if everyone involved is happy and honest about the situation, then what's the problem?

But Liverpool? Liverpool is different. More traditional, more conservative in some ways. The fans worship Virgil on the pitch, but off the pitch, they want their heroes to fit into neat little boxes. Married or single. Faithful or cheating. They don't know what to do with a man who's both married and dating someone else with his wife's full knowledge and consent.

"I just..." you trail off, trying to find the words. "I just want to exist without it being a whole fucking thing, you know? I want to come to your matches and not have people staring at me like I'm some sort of science experiment. I want to have normal conversations with your teammates' girlfriends without them acting like I'm going to steal their men too."

Virgil pulls into the players' parking area, the familiar sight of Anfield's red brick facade looming ahead. He turns off the engine and shifts to face you fully, his brown eyes serious.

"It's gonna take time," he says, reaching over to cup your face with one large hand. "People need time to get used to things that are different from what they expect. But I need you to know that I don't regret any of this. Not going public, not being with you, none of it."

You lean into his touch, closing your eyes for a moment. This is the part that makes it all worth it—Virgil himself. The way he looks at you, the way he makes you feel seen and valued and cherished. The way he never makes you feel like you're asking for too much when you need reassurance about this whole complicated situation.

"I know," you whisper. "I don't regret it either. I just wish it was easier."

"Nothing good is ever easy, liefje," he says, using the Dutch endearment that never fails to make your stomach flutter. "But we'll figure it out. We always do."

A knock on the passenger window makes you both jump, and you look up to see Mo Salah grinning at you through the glass. Virgil rolls down the window.

"You two planning to sit in there all day?" Mo asks, his Egyptian accent coloring his English. "Some of us have a match to win."

"Piss off, Mo," Virgil says, but he's smiling now. "We're coming."

Mo's eyes shift to you, and his expression softens slightly. "You good, Y/N?"

It's a simple question, but you know what he's really asking. Mo has been nothing but kind to you since day one, treating you with the same casual friendliness he shows everyone else.

"Yeah, I'm good," you tell him, and mean it. In this moment, sitting in Virgil's car with Mo smiling at you like you're just another part of the team family, you actually are good.

"Excellent. Magi's already inside, saving you a seat. And fair warning—Saffie's on one today. Think she had too much coffee this morning."

You laugh, grabbing your purse and following the guys out of the car. This is another thing you're still getting used to—the casual way some of the team has accepted you. Not all of them, sure, but enough of them that you don't feel completely out of place in the family section during matches.

The walk through the stadium corridors is familiar now, but you still get a little thrill when you see the Champions Wall and realize that your boyfriend's photo is up there, that he's a part of this incredible history. Virgil's hand finds yours, fingers interlacing as you walk.

"Y/N!" The voice makes you turn, and you see Arne Slot approaching with his characteristic calm smile. The manager has been professional and welcoming since your relationship became public, treating the whole situation with typical Dutch pragmatism.

"Hi, Arne," you say, accepting his brief handshake. "Ready for today?"

"Always ready," he says, then glances at Virgil. "Your warm-up looked good yesterday. Keep that focus."

"Of course, boss," Virgil replies, and you can hear the respect in his voice.

Arne nods and continues on his way, leaving you and Virgil to head toward the family section. You spot Magi immediately—her hijab a beautiful ruby red that matches her Liverpool scarf. Next to her, Saffie is gesturing wildly as she tells some story to a small group of women.

"Go on," Virgil says, leaning down to press a quick kiss to your temple. "I'll see you after."

"Play well," you tell him, straightening his collar unnecessarily. "Try not to get too wound up out there."

"Me? Never."

He grins and jogs off toward the tunnel, leaving you to navigate the social dynamics of the family section. You take a deep breath and walk over to where Magi and Saffie are sitting.

"Thank God you're here," Saffie says as you approach, her Liverpudlian accent thick with exasperation. "These women have been doing my bloody head in for the past twenty minutes."

"Language, Saffie," Magi says gently, but she's smiling.

"Right, sorry love," Saffie replies, not looking sorry at all. She turns back to you. "Seriously though, how do you deal with all the staring? I swear that Rebecca woman hasn't taken her eyes off you since you walked in."

You glance over at Rebecca, who's indeed watching you with barely disguised curiosity. "Practice," you say dryly. "Lots and lots of practice."

"Well, fuck that noise," Saffie declares, then immediately looks at Magi. "Sorry, sorry. Forget that noise. You're living your life, they can mind their own business."

Magi pats Saffie's arm affectionately. "She's not wrong, though. People should focus on their own relationships instead of judging yours."

This is what you love about these two—Magi's gentle wisdom and Saffie's fierce loyalty. They're the only ones in the family section who treat you like a normal person instead of some sort of exotic specimen.

"How was Amsterdam?" Magi asks as you settle in between them.

"Good," you say, then pause. "Complicated, but good."

"Complicated how?" Saffie leans in, always ready for gossip.

"Just... seeing Virgil with his family, you know? It's not jealousy exactly, it's more like..." you search for the right words. "It's like watching him be a completely different version of himself. Father Virgil, Husband Virgil. And I love seeing those sides of him, but it also reminds me that I'm only getting part of him."

Magi nods understandingly. "That must be difficult. But you're getting a part of him that's just yours, too."

"I know that, logically. It's just the emotional side that's harder to manage sometimes."

"That's totally normal," Saffie says firmly. "You're sharing someone you love. That's bound to bring up some weird feelings, even when everyone's on board with the arrangement."

The match is starting now, and you force yourself to focus on the pitch rather than the whispered conversations happening around you. Watching Virgil play never gets old—the way he reads the game, the calm authority he brings to the defense, the respect his teammates clearly have for him.

Liverpool scores in the last minute, and you jump up with everyone else, cheering and hugging Magi and Saffie. For a moment, you forget about everything else and just enjoy the pure joy of watching your boyfriend's team dominate.

But then you sit back down and catch Rebecca looking at you with that same expression of half curiosity, half judgment, and the moment is broken.

"You know what?" you say to your friends. "I think I'm gonna head down to the tunnel early today."

"Want us to come with you?" Saffie offers.

"Nah, it's fine. I'll see you both later."

You gather your things and make your way down to the area where players' families wait after matches. It's quieter here, just a few security guards and some staff members. You lean against the wall and pull out your phone, scrolling through messages without really seeing anything.

A text from Virgil pops up: Where'd you go? Magi said you left early.

You type back: Just needed some air. Waiting by the tunnel.

Virgil: Everything okay?

You: Yeah, just the usual stuff. I'm fine.

Virgil: Be there in 10. Love you.

You: Love you too.

You close your phone and take a deep breath, trying to center yourself. This is the reality of your situation—you love Virgil, he loves you, but loving him means dealing with all the external bullshit that comes with being in a non-traditional relationship with a public figure.

"Y/N?"

You look up to see Robbo approaching, still in his kit and looking slightly sweaty from the match.

"Hey, Robbo. Good game."

"Cheers. You alright? Virg mentioned you seemed a bit off today."

It's sweet, the way some of Virgil's teammates look out for you.

"Just tired of being a spectacle," you admit. "Sometimes I wonder if it would've been easier to keep things private."

Andy leans against the wall next to you. "But then you'd be sneaking around, lying to people, hiding a huge part of your life. That's no way to live either."

He's right, and you know it. Before you went public, the secrecy had been eating at you.

"I know," you say. "I just wish people could mind their own business."

"Aye, well, good luck with that. People are gonna have opinions no matter what you do. Might as well live your life on your own terms."

Virgil appears around the corner, showered and changed into his street clothes. His eyes immediately find yours, and you can see the concern in his expression.

"There you are," he says, pulling you into a hug. "You sure you're okay?"

"I'm okay," you tell him, and you mean it. The anxiety and frustration from earlier has faded, replaced by the familiar comfort of being in his arms. "Just needed a minute."

"Fair enough." He keeps one arm around you as he chats with Robbo about the match, and you let yourself relax into his side.

"Right, I'm off," Robbo says eventually. "See you both later."

"Drive safe," Virgil calls after him, then turns his attention back to you. "Ready to go home?"

"Yeah," you say, then remember something. "Actually, I want to talk to you about something."

His eyebrows raise. "Oh yeah?"

"Yeah. I've been thinking about it more seriously. The medical aesthetic spa idea? I think I'm ready to start putting together a proper plan."

The smile that spreads across Virgil's face is brilliant. "That's brilliant, babe. What changed your mind?"

You think about it for a moment. "I guess I realized that I've been so focused on trying to fit into everyone else's idea of what my life should look like that I forgot to actually live it."

"And now?"

"Now I want to build something that's mine. Something I'm passionate about."

"I'd love to help," he says seriously. "But I want to see that you're really committed to this. Where's your business plan, baby?"

"I don't have one yet, smartass. That's why I want to talk to you about it."

As you walk out of Anfield together, heading toward the car park, you feel something shift inside you. For months, you've been so focused on defending your relationship that you've lost sight of everything else you want from life.

The drive home to your shared house in Formby is comfortable, Virgil's hand resting on your thigh as he navigates the familiar roads. The house itself is gorgeous—a modern place with huge windows and a garden that Virgil actually enjoys tending to in his spare time. It's become home in a way that surprises you sometimes.

"So," Virgil says as you both settle onto the sofa with Chinese takeaway spread out on the coffee table, "tell me about this business plan."

You curl up next to him, stealing a prawn cracker from his container. "Right, so I've been doing loads of research. The medical aesthetics industry is booming, especially in areas like Liverpool where you have money but maybe not as much access to high-end treatments."

"Go on," he says, but his hand is trailing up your thigh in a way that's definitely not focused on business planning.

"I'm thinking we start small—Botox, fillers, basic skincare treatments. Build up a client base, then expand into more advanced procedures. Partner with a doctor for the medical side, but focus on the luxury experience. Like a proper spa but with medical-grade treatments."

"Mmm," Virgil murmurs against your neck, having abandoned all pretense of eating. "Sounds good."

"Virgil," you laugh, trying to push him away. "I'm being serious here."

"So am I," he says, his voice dropping to that low register that always makes your stomach flip. "But we can talk business later."

His mouth finds that spot just below your ear that makes you melt, and you find yourself forgetting about business plans and profit margins. This is another thing you love about your relationship—the way Virgil can make you feel desired and wanted, like he can't keep his hands off you even after months together.

"We should really—" you start, but he cuts you off with a kiss that makes your toes curl.

"Should really what?" he asks against your lips.

"Nothing," you breathe, letting him pull you properly into his lap. "Business plan can wait."

Just as things are getting properly heated, Virgil's phone starts ringing. He ignores it at first, too busy kissing along your collarbone, but when it rings again immediately, he sighs.

"Fuck," he mutters, reaching for the phone. His expression softens when he sees the caller ID. "It's Rike. Probably time for the kids' bedtime story."

Your stomach does that little flip it always does when Rike calls. Not jealousy exactly, but something adjacent to it. A reminder that you're sharing him, that there are parts of his life that will always belong to someone else.

"Take it," you say, sliding off his lap. "I'll go make some tea."

You can hear him talking in Dutch as you move around the kitchen, his voice taking on that gentle tone he uses with his children. He's telling them about the match, probably, making them laugh with some story about Mo or Robbo. It's sweet, and it makes your chest tight in a way you can't quite name.

When you come back with two mugs of tea, he's just finishing up.

"Goodnight, kleine muis," he says softly. "I love you too. Put Mama back on for a second."

There's a pause, and then his voice changes slightly as he talks to Rike. Still warm, still affectionate, but different from how he talks to the kids. More intimate in a way that makes something uncomfortable settle in your stomach.

"Yeah, she's good," he's saying, and you realize he's talking about you. "No, no problems. She's been working on that business plan we talked about."

Wait. They talked about your business plan? When? Why?

"Okay, I'll tell her you said hi. Love you too."

He hangs up and looks over at you, and something in your expression must give away your thoughts because his brow furrows.

"What's wrong?"

"You talked to Rike about my business plan?" you ask, trying to keep your voice neutral.

"Just mentioned it in passing. Why?"

You set down your tea and turn to face him properly. "It's just... I don't know. Sometimes I feel like I'm sharing you in ways I didn't expect. Like, I knew about the kids, I knew about the marriage, but I didn't think about all the little everyday things you'd still share with her."

Virgil's expression grows serious. "Are you saying you don't want me to talk to her about you?"

"No, that's not..." you pause, trying to figure out how to articulate what you're feeling. "It's not that I don't want you to talk about me. It's more like... I'm still getting used to the fact that your wife knows details about my life. About my dreams and plans and things that feel private to me."

"She's not just my wife, though," Virgil says gently. "She's someone I share my life with, someone I trust. And you're a huge part of my life now, so of course I talk about you."

"I know that. Logically, I know that. It's just the emotional side that's harder."

Virgil pulls you closer, and you let him, curling into his side. "What can I do to make it easier?"

"I don't know," you admit. "Maybe just... warn me when you're going to talk about something personal? So I'm not blindsided by finding out you've discussed my business plans with your wife?"

"Fair enough," he says, pressing a kiss to the top of your head. "I can do that."

You're quiet for a moment, enjoying the warmth of his body against yours. Then something occurs to you.

"What else do you talk about? When it comes to me, I mean."

Virgil's hand stills where it's been stroking your arm. "What do you mean?"

"Like, does she ask about our relationship? About how things are going between us?"

"Sometimes," he says carefully. "She wants to make sure you're happy, that you're settling in okay."

"And what do you tell her?"

"The truth. That I'm crazy about you. That you make me happy in ways I didn't expect."

Your chest warms at his words, but there's still something nagging at you. "Does she ever... I don't know, give you advice about us? About me?"

Virgil is quiet for a long moment, and that tells you everything you need to know.

"She does," you say, sitting up to look at him. "What kind of advice?"

"It's not like that," he says quickly. "It's not her telling me what to do. It's more like... she knows me really well. She can see when I'm struggling with something or when I'm not sure how to handle a situation."

"What kind of situations?"

Virgil runs a hand over his hair, looking suddenly uncomfortable. "Like when you get overwhelmed by all the public attention. She helps me understand how to support you better."

You're not sure how to feel about this. On one hand, it's sweet that Rike cares enough to help Virgil navigate your relationship. On the other hand, it's weird knowing that your boyfriend's wife is giving him advice about how to handle you.

"Has she said anything else about me?" you ask.

"Y/N..."

"Just tell me, Virgil."

He sighs. "She thinks you'd be a good mother."

The words hit you like a physical blow, and you sit up straighter, staring at him. "What?"

"She mentioned it a few weeks ago. Said she could see how you are with the kids when we video call, how patient and kind you are. She thinks you have good maternal instincts."

"Why would she be thinking about that?" you ask, your voice coming out higher than usual.

Virgil looks at you for a long moment, and there's something in his expression that makes your stomach flip. "Because I told her I could see a future with you. A real future. And she knows that would probably include children."

"You want children with me?" The question comes out as barely a whisper.

"I mean, not right now," he says quickly. "But someday, yeah. If that's something you want too."

You feel like the air has been knocked out of your lungs. Children. With Virgil. While he's still married to someone else, while he already has children with someone else.

"What would Rike think about that?" you ask.

Virgil shrugs, as if this is the most natural thing in the world. "She'd be fine with it. She understands how much I love you."

"She'd be fine with it?" you repeat, your voice rising. "Virgil, you're talking about having children with your girlfriend while you're married to someone else. How is that something someone is just fine with?"

"Because she knows I love you," he says simply. "She knows this isn't just some casual thing for me. She can see that you're not going anywhere, that this is real."

You stare at him, trying to process what he's telling you. The casual way he's discussing having children with you, as if it's something he and Rike have already talked through and accepted.

"When did you talk about this?" you ask.

"Last week. After you came to Amsterdam and spent time with the kids. She could see how natural you were with them, how much they liked you."

"And she just... what? Gave you her blessing to knock up your girlfriend?"

Virgil winces at your phrasing. "It wasn't like that. We were just talking about the future, about what we both want. She wants me to be happy, and she can see that you make me happy."

You get up from the sofa, needing space to think. This is all happening too fast, too casually. The idea of having children with Virgil while he's still married to Rike, of bringing a baby into this already complicated situation, makes your head spin.

"I need to think about this," you say.

"Of course," Virgil says, standing up as well. "I'm not saying we need to decide anything now. I just wanted you to know that it's something I think about, something I want."

"With me specifically, or just in general?"

"With you," he says without hesitation. "I want everything with you, Y/N. I want a future, a family, a life together."

The sincerity in his voice makes your chest tight. This is what you've wanted to hear, isn't it? That you're not just a temporary distraction, that he sees a real future with you.

But the reality of what that future would look like is more complicated than you'd imagined.

Later, as you're getting ready for bed, you catch yourself in the bathroom mirror. You're wearing a silk pink bonnet and a matching slip nightgown, and you look younger than your twenty-eight years. Do you look like someone who's ready to have children? Do you look like someone who could handle being a mother while navigating this complex relationship dynamic?

"You're thinking too hard," Virgil says from the doorway, watching you stare at your reflection.

"Am I?" you ask. "Because it feels like I'm not thinking hard enough."

He comes up behind you, wrapping his arms around your waist and leaning down to rest his chin on your shoulder. "What's going through your head?"

"Everything," you admit. "The business, the relationship, the future. It all feels like too much sometimes."

"We don't have to figure it all out tonight," he says, pressing a kiss to your neck. "We can take it one day at a time."

"Is that what you and Rike do? Take it one day at a time?"

"We take it one conversation at a time," he corrects. "We talk about everything. What we need, what we want, what we're struggling with. That's how we make it work."

"And she really wouldn't mind if we had children together?"

Virgil meets your eyes in the mirror. "She'd probably be excited. She loves being a mother, and she can see how much joy children bring to my life. She wants that for me with you too."

You turn in his arms to face him properly. "I want to talk to her about it myself."

"About having children?"

"About everything. About how this all works, about what the boundaries are, about what she's comfortable with. I feel like I've been living in this relationship without really understanding all the dynamics."

Virgil nods. "I think that's a good idea. She'd like that too."

"When?"

"Whenever you're ready. She's always said the door is open for conversation."

You bite your lip, thinking. "Maybe after I get the business plan sorted. Once I feel like I have my own shit together."

"You don't have to have everything figured out to have difficult conversations," Virgil points out.

"I know, but I want to feel like I'm coming to her as an equal, you know? Not just as your girlfriend who needs her permission for things."

Virgil's hands frame your face, his thumbs stroking over your cheekbones. "You are her equal. You're not asking for permission, you're asking for understanding."

"There's a difference?"

"A big one."

You lean into his touch, feeling some of the tension leave your shoulders. This is why you love him—the way he can make complicated things feel manageable, the way he believes in you even when you don't believe in yourself.

"Okay," you say. "I'll think about it."

"Good." He leans down to kiss you, soft and sweet at first, then deeper when you respond. "Now, can we please go to bed? I've been trying to get you naked all evening."

You laugh despite everything. "You're insatiable."

"Only with you," he says, backing you toward the bedroom. "Only ever with you."

As he kisses you again, his hands already working at the straps of your nightgown, you let yourself forget about the complications for a while. Let yourself focus on this—the way he touches you like you're precious, the way he looks at you like you're everything he's ever wanted.

The questions about the future can wait until tomorrow. Tonight, you just want to be with him, to feel the certainty of his love even when everything else feels uncertain.

But as you fall asleep in his arms later, your mind is already spinning with plans. Not just for the business, but for the conversation you know you need to have with Rike. About boundaries and expectations and what it really means to share a life with someone who's already sharing his life with someone else.

The smell of coffee and croissants fills the kitchen as you pad downstairs in your silk robe, hair still wrapped in your bonnet from the night before. Virgil's already dressed for training, looking unfairly good in his Liverpool tracksuit as he leans against the counter scrolling through his phone.

"Morning, beautiful," he says, looking up with that smile that still makes your stomach flip after all these months.

"Morning," you mumble, making a beeline for the coffee machine. You need caffeine before you can be properly human, especially after the heavy conversation from last night that kept you tossing and turning.

"Made you a plate," he says, nodding toward the counter where he's arranged fresh fruit and pastries. "And there's that fancy yogurt you like in the fridge."

This is one of the things you love about living with him—the way he takes care of you in these small, domestic ways. It's different from the grand gestures, more intimate somehow.

"You're an angel," you say, standing on your tiptoes to kiss him properly. He tastes like coffee and mint toothpaste, familiar and comforting.

"Sleep okay?" he asks, his hands settling on your waist.

"Eventually." You don't mention the hours you spent staring at the ceiling, thinking about children and Rike and what your future actually looks like. "What time's training?"

"Nine. But I wanted to talk to you about something first." His expression grows more serious, and you immediately tense.

"What now?"

"Nothing bad," he says quickly. "It's about your business plan. I was thinking we could set up a meeting with my financial advisor, maybe next week? He specializes in new business ventures, could help you figure out the funding side of things."

The fact that he's taking your spa idea seriously enough to involve his financial people makes your chest warm. "You think it's actually good?"

"Baby, I think you could do anything you set your mind to. But I also think you need proper advice from people who understand the market." He glances at his watch. "Speaking of which, you better get moving if you want to make it to the office on time."

Right. Work. Your actual job that pays your actual bills while you fantasize about running your own business.

"Ugh," you groan, already dreading the day ahead. "I forgot about the Henderson viewing at ten. That property's been on the market for ages."

"The one in Woolton?"

"Yeah. Seven bedrooms, indoor pool, more money than sense required." You grab a piece of melon from your plate. "Honestly, sometimes I think these footballers have no idea what to do with their money."

Virgil raises an eyebrow. "Present company excluded, I hope."

"You're Dutch. You're sensible with money by default."

He laughs, pulling you in for another kiss. "I love you. Have a good day, try not to let the office gossips wind you up."

"No promises," you say, but you're smiling as you head upstairs to get ready.

An hour later, you're walking into Prestige Properties Liverpool, the city's most exclusive real estate agency. The office is all glass and chrome, designed to impress wealthy clients who expect a certain level of sophistication. You've been working here for two years as a broker's assistant, first at the London location and now here in Liverpool, learning the trade while handling the administrative side of million-pound property deals.

"Well, well, look who's gracing us with her presence," comes a voice from behind the reception desk. It's Jessica, the office coordinator, and her tone has just enough edge to let you know she's been waiting for an opportunity to start something.

"Morning, Jess," you say neutrally, heading toward your desk.

"Saw the photos from Amsterdam online, how was it? Must be nice though, exploring with your boyfriend while his wife stays home with the kids."

There it is. You'd been wondering how long it would take for someone to bring up the Amsterdam trip. The photos had been everywhere—you and Virgil at dinner, walking through the city, looking happy and relaxed. What the photos didn't show was the time you'd spent at his house with Rike and the children.

"It was lovely, thanks for asking," you reply, sitting down at your desk and opening your laptop. You're not taking the bait, not today.

"Must be strange though, isn't it?" Jessica continues, clearly not ready to drop it. "Being the other woman in such a public way?"

"I'm not the other woman," you say firmly, not looking up from your screen. "Everyone involved is aware of and comfortable with the situation."

"If you say so," Jessica says with a laugh that suggests she very much doesn't believe you.

You're saved from responding by Thomas Webb, one of the senior brokers, approaching your desk with a file in his hand.

"Y/N, good, you're here. I need you to handle the Henderson viewing this morning. The client's being particularly demanding about the timeline."

"Of course," you say, grateful for the distraction. "Everything's prepared. I'll head over at half nine to make sure everything's perfect."

Thomas nods, then hesitates. "Listen, I know you've got a lot going on personally at the moment. If you need any time off, or if the media attention becomes too much..."

"I'm fine, Thomas. Really."

He doesn't look entirely convinced, but he doesn't push. "Alright. But my door's always open if you need to talk."

As he walks away, you catch Jessica rolling her eyes. "Must be nice having special treatment because you're shagging a celebrity."

"That's enough," comes a sharp voice from across the office. It's Priya, another assistant who sits near you. "Why don't you focus on your own work instead of obsessing over Y/N's personal life?"

Jessica huffs and turns back to her computer, but you can feel the tension in the office. This is what you'd been dreading—the way your relationship with Virgil has become office gossip, something for people to pick apart and judge.

Your phone buzzes with a text from Saffie: Coffee later? Need to vent about Curtis being a div this morning.

You smile despite everything. At least you have friends who treat you normally.

You: Can't today, got viewings all afternoon. Tomorrow?

Saffie: Deffo. Bring Magi if she's free. We can properly catch up.

You're typing a response when Amanda Chen, the office manager, appears at your desk.

"Y/N, could I have a word? In my office?"

Your stomach drops. Amanda's tone is professional but serious, and you immediately start running through everything you might have done wrong.

"Of course," you say, following her to the glass-walled office at the back of the space.

Amanda closes the door and gestures for you to sit. She's in her forties, impeccably dressed, and has run this office like a well-oiled machine for the past five years.

"How are you settling in with everything that's been happening?" she asks, getting straight to the point.

"Fine, I think. My work hasn't suffered, if that's what you're worried about."

"It's not your work I'm concerned about," Amanda says, leaning back in her chair. "It's the atmosphere in the office. Some of the staff seem to be having difficulty separating your personal life from your professional responsibilities."

You wince. "I'm sorry about that. I never wanted my relationship to become a distraction here."

"It's not your fault," Amanda says firmly. "You can't help who you fall in love with, and you've conducted yourself professionally throughout this entire situation. But I do think we need to address the elephant in the room."

"Which is?"

"The fact that you're dating one of the most high-profile footballers in the city, and that footballer happens to be in a very unconventional relationship situation that people have strong opinions about."

You nod, not sure where this is going.

"I've had three clients this week ask specifically about you," Amanda continues. "Two wanted to know if you'd be handling their property search because they're curious about your connection to Virgil. One specifically requested a different agent because they 'don't approve of your lifestyle choices.'"

"Shit," you say, then immediately look embarrassed. "Sorry."

Amanda waves off your apology. "My point is, like it or not, you've become a talking point. And in this business, being talked about can be either very good or very bad for business."

"Which do you think it is?"

"Honestly? Probably good. This is Liverpool—football is religion here. The fact that you're dating the captain of the most successful team in the city is going to intrigue more clients than it puts off." She pauses. "But only if you handle it correctly."

"What do you mean?"

"I mean you need to decide how much of your personal life you're willing to use professionally. Some clients will want to work with you specifically because of who you're dating. Are you comfortable with that?"

You think about it for a moment. The idea of using your relationship with Virgil to advance your career feels wrong somehow, like you'd be taking advantage of something that should be separate from work.

"I don't know," you admit. "It feels weird, using my relationship to sell houses."

"It doesn't have to be using it," Amanda says. "It can just be not hiding from it. You're knowledgeable about the area, you understand the kind of properties high-net-worth individuals are looking for, and yes, you happen to be dating someone who moves in those circles. That's not using your relationship, that's leveraging your life experience."

"I suppose," you say, still not entirely convinced.

"Think about it this way," Amanda continues. "If a client mentions Virgil, you don't have to pretend you don't know him. You can speak knowledgeably about the areas where footballers live, the kind of security and privacy they need, the lifestyle considerations that matter to them. That's valuable insight."

She's making sense, even if it still feels strange.

"What about the staff issues?" you ask.

"I'll handle that," Amanda says firmly. "Jessica's just jealous, and the others will get bored once the novelty wears off. But if anyone makes you uncomfortable or affects your ability to do your job, you come to me immediately."

"Thank you," you say, genuinely grateful. "I was worried you might ask me to keep a lower profile or something."

"Are you kidding? Do you have any idea how many luxury property inquiries we've had since your relationship became public? I'm not about to discourage that kind of business."

You're laughing as you leave Amanda's office, feeling lighter than you have all morning. Maybe this whole situation doesn't have to be entirely negative. Maybe there's a way to navigate it that doesn't involve hiding who you are or apologizing for who you love.

Back at your desk, you dive into preparing for the Henderson viewing. The property is stunning—a modern mansion in Woolton with every luxury imaginable. The kind of place where Premier League players and successful businessmen raise their families in comfort and privacy.

As you review the details, you find yourself thinking about what Amanda said. You do understand this market in a way you didn't before dating Virgil. You know what matters to people with serious money and public profiles—the importance of good security, proximity to private schools, easy access to training facilities and airports.

Maybe that's not using your relationship. Maybe that's just being good at your job.

Your phone buzzes with another text, this time from Virgil: How's the office drama today?

You: Manageable. Amanda had a chat with me about turning my newfound "fame" into business opportunities.

Virgil: You thinking about it?

You: Maybe. Feels weird though.

Virgil: Why?

You pause, thinking about how to explain it. Because I want to succeed on my own merit, not because I'm your girlfriend.

Virgil: Baby, knowing me doesn't make you less talented or capable. If anything, it just gives you additional expertise in a market you're already good at.

You: When did you become so wise?

Virgil: I've always been wise. You're just now appreciating it properly.

You're grinning at your phone when Priya appears at your desk.

"Everything alright? You look like someone just told you good news."

"Just Virgil being ridiculous," you say, showing her the text thread.

"He's got a point though," Priya says, reading over your shoulder. "You've learned more about luxury property in the past six months than some people learn in years. Might as well use that knowledge."

"You think so?"

"Definitely. And honestly, having someone on the team who actually understands that lifestyle could be really valuable. We get so many footballer inquiries, and half the time we're just guessing what matters to them."

It's funny how different perspectives can make you see something in a completely new light. This morning you felt like your relationship was complicating your work life, but maybe it's actually enhancing it.

Your phone rings, interrupting your thoughts. The caller ID shows a number you don't recognize.

"Y/N speaking, how can I help you?"

"Hi, is this Y/N from Prestige Properties? My name is Rudy Bryant, I'm looking for a property in the Liverpool area."

"Yes, that's me. What kind of property are you looking for, Mr. Bryant?"

"Something substantial, good security, near good schools. I'm a new signing with Everton, just moved to the area."

You grab a pen and start taking notes. "Congratulations on the signing. What's your timeline like?"

"Pretty flexible, but I'd like to get settled before Christmas if possible. I was actually recommended to speak with you specifically."

"Oh? By whom?"

"A friend of mine knows Virgil van Dijk. Said you'd understand what I need better than most agents."

There it is. Your first client inquiry that's directly connected to your relationship with Virgil.

"I'd be happy to help," you say, surprising yourself with how natural it feels. "When would you be available for an initial consultation?"

As you schedule the appointment, you realize Amanda was right. This doesn't feel like using your relationship—it feels like being good at your job in a way that incorporates all aspects of your life experience.

When you hang up, Priya is smiling at you.

"How was that?" she asks.

"Actually really good," you admit.

"See? You're not using your relationship to get clients. You're using your expertise to serve clients better. There's a difference."

You spend the rest of the morning preparing for your viewings, and for the first time in months, you feel like you're not just existing in the space between your personal and professional life—you're integrating them in a way that actually makes sense.

By the time you leave for the Henderson viewing, you're feeling more confident than you have in weeks. Maybe this whole situation doesn't have to be about choosing between being Virgil's girlfriend and being your own person.

Maybe you can be both.

..........tbd

[lbxbx]

Ten steps to you 1 | Jjk

Pair: reader x Jungkook

Summary: A swipe right felt risky, but this time it might be different. You and Jungkook meet for a first date to see where it leads - and it doesn't feel half bad.

Genre: strangers to lovers, modern romance, slow burn.

No one ever tells you that dating in your late twenties can feel like a full-time job. That’s the only thing running through your head as you get ready for yet another first date—one of many this year.

You still get that weird feeling in your stomach before each one. A mix of nerves and hope, even if you’re tired of it all by now. This year’s been… a lot.

There was the firefighter—you actually felt kind of hopeful on the second date. But then it hit you: dating someone who works 24-hour shifts and disappears for days? Probably not the best setup for a future together.

Then came the “entrepreneur.” Which, as it turns out, was just a nicer way of saying “unemployed and lonely.” You almost cried halfway through the date, but managed to hold it together—until he casually mentioned he still lived with his parents. No offense, but that was definitely not for you.

It wasn’t always them—sometimes, it was you.

Like that time you went out with a vet who was ridiculously attractive, smart, and funny. Honestly, the whole package. But then… he just never called back.

To be fair, you’re pretty gorgeous yourself. But him? He looked like he’d just walked off the cover of a magazine.

You grab your purse and car keys, ready to leave your apartment. You swiped right on a guy last night, exchanged a few messages, and he lives really close by. He seems nice, with an interesting lifestyle, a bunch of cool hobbies, and—thankfully—a regular job.

You both decided to try the new Japanese place that just opened a few blocks away. You’re both curious about the food, so it sounded like a perfect plan.

Your outfit totally shows your personality—a white summer dress covered in tiny cherries, paired with a denim jacket because it’s still May, and Seoul evenings can be pretty chilly.

That weird flutter in your stomach won’t quit. What if he’s not who he says he is? Maybe those photos belong to some model, not this guy. Or worse—he could be the kind of person who makes bad jokes and worse conversation. Awkward silences? Guaranteed.

But hey, you’ve been down this road too many times to freak out now. You know the drill: scan for exit routes, keep your phone close, and if things get unbearable, make a quick dash to the ladies’ room and disappear.

You’ve got this. Worst case, it’s just another story for the “date fails” collection.

You hop into your car and start the short drive—even if the place is close, walking in heels is a no from you. The radio hums with soft background music until, of all things, it cuts to an ad for the very restaurant you’re heading to. You actually let out a small laugh.

Honestly, you are a little excited. You haven’t eaten all day, partially out of nerves, mostly to justify going all-out for dinner.

The drive barely takes eight minutes. You park, smooth down your dress, and head inside.

Okay, deep breath.

You start scanning the room. He said he’s about 5’10, dark hair, heavily tatted—not that that part will help unless he decided to show up half-naked (doubtful). But you remember his round eyes, and the single dimple on his left cheek—that should do it.

Your eyes sweep the room, and there he is. One of the only people sitting alone, surrounded by couples and noisy families. And he’s already seen you—his eyes are locked onto yours, calm but expectant, it seems like he’s been waiting for you for a while.

He lifts a hand to wave, and you feel that flicker of nerves again as you start walking toward the table.

Okay—at least it’s him.

Actually, it’s better than the pictures.

“Hey, how are you?” you say, flashing a polite smile, nerves barely tucked behind your lips.

He stands to greet you, offering a friendly handshake and a confident, easy smile. “Good. How are you?”

“I’m good,” you reply, glancing around. “It’s kind of crowded for a newly opened place. I wasn’t expecting that.”

You’re just about to pull out your chair when he beats you to it, stepping in smoothly to help. He waits for you to sit, then gently pushes your chair forward like it’s second nature.

Well then.

“Thank you,” you say, a little surprised. What a Gentleman.

He takes his seat across from you, resting his arms lightly on the table. “So,” he says, “are you as excited about this food as I am? I haven’t stopped thinking about sushi all day and to top it off, their ads were on the radio the entire day.”

You let out a small laugh. “Same. I literally didn’t eat anything today just to go all out.”

That makes you sound like the binge monster you are, if you could only go back in time and scratch that line.

His brows lift. “Bold move. Starving yourself before raw fish.”

“Risky, I know,” you say, smiling. “But I had a good feeling. And I figured worst case, at least I get good food out of it.” What is the matter with you.

Luckily he chuckles. “Fair. Though I’m hoping it ends up being slightly better than just good food.”

You tilt your head, amused. “Is that your way of saying you’re trying to charm me already?”

“I mean,” he shrugs with a grin, “would it be too forward if I said yes?”

“A little,” you tease, “but I’ll allow it.”

A small silence settles between you, but it’s not uncomfortable. He reaches for his glass of water and says, “So what made you swipe right? Was it my very serious photo holding a dead fish? Or the one where I look like I’m about to go to church?”

You laugh. “Honestly? It was the dead fish. Kinda provoked that sushi craving.”

He nods solemnly. “Charming you seems to be working.”

You laugh again, this time a little more relaxed.

It feels so easy to talk to him, you didn’t get too excited, you felt the same on previous date and they all failed.

The waiter stops by to hand over menus, and the two of you take a moment to flip through the pages.

“I have no idea what half of this is,” he says, squinting at the list of rolls. “But I’m willing to be brave tonight.”

You smirk. “That’s the spirit. Just don’t pick the one with fermented squid. I made that mistake once. Never again.”

He laughs. “Noted. Avoid anything that sounds like it could still move.”

There’s a short pause while you both scan the menu. Then he looks up.

“So…you mentioned in your profile you work in marketing?”

“Mhm. I spend most of my days talking to my laptop and accidentally forgetting to eat.”

“Dangerous lifestyle,” he says, mock-serious. “You need structured snack breaks.”

“Oh, believe me, I try. But sometimes it’s just me, three tabs open, a cold cup of coffee, and existential dread.”

He laughs. “Wow, okay. You really sold the work-from-home dream there.”

You shrug. “It has its perks. Pajamas. Flexible hours. Zero coworkers who steal your lunch.”

He nods thoughtfully. “You might’ve just convinced me to turn the library into a remote-only job.”

Yes he was a librarian, most of the photos on his profile were book recommendations even.

“you own a library?”

He smiles like it’s something he hears often—but still enjoys talking about. “Yeah. It was my grandfather’s, actually. I took it over a couple years ago.”

“That’s… kind of dreamy, honestly,” you say before you can stop yourself. “Like something out of a romance novel.”

He laughs. “I’ve been told. But it’s a lot less glamorous when you’re the one fixing leaking pipes and reshelving books at 10 p.m.”

You grin. “Still. You get to be surrounded by stories all day.”

He nods. “Yeah, that’s the part I love. Quiet mornings, regulars who stay for hours, and watching kids discover their first favorite book.”

Your smile softens. “That sounds peaceful.”

He watches you for a second, and the air between you shifts—still light, still easy, but something a little deeper underneath now.

The waiter appears just in time with your drinks, setting them down with a polite nod. You both murmur your thanks, and as the waiter walks off, you find his eyes on you again.

“So,” he says, wrapping his fingers around his glass, “what’s the story that clicked for you when you were a kid?”

You blink, a little surprised—but you kind of love the question.

You lean forward slightly, resting your elbows on the table. “You really want to talk childhood books on a first date?”

“Absolutely,” he says without missing a beat. “It’s more telling than zodiac signs.”

You tilt your head, smiling. “Okay, fair. But I’m warning you, mine’s not very high-brow.”

He leans in just a little, playful. “No judgment. Unless it’s something cursed like Captain Underpants.”

You laugh. “Honestly? Close. But no. Mine was Matilda.”

His eyebrows lift. “Matilda?”

You nod. “I must’ve read it a dozen times. Something about this tiny girl who reads books and makes things float with her mind just… hit.”

“Powerful introvert energy,” he says, grinning.

You smile, a little softer now. “It made me feel like being quiet wasn’t a flaw. Like there was strength in it. And maybe if I read enough books, I’d figure everything out, too.”

He watches you for a moment—really watches you—and the smile on his face shifts. Not playful, not teasing. Just… warm.

“That makes sense,” he says gently. “You’ve got that same vibe, actually.”

You raise an eyebrow. “Matilda vibe?”

He nods. “Like you’re sitting on a thousand thoughts you haven’t said yet.”

You blink, caught off guard in the best way. “That’s either a compliment or a slightly poetic accusation.”

“Definitely a compliment,” he says. “But I’ll admit—it’s also a little intimidating.”

You laugh, flustered but flattered. “I didn’t think I was going to be the intimidating one here. You’re the one who runs a literal storybook setting.”

He chuckles and leans back. “Touché.”

There’s a pause, but this time it’s comfortable. You both sip your drinks. The restaurant hums around you—quiet clinks of chopsticks, the murmur of conversations, soft music overhead.

For the first time in a while, you feel like you’re not on a date you’re waiting to escape.

You’re just… here. And it feels kind of good.

The waiter returns with a small notepad in hand, giving you both a polite smile.

“Are you ready to order?” he asks.

You glance at your date. “I think so.”

He nods. “Yeah—let’s do it.”

You look down at the menu one last time. “Okay, I’m definitely starting with miso soup. And I want to try the pork Katsu… and maybe the salmon nigiri?”

“The pork Katsu? From their ads? Going in with confidence,” he says, clearly impressed. “I respect that.”

You raise an eyebrow. “Don’t tell me you’re one of those ‘just edamame and call it a night’ people.”

He laughs. “Please, I’ve been thinking about sushi since this morning. Can i please get the eel avocado roll, the veggie gyoza, and… you know what, throw in the tempura shrimp too. Let’s go wild.”

“Now that’s the energy,” you say, handing your menu back to the waiter. “Thank you.”

He collects both of your menus with a nod. “It’ll be out shortly.”

As soon as the waiter leaves, your date leans in slightly. “Okay, be honest. Are you going to judge me for ordering eel?”

You squint at him dramatically. “That depends. Are you the kind of person who orders it because you love it? Or because you want to seem adventurous?”

He laughs. “Definitely love it. First time I had it, I was like, ‘Why does no one tell you sushi can taste like barbecue?’”

You pretend to gasp. “Oh no. You’re one of those dramatic food people.”

“Absolutely,” he says proudly. “Food is emotional. I will stand by that.”

You shake your head with a grin. “I can’t even argue. I almost cried once over a perfectly soft-boiled egg.”

“I knew we were going to get along,” he says, leaning back with a satisfied smile.

The two of you are still sipping drinks, waiting on the food. You lean back in your chair a little, feeling more relaxed than you expected to be on a first date.

“So,” you say casually, swirling your straw around the ice in your glass, “can I ask something slightly nosy?”

He looks intrigued. “I like nosy. Go ahead.”

You rest your elbow on the table and prop your chin in your hand. “Why are you on a dating app? Like… what’s the actual end goal?”

He lifts a brow, amused but not thrown. “Wow, just diving right into it, huh?”

You smile. “I mean, better to ask now than after three months of ‘vibing,’ right?”

He nods slowly. “Fair enough.”

Then he looks you dead in the eye—calm, clear, honest. “I’m dating to find someone I want to marry.”

You’re quiet for a second, surprised more by his certainty than the answer itself.

“No weird games. No just-seeing-where-this-goes. I want something stable, real. Someone I can build with. I’m not rushing into anything—but I’m also not pretending I’m twenty-two.”

“I don’t mean tomorrow,” he adds with a small smile. “But I’ve done the whole casual, let’s-not-label-it thing. I want something serious. A partner. Someone I can build a life with, share quiet mornings with, grow old with. I’m ready for that.”

You nod slowly, letting the words settle. It’s not intimidating—it’s honest. And that’s rare.

“I like that you’re sure of what you want.” You study him for a moment, and then nod. “That’s… refreshingly direct.”

He smiles, just a little. “You?”

You lean back, lips pressed thoughtfully before you answer. “I guess… I’m not quite there yet. I mean—I want a real relationship. I want someone solid. Someone who actually shows up. But I’m not dating with a ring in mind.”

You pause, shrug lightly. “I’ve just been single for a while. And I’m tired of the games. Tired of the weird in-between stuff. I want to share my life with someone, laugh with them, eat takeout on the couch, be each other’s person. And yeah… if it leads to something long-term, even marriage someday, then great. But right now? I just want something real.”

He nods, quiet for a beat. “That makes sense. Honestly, that’s a better answer than most.”

You smile. “You expected something worse?”

He chuckles. “No. Just… I like that you’re clear about how you feel without needing to turn it into a checklist.”

Just then, the waiter returns with your food, setting it down between you—miso soup, crispy tempura, rolls lined up like art. Both of you instinctively lean in, admiring the spread.

“I feel like we earned this conversation,” you say, grinning.

He lifts his chopsticks. “Now the real question is… can we still like each other after watching how the other eats sushi?”

You laugh, already reaching for the soy sauce. “Challenge accepted.”

You’re both a few bites in, and it’s good. Really good. You let out a small, unintentional hum of approval as you try the salmon nigiri.

“That’s your food-happy sound?” he asks, smirking over the rim of his water glass.

You laugh, a little caught. “It might be. I’m not proud.”

“No, I like it,” he says, playful but sincere. “It’s honest.”

You look at him then, really look—dark hair falling a little onto his forehead, easy posture, the kind of guy who listens with his eyes. And it hits you: something about him is just… different. Calmer. Like he’s not performing or trying to win you over—he’s just there. Present.

You hadn’t realized how rare that is until now.

“You’re really chill,” you say, before you think to filter it.

He raises an eyebrow. “Is that a good thing?”

You nod quickly. “Yeah. Definitely. Just… most guys talk like they’re on a sales pitch. You’re like the opposite.”

He grins. “So I’m failing the pitch?”

You shake your head, smiling. “You’re making it feel like a conversation. Like we’re… not strangers, somehow.”

It sounds dumb as soon as it leaves your mouth, but he doesn’t laugh.

“Yeah,” he says softly. “I get that.”

And there’s a moment—a quiet, suspended kind of moment—where he just holds your gaze, and you feel it settle into your chest. Not butterflies. Not fireworks. Something steadier. A sense of ease.

You look down, suddenly too aware of your own expression, and reach for a piece of sushi. “So… what’s the weirdest thing someone’s ever said to you on a first date?”

He laughs, clearly delighted by the shift. “Oh, easy. One girl asked me if I believed in ghosts before we even ordered drinks. Then told me her last relationship ended because she was ‘too psychically sensitive.’”

Your eyes widen. “You’re lying.”

“I swear on this eel roll.”

You laugh. “That is… beautifully unhinged.”

He points at you with his chopsticks. “Your turn.”

You hesitate, then smirk. “One guy told me on the first date that he felt a ‘spiritual obligation’ to cheat on women because of a past-life betrayal.”

He stares at you. “That’s not real.”

“It is, and I excused myself to the ladies room and never showed back up.”

He bursts out laughing, and you find yourself watching him again—how easily he laughs, how warm his eyes are, how natural this feels. Like a conversation you didn’t realize you’d been needing.

You sip your drink, and in the back of your mind, the thought quietly floats up:

This one feels different.

And for the first time in a long time, you don’t immediately push the thought away.

You’re halfway through your rolls when he leans his elbow on the table, chopsticks resting in one hand. “So… what’s your family like?”

You pause for a second, then smile, a little caught off guard—not because it’s too personal, but because no one’s asked in a while.

“Messy,” you say honestly. “Loud. Complicated. Loving in their own weird ways.”

He smiles at the way you say it, encouraging you to go on.

“I’ve got an older sister who’s the definition of ‘got her life together.’ Married, two kids, perfect house, color-coded pantry. And then there’s me.” You gesture at yourself with mock dramatics. “Still figuring things out, occasionally eating cereal for dinner.”

“I mean,” he says, “cereal for dinner is a perfectly valid adult meal.”

“Exactly! Thank you.”

He chuckles. “Your parents?”

You twirl a piece of ginger on your plate before answering. “They’re sweet. Traditional. A little confused about why I’m not married yet, but… they’re good people.”

You glance up. “What about you?”

He sets his chopsticks down and leans back slightly, like he’s settling into the question. “My family’s… pretty close, actually. My parents live just outside the city. Still together after thirty-something years, somehow.”

You smile. “That’s kind of rare these days.”

“Yeah,” he says with a soft nod. “They drive each other crazy, but it works. My mom is a force—like, the type who’ll call just to check if I’ve eaten lunch. And my dad is quiet. Steady. Grew up fixing everything with duct tape and silence.”

You laugh gently at that, already picturing it. “Siblings?”

“One older brother,” he says. “Married. Two kids. They live in Busan, but they visit a lot. My niece is in this phase where she thinks I’m cooler than her dad, which I fully encourage.”

You grin. “Uncle points.”

“Exactly. I bribe her with books and chocolate.”

“You’re dangerous.” You rest your chin on your hand, eyes still on him. “You strike me as the type who keeps a small, loyal circle. Am I right?”

He chuckles. “Pretty much. I’ve got six really close friends.”

“Six?” you raise an eyebrow. “That’s a lot for a ‘small circle.’”

He grins. “I mean, we’ve known each other for years. Some since middle school, a couple from college, and one who showed up out of nowhere and just… never left.”

You laugh. “So it’s a real crew.”

“Oh yeah. Group chats, chaotic birthdays, too many inside jokes. They’ve seen me through all kinds of stuff—bad relationships, family drama, existential crises over overdue book orders.”

“Now that’s friendship,” you say, smiling. “Do they give you a hard time about dating?”

“All the time,” he says. “They think I’m too picky.”

You tilt your head, curious. “Are you?”

He shrugs, thoughtful. “Maybe. But not in the way they think. I’m not looking for perfect. I just want something… real. Safe. Honest.”

You look at him for a beat, absorbing that answer, how sincere it sounds. Then you lean back in your chair with a small smile. “You really are kind of a unicorn.”

He laughs. “You say that now. Wait until I start quoting obscure literature or alphabetizing my spice rack.”

You smirk. “You alphabetize your spices?”

“I’m not gonna answer that.” He shakes his head still laughing. Totally guilty.

The server walks away with your dessert order—green tea ice cream for you, mochi and black sesame cake for him—and the conversation settles again into that easy rhythm.

He takes a sip of his drink, then tilts his head slightly toward you.

“What about you?” he asks. “Your friends. You mentioned a small circle earlier.”

You nod slowly, fingers lightly tapping your glass. “Yeah… I’ve got a few good ones. We’ve been through a lot together.”

He notices your tone shift—a little softer now, more careful.

“One of them—my best friend—we had a bit of a falling out last year,” you admit. “Over something stupid at first. But then everything just… cracked open.”

He doesn’t jump in to ask questions or fix anything. He just listens.

“I think when you’re used to having that one person you always call, it’s jarring when suddenly… they’re just gone.”

“Yeah,” he says quietly. “That kind of silence sticks.”

You glance at him, surprised he gets it so easily.

“She was the kind of friend who knew what I was thinking before I did. And I keep thinking one of us will just text, and it’ll go back to how it was. But neither of us has.”

“Sounds like it still hurts,” he says gently.

You nod once, then offer a small, wry smile. “That’s probably why I’ve been spending so much time alone lately. Working from home doesn’t exactly help.”

He pauses for a beat, then says softly, “I’m sorry you lost that. Really.”

You look down at your napkin, then up at him again, your voice quieter now. “It’s nice talking to someone who doesn’t brush past things.”

“Well,” he says, eyes still on you, “you don’t really strike me as someone I want to brush past.”

The way he says it—it’s not flirty, not forced. Just sincere.

You blink once, caught off guard in the best way.

And maybe that’s when it clicks for you. The quiet feeling you’ve had since the moment you sat down. The ease, the openness. The way he makes space for your honesty, not just your charm.

You watch as the waiter sets down the desserts, the sweet aroma filling the air. Honestly, this place was a great find—the dinner was incredible, and just one bite into your dessert confirms you’re definitely coming back.

“Okay, let’s play a quick game,” he says, a playful glint in his eyes.

You raise an eyebrow, curious. “A game?”

“Mhm.” He swallows his bite, then shifts comfortably in his seat. “We take turns asking each other questions—no skipping, no lying. Just to get to know each other better.”

You chuckle softly. “Like truth or dare, but just truth.”

“Exactly. I’ll give you the chance to start first.”

You take a moment, then grin mischievously. “If you could only eat one food for the rest of your life, what would it be?”

He laughs quietly and scratches right under his ear. “Wasn’t expecting this question, but it would definitely be pizza. You?”

“Ice cream. All kinds.”

He raises an eyebrow. “Good choice. Sweet and versatile.”

The questions flow, light and playful—a perfect way to break the ice. But then, his tone softens, and he asks, “What’s something you’ve never told anyone?”

You blinked, caught off guard by the sudden intensity of the question. But then you met his eyes and felt safe.

Your smile falters slightly, but you meet his gaze. “I guess… I’ve always been scared of failing. Like, what if I’m not enough?”

And he caught you off guard when he leans his elbows on the table, his arm slowly moving to brush your hair behind your ear, “Mhm, I get that.”

“What about you?” you ask, voice quieter now.

He hesitates, then confesses, “I’ve always felt like I have to prove myself. Like I’m carrying the weight of everyone’s expectations.”

You feel the urge to make a move, “That’s a heavy burden.” You twirl your thumb on his tatted finger slowly.

He smiles softly, eyes locking onto your thumb before they lock onto yours. There’s a brief pause, filled only by the soft hum of the restaurant around you. Then, with a teasing glint back in his eyes, he asks, “Okay, your turn. What’s something about me you want to know but haven’t asked yet?”

You think for a second, then grin. “What’s your guilty pleasure song? You know, the one you sing when no one’s watching.”

He laughs—a sound that’s low and genuine. “Honestly? ‘Call Me Maybe.’ Don’t judge.”

You laugh with him, the tension easing more as you go. “No judgment here. I’m tempted to ask for a demonstration.”

He laughs. “Absolutely, I feel like you need to see me perform this, it actually shows my true colors.”

-

The restaurant’s warm glow faded behind you both as you stepped out into the cool night air. The gentle hum of the city wrapped around you like a quiet melody, the night alive but somehow peaceful. He slipped his hands casually into his pockets, walking beside you with a relaxed confidence that made your heart flutter.

“You have to tell me if you want to come back here,” he said, glancing sideways with a smile. “I’m definitely making this one a regular spot.”

You smiled back, the night’s warmth still lingering in your cheeks. “Yeah, I’d like that.”

The walk to your car felt both too short and just right. Every step was quiet but full of meaning — the kind of comfortable silence that didn’t need to be filled with words. When you reached your car, he stopped, turning to face you fully.

“I had a really good time tonight,” he said softly, eyes searching yours.

“Me too,” you replied, voice a little breathy. The way his gaze held you made it hard to look away.

For a moment, it felt like the whole world was holding its breath. Then he reached out gently, brushing a stray strand of hair behind your ear, his fingers lingering just a second longer than expected.

“Can I see you again?” His question was almost a whisper.

Your heart pounded in your chest, but you nodded, a shy smile tugging at your lips. “Yeah. I’d like that.”

He grinned, and then, before you could say anything else, he leaned in, pressing a soft, warm kiss just below your ear. Your skin tingled, and a slow smile spread across your face.

“Goodnight,” he said, stepping back but not breaking eye contact.

“Goodnight,” you breathed, unlocking your car door and sliding inside.

Once the door closed behind you, the world outside felt suddenly still. You rested your hands on the steering wheel, taking a slow, deep breath.

The way he looked at you—the way he listened, really listened—it was different from anything you’d felt before. Not rushed, not forced. Just… easy. Like you could be yourself without worry.

The playful game, the silly questions that made you laugh, then the quiet moments when he shared pieces of himself you weren’t expecting. Vulnerability. And you shared yours too, something you rarely did on a first date.

You caught yourself smiling at the memory of him brushing your hair away, the softness in his eyes when he asked to see you again.

Maybe this was more than just a first date.

Maybe this was the start of something different.

You turned the key in the ignition, but for a moment, you didn’t want to leave. Not yet.

The night was still young. And somewhere deep inside, a hopeful warmth bloomed — the kind that told you this was just the beginning.

-

Back home, after peeling off your shoes and tossing your purse onto the couch, you finally exhale. The door clicks shut behind you and silence wraps around the apartment, but it’s not empty—it’s filled with the echo of his laugh, his voice in your ears, the way he said your name like it was a secret worth keeping.

You make a beeline for your room, kick off your jeans, and throw on an old oversized T-shirt. The night is quiet and you’re too warm, too wired to sleep. So you lie on your bed, staring at the ceiling, phone in hand.

Your phone buzzes.

[Jungkook]: made it home okay?

You grin, typing back quickly.

[You]: yep. kicked off my shoes the second i got in. thanks for walking me to my car :)

[Jungkook]: my pleasure. i still think i could’ve kept you out for another hour. maybe two.

You smile, heart fluttering again.

[You]: what would we even do for two more hours?

His typing bubble appears instantly.

[Jungkook]: watch the city lights. steal more of your dessert.

[You]: rude.

[Jungkook]: romantic.

You roll your eyes playfully, already sinking deeper into the memory of the night.

[Jungkook]: i’m already thinking about our second date btw.

You bite your lip, sit up slightly in bed.

[You]: oh? bold of you to assume there’ll be one.

[Jungkook]: bold of you to pretend you’re not waiting for me to say when.

You laugh out loud, covering your face.

[You]: okay then, genius. what’s your plan?

[Jungkook]: three options: 1. We could rent a boat and go fishing. 2. late-night drive with terrible music and snacks. 3. Karaoke bar where I could do an outstanding performance just for you.

Your fingers hover over the screen.

[You]: those are unfairly good options.

[Jungkook]: you’ll get all three eventually. but i wanna know which one wins first.

Your eyes start to flutter as sleep creeps up on you, but your heart is too soft, too full. You yawn, smiling as you type:

[You]: surprise me. i trust your taste.

His reply comes just as your phone begins to slip from your hand.

[Jungkook]: then get some sleep. you’ve got a second date to prepare for 😜

You drift off before you can reply, smile still curled on your lips. And somewhere, not too far from here, Jungkook sets his phone down with a grin that matches yours, already planning the next time he gets to make you laugh

[i-have-a-longbottom]

Bound by a Blessing

Percy Jackson x reader

°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°🔱°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°

Summary: A dryad’s magic ties you and Percy together for a week — but by the time the bond fades, you realize you don’t want to be apart.

°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°

You don’t realize anything’s wrong until you try to walk away from Percy — and almost get zapped right on your butt.

“OW!” You jump back with a yelp, rubbing your hip where the tiny shock got you. “What the Hades was that?!”

Percy stands there, hands raised like he’s innocent. “Don’t look at me — you shocked me too! I didn’t even do anything!”

You glance over at the dryad who just gave you both a suspiciously sweet smile. She sits perched on a low branch, legs swinging like she didn’t just ruin your whole week.

“You said you’d bless us!” you snap. “You didn’t say we’d be… zapped!” “It is a blessing,” the dryad says, pulling a leaf in her hair. “Your friendship will grow stronger when you cannot stray too far apart.”

Percy squints at her. “Define ‘too far.’” “Ten feet. Maybe twelve if I’m feeling generous.”

Your mouth drops open. “TEN FEET? For how long?!” The dryad gives you a wink. “Until the next full moon! Don’t worry — it’ll be fun!”

Turns out, it is not fun.

The first hour, Percy keeps bumping into you. He trips over your feet while you’re trying to get your armor on. You nearly whack him in the face with your sword during practice. Mr.D takes one look at the two of you bickering and says, “Gods, just date already.”

You both say, “WHAT?!” at the same time.

By nighttime, the real problem hits: you need to sleep. But your cabins are on opposite sides of camp. You stand outside your cabin, arms crossed. “There is no way you’re sleeping in here with me.”

Percy shrugs. “Unless you want to sleep outside in the grass — I mean, you’d look cute, but I don’t think you’d like the bugs.”

“You’re impossible,” you groan.

“And you love it,” he teases.

You both end up camped out on your cabin’s porch, wrapped in a single sleeping bag like a pair of dorks. Percy’s body heat is warm and calming, but every time he shifts, your heart does a weird flip.

At one point, he murmurs sleepily, “Hey… I don’t mind this, you know.” You blink, breath caught. “Being shocked every time you try to get away from me?”

He cracks a grin, eyes half-lidded. “No. Being close to you.”

You open your mouth — but all that comes out is a soft, surprised laugh. Maybe, just maybe, this blessing won’t be so bad after all.

°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•🌑•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°

A few days had passed, and it's the last night of the dryad’s so-called blessing. You’re sitting on the dock by the lake, your bare feet skimming the water. Percy’s sitting beside you, close enough that your arms brush every time he shifts.

You can feel the moon climbing higher, the magic starting to loosen. The invisible bond that tugged at you for the last week feels… thinner somehow.

“So…” Percy says, his voice breaking the soft ripple of waves. “Tomorrow we can finally get more than ten feet away from each other.”

You smirk. “You say that like you haven’t loved having me around twenty-four-seven.”

He grins, bumping your shoulder with his. “I didn’t say that.”

You tilt your head, studying him. The moonlight makes his eyes look impossibly sea-green, his hair a dark mess from the wind. You’ve spent the past seven nights practically on top of each other — every whispered conversation, every accidental cuddle, every time you woke up tangled together under the stars. And now it’s about to end.

“Do you… do you want it to?” you ask, your voice barely above a whisper.

Percy goes still. “Want what?” “This. Us. Being close.”

He swallows, glancing out at the water like it might tell him what to say. “I don’t think I could stand it, honestly.”

You blink. “What?”

He laughs under his breath, almost shy. “The last week — it was supposed to be annoying, right? Being stuck with someone? But it wasn’t. Not with you. It was the best week I’ve had in… I don’t know. Ever.”

The bond hums around you, weaker now but still warm. You’re not sure if it’s the dryad’s magic or your heart that’s making your chest ache.

“I don’t want it to end either,” you admit.

Percy turns to you, so close you can feel the warmth of his breath. “Good. Because I think — I think I kinda want you around. Even when I don’t have to be.”

You laugh softly, your heart hammering. “What are you saying, Seaweed Brain?”

He grins that grin you love — the one that’s a little stupid, but so very Percy. “I’m saying… if the dryad wants to curse us again, I’m not complaining.”

You roll your eyes, but you’re already leaning in, your lips brushing his. “You’re such an idiot.”

“Your idiot,” he whispers back — just before he kisses you for real, soft and sweet, with the moon shining bright and the bond finally fading away.

Except maybe… it never really does.

°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°

[runninriot]

Paths Crossed

written for the @steddiebingo prompt Dom!Eddie

rated: E | wc: 4.032 | tags: pre steddie, hook-up, dom eddie munson, brat steve harrington, teasing, rimming, anal fingering, anal sex, open ending (for now) | complete fic on ao3

Tonight is a good night, and Eddie is in the mood – a little high, a little drunk, not yet ready to head home.

His friends have all left, made him promise not to do anything stupid, as if that has ever kept him from doing exactly that. Inanity might as well be his middle name, and Reckless his last, because there’s no fun in always playing by the rules, always doing what he’s supposed to. He wants to live while he can; life’s too short anyway, better make the best of the worst of it.

That’s how he gets stranded alone in a club full of strangers, no one there to keep a watchful eye on him, keep him in check, preventing the inevitable mess of whatever sticky situation he’ll get himself into.

He is free to do whatever, or whoever, if he’s lucky.

Eddie lets the beat carry him from the bar to the dance floor where he becomes one with the swaying mass, mind blissfully empty, his insides thrumming in tune with the vibration of sound and indistinct chatter around him.

There, amongst all these nameless strangers, one guy stands out like a silver moon against a jet-black night sky. He’s dancing with his eyes closed, hands in his hair, moving his body like it’s one with the music. Shirt unbuttoned intentionally low, offering a perfect view to where a gold chain is dangling from a long neck into a patch of dark hair covering his chest. Pants sitting low on his hips, clinging to his form like a second skin, not leaving much room for Eddie to wonder what’s hidden underneath.

The guy is pretty and he knows it. Has the confidence Eddie never quite found in himself, that he compensates with other things.

Call it arrogance or plain stupidity, but Eddie’s never one to back away from a self-imposed challenge, no matter how little his chances are to actually succeed.

What’s the worst that could happen? Guy tells him to fuck off and Eddie goes about his way – no harm in that other than maybe a little scratch to his ego. Or rather a confirmation of what he already knows anyway. He’s not that delusional; surely, he’s not Pretty Boy’s type. Doesn’t mean he’s not going to try and shoot his shot anyway.

Eddie pushes his way through other people, eyes fixed on the flash of more exposed skin where the guy’s shirt has ridden up, revealing a happy trail Eddie would like to follow along with his tongue. Can already picture himself laying flat on his stomach between thick thighs, Pretty Boy squirming under him while Eddie takes his time to explore the space between with eager devotion.

It’s what leads him, pulls him like a fish on a hook getting reeled in. Moving closer and closer to the guy, until he finally sneaks up behind him.

   “Hey, gorgeous. Mind if I join you?”

Not his smoothest line, sure, but it’s hard to be charming when you have to yell at someone to be heard over the music.

The guy turns around, gives him a once-over with a bored, unimpressed expression. Lips forming a bitchy pout that makes Eddie want to throw him over his lap and-

    Look, Eddie has a thing for brats, okay? It’s not his fault the guy seems to have been put on this earth solely to tease him. A joke from the Gods that like to see him suffer in horny admiration of a guy who’s way out of his league.

Well, joke’s on them, though.

Because Pretty Boy slings both arms around his neck and starts moving again, directing Eddie’s body to match the rhythm of his dancing.

He says his name is Steve. Lips grazing his ear, he tells Eddie not to get his hopes up because he’s not that kind of guy, while proving the exact opposite. Grinding against him, creating delicious friction and heat between their slotted thighs, giving Eddie a taste of what his movements would feel like in a different context.

It’s too much, too close, too good to be unintentional. He’s playing with him, probably thinks he’s got Eddie all wrapped up, like he’s a clueless fly caught in Steve’s web of seduction. But oh, he’s made his bet with the wrong Devil.

Eddie lets him lead for a while, hands splayed loosely on either side of Steve’s hips, not giving in to the temptation. Ignoring the urge of wanting to get a feel of that tight ass, not listening to the naughty voices in the back of his mind telling him to let his fingers go on a little expedition.

If Steve wants to be in charge, he’s happy to let him think that he is. For now. Let him pull the strings, see how far Steve will take it before he gets himself entangled in them.

The music shifts to something slower, something darker. Eddie can feel the low frequency of the bass thrumming in his bones, his blood pumping to the beat. Steve turns in his hold and it’s maddening, the way his ass rubs against his half-chubbed cock, purposely letting Eddie feel what he can’t have. Not yet.

Eddie’s arms sling around Steve’s middle and this time he gives in, lets his fingertips sneak under the hem of his shirt, that useless piece of fabric that doesn’t do shit to protect the perfect body beneath from Eddie’s greedy hands.

He can feel Steve’s abs contract, can feel his racing heartbeat resonating in his lips when they connect with sweat damp skin, right above his pulse point. Lets his mouth linger there, impatiently waiting, until Steve’s hand in his hair gives him permission to press down. Trailing kisses down the long line of his neck from his ear to his shoulder and back up again, focussing on Steve’s reaction. He can feel him shiver, breathing harder than before.

   “Not that kind of guy, huh?” Eddie chuckles more to himself, but Steve must’ve heard him anyway, because he’s shaking his head in answer, before tilting back, catching Eddie by surprise when their lips touch.

   “No,” Steve insists when he pulls away, and Eddie’s whole body vibrates with knowing excitement – he hit a jackpot with this one, he can feel it. And it’s only confirmed when Steve looks at him and says, “I’m so much worse.”

-----

continue reading here

[sramoonlight]

Afternoon life

What if Damian had to change his whole schedule?

Content you’ll see here: Mexican!reader, mentions of politics, friends to lovers, mlm

English it’s not my first language, so please be patient

Damian hates 2 things, well there’s more but he tells he hates just 2 things, they are animal cruelty and stupid teenagers who thinks they are better than him because their mommy said so

So maybe that’s why Bruce wasn’t surprised when the school called him to pick up Damian from school, the reason? He got into a fight with a guy who tried to act “funny” with him, but if you ask Damian he would tell he was ‘a master of petty grievances and performative fragility’ a weird way to call someone a whinny bitch.

Anyways, Bruce was pissed off, like sure he would put his face to every mistake his kid does but this could be avoided if Damian wasn’t so… sensitive? That’s not the word, he won’t bother to find it

Damian could feel it, sitting on the dinner table while Bruce tried to find the words to say this, not too hard but not too soft

— Are you aware of what you’ve done? — there it is, Damian sighed crossing his arms as he tried to look away

— He wouldn’t stop talking, it wasn’t my fault — Wrong choice of words, that only made Bruce groan in annoyance

Damian tried looking at Alfred, he avoided his eyes telling him with no words that he was on his own

— I’m sorry Damian, but I couldn’t protect you there — his full attention was now on his father, if he is talking in that tone..

A week of detention? Well he can take it, that doesn’t end late so he could have enough time to go home, do his homework and get ready for patrol, yeah he can handle that

— You are going on the afternoon session — he tilted his head, fully confused

What was that? That even existed? A school on the noons on Gotham? How does that even work? Oh god, probably that is filled with criminal’s child’s who can’t be on the morning

He never thought he would be making a disgusted expression but this place is going to suck

— You can’t do that, father, what about patrol? — great way to save it, Batman would never let Robin miss patrol.

Bruce would, a Bruce with a face filled with disappointment will do it

— You are lucky they let you go back to the mornings in a year, so we are going to take everything we could —

Crap, he is serious on this one and not hearing Alfred complaining is enough to tell him he’s in big trouble

Well! That can’t be that bad, right? He could sleep more and he’ll find a way to put his life on control again.

The truth is.. he couldn’t

Not when the sun is already itching on his skin, being on the mornings meant he could wear as much clothes as he wanted and he wouldn’t feel like a shrimp on a soup

Not everything is bad, right? He doesn’t feel tired at all, that’s a good start but oh god

This new people around him, they aren’t bad or at least known criminals, but he can see every person he thought they were out of Gotham there

— You look lost — a boy, his uniform looked messy like he just put it on

— I’m not lost — His voice sounds too harsh like he’s trying not to snap and yell at him

Maybe he could, but that’s not the best for his civilian life

— Yeah, everyone says that when they get send him, c’mon I’ll help you find your class — This guy talks like he knows everything

He knows this school, a simple changed of schedule can’t change anything, still he followed him.

3 months later, the semester is almost over and he is still attached to this kid who keeps talking about his life with him

That’s not that bad, when he studied on the mornings he didn’t have any friends and that lead to people talking about him but now everyone just see him as the friend of this guy

Speaking of friends, how can this kid have so many friends? Whenever they are sitting eating lunch a bunch of people come to talk to him and he acts like it’s nothing, is this what having a civilian life meant?

— Hey, Damian, do you have all the stamps? — Damian turned to face this boy, you

His notebook was out, he didn’t even noticed when the teacher asked for everyone’s stamps to put it on the list, what a weird system

— I think so, how many are they? — He started looking through his notebook counting them quickly

— Thirty, well at least that’s what the teacher said, I just wish Clara doesn’t have more than that — And Damian stopped himself

He started counting again, three times, oh holy fuck how could this happen?

— I only have twenty two, how? — He took your notebook checking out to find where he could failed

It turns out you only have eight, the eight ones he needed to have a perfect score, how could this be possible? He never loose any class

— Oh, you didn’t do the homeworks! Does the Damian Wayne forgot to do them? — you giggled not caring about how bad it looked on your side

— At least I’m not the idiot who barely has a quarter part — he groaned, you chuckled even harder at the way he looked pissed off

Of course, Damian can’t stand the chance of not being completely perfect

— Calm down, rich boy, I got all of them — he looked at you like you were talking bullshit, well you are, you don’t even have half of it

You do have the notes, but not the stamps and that isn’t good for you

— Watch and learn — You turned to the other side of the classroom

— Hey Jack! You’ve got the S thing I helped you get? — a guy, Damian knows him from being on the soccer team, a jackass who can’t even count to ten

He looked on his backpack before handing you an item behind the tables, when he finally got to see it he immediately covered it with his hand

A stamp machine, one identical to the teacher’s

— Are you out of you mind? How could you think about falsify something like this? — his voice sounds too harsh, completely offended that you think you could do that

It’s not like he could snitch, but he can’t believe someone close to him thought about cheating

— Calm down, Damian, the teacher never notice and don’t tell me you don’t want a few of these — that was true

He can’t stand the chance of getting a bad score, he will be a disappointment on the Wayne family for not being able to complete a simple task as that

That’s cheating, but he doesn’t have a choice

— You are Wayne and I’m Zamora, we are one of the last on the list, so start copying my homework and I’ll start putting these babies — god how he hates cheating on something this simple

He didn’t say anything else, because this thing was helping him still get the higher score on the class

That’s somehow better than on his morning classes, if he had the same problem he would’ve just resign and try to hide the problem

This friendship, it’s somehow helpful.

When the sun was down and the clock was telling seven pm, Damian was waiting outside of the school for Alfred or someone to pick him up, the usual routine since he got this ridiculous schedule

— Still waiting? — you appeared behind him, your school jacket tied on your waist like you were out of a hot day

— Still here? — He responded the same way you did, his arms crossed above his chest

— It’s disrespectful to use your uniform that way — He pointed it out, your head moved to look at yourself before giggling

A type of giggle Damian was used to hearing from you

— If I wear a fancy uniform this late I’ll get mugged and I can’t change so I just try to hide it — That’s… actually pretty good

Wait, you walk home? This late on Gotham? You’re not even a person with money so that means you live on the normal streets, that means the crime is higher than usual

— I thought your father came to pick you up — he tilted his head, you giggled covering your mouth

He is still so impressed you don’t seem to be afraid

— Mi papá has been busier this month so I just have to walk home by my own, but you señor Wayne — you walked around him, hands on your back like analyzing his posture, he hates when you do that

— You’re late to your fancy gala at the manor — he tilted his head until it clicked

Oh, yeah, his father was hosting a gala explaining why Alfred wasn’t there on time, he could just walk home but that doesn’t seem to be what he should do

— How do you know? — He leaned to look at your face, you covered the cheesy smile with your hand

— I’ve been stalking you — Damian raised an eyebrow and you burst into laughter laud as always

Of course you weren’t, he could notice it in seconds

— Mi pa, is driving his boss to the gala, that’s how I know — he tried to look for an answer, his mind wandering across the profile he has set for you even if it’s on his mind

Yeah, your father works in a company allied to Wayne enterprises, that makes sense, now he has to tell his father to make sure yours get out of work early to pick you up

— Do you mind, coming with me, Wayne? — you offered him your hand

He looked at it not so sure if he had to take it, you are not the type of friends who could have physical contact but the idea of having you out of his grasp this late, hands intertwined means an easy way to drag you if you are in danger

He took your hand, following to where it looked like an abandoned house, he knows this isn’t your house because he has seen it in records

— Where are we going? — He asked, you looked at him over your shoulder with a big smile.

The moonlight made everything look darker but enough to see where you are going, still he can recall how familiar you are with walking around there

— Watch it — you said before walking between a shrub, he was about to comply before he looked up to you

The city could be seen on this floral place, the lights of the suburban life and the beauty of the nature, a good place for you to hang out

This looks like a place you often visit, probably because it’s hidden on the woods and hidden from the crime on Gotham

— One day, this city will be mine — you mumbled turning to see your friend

Damian looked at you, his eyes shining at the image in front of him

Your slightly tanned skin glowing underneath the moonlight, and the way the city’s light get behind your body makes it all perfect

This is… like those manga he reads on his free time.

— Im going to be mayor when I grow up, and then president — your hands moved to be on your back

A big smile on your face keeping Damian dazzled, and even if he was in such state he found himself to keep listening to your words

— Does an immigrant can be president? — he laughed on your face, your mouth changed into a pout

You were not offended, you knew Damian asked it out in pure curiosity

— Of course! Have you read about Hamilton? I’m going to be like him, but without the whole cheating story that made him fall — you walked to him, hands still on your back

He looked at your face, amused by the thought, this little social butterfly wants to be president? You do have the social battery for it but he can’t seem to figure it out how you’ll do it

— If you do, I’ll be giving you all of my money — now it was your turn to laugh at his face

Then, yours hands moved to grab his, he looked down at it before looking up at you

He can see the freckles of your face, disappearing every time you get older but still here for him to notice

— Will you be my Eliza? — and everything exploded around him, but it was just his mind sending an electric shock to his heart

Now he loves this afternoon life.

The whole afternoon system is based on my school because hi! I’m an afternoon student who is begging to be sent to the mornings, I know this will suck to Damian because now he has to wake up early to do his homework, that’s why he isn’t perfect anymore.

Yes, Damian in this au talks Spanish, he doesn’t talk it to you because well, he doesn’t want you to know because he wants to know what you are saying without you noticing.

Please, please love this story, I have so many thoughts about future parts and I HAVE to write it

Comments and reblogs are appreciated!

[askthehedgehogs]

[I WISH I GOT TO ASK THE LOVELY COUPLE EARLIER BEFORE IT CLOSED TEMPORARILY 😭 But I hope this reaches them either before or after the wedding]

I hope this question isn't a mood killer, but I just wanna know... Sonic, was there a time where you were worried about marrying/being married to Shadow since he's the Ultimate Lifeform, meaning he never dies or is immortal, but you aren't?

I'm asking because Shadow lost someone very important to him and doesn't want to go through it again. Since you're mortal, meaning that you're gonna pass one some day, have you ever thought about what would happened afterwards? Leaving Shadow alone all over again, RIGHT after you got married, too?

I'm not trying to be mean or bring the hype down, but I'm asking so that way I made sure you're not hiding any fears or worries from us, because I know you love Shadow a lot and want to be there for him, but I hope the inevitable coming between the two of you isn't affecting your excitement for the wedding or your guy's happiness, and I hope you aren't mentally kicking yourself for not being the Ultimate Lifeform like Shadow and that you won't always be there for him.

If you are, PLEASE, please don't think about that stuff, okay? I want you both to be happy and live a long life, and even if Shadow can't die, you will always be in his heart, no matter what realm of life your part of. And it won't be your fault if you do pass on. Death happens to anyone, and I don't think anyone deserves to go through that. We can't prevent it either, but I don't want that to keep you guys from being together.

But when the time comes soon, please let Shadow know that you love him and that you'll always remain in his heart no matter what. You both are still young, obviously, but in the future, please remember this and let him know.

I'm sorry if this question brought people down, but I just wanted to check up on you before the big day in case you needed something off your chest. But Sonic, and your husband, of course, I am very happy for you both and I hope nothing ever comes between you. You both deserve each other after so much. Please, never forget how important you are to Shadow, Sonic.

I wish you both decades of nothing but fun races, yummy foods, endless snuggles, and wonderful memories, both on Earth, and in the afterlife. Because I know, even if death do you part, your souls will remain together for eternity.

Congratulations to you both!

[this was longer than I thought sorry mod I got carried away I love them sm 😭😭]

… Hoo boy. Okay. Well. I’m gonna take this one while Shadow’s still asleep, since he’s got previous for getting a little dark answering these kinds of questions…

You know, I’ve thought about dying a whole lot in my life, and every time I do, it’s always just that I don’t wanna let anybody down. Every time I think “this is it this, I’m gonna die”, it’s not because I’m scared of dying. It’s because I’m mad at myself for leaving everybody else to deal with it all and clean up my mess. But, now that I’ve started relying on friends more, I’m not so worried. I know even if I’m gone, they’re more than capable of keeping the world safe without me!

Shadow’s no exception. I know he’d be fine. It may have taken a while after Maria, but look at him now… whatever happens, I know he can get through it and smile again.

That said, I wanna clear something up. We actually don’t know if Shadow’s immortal, or if I’m not. We’re both really hard to kill, for sure, and we both heal fast. Shadow faster than me, but both faster than normal folks. We’ve known each other a whole decade, and we’ve definitely both aged, but we’re lookin’ young for our mid-twenties. I dunno how stasis messed with Shadow’s body, but there’s that too. Our best guess is we’re both–what’s the word–invulnerable? Yeah.

I don’t think Shadow’s too worried about me getting old and dying before him. But, I mean, somebody’s gotta go first, right? Unless we die together in some huge disaster, in which case, we’ve got bigger things to worry about! … yeah, I think it’ll be hard for him. Same if any of our friends die. That’s life, I guess. It’d be hard for me, too, if he went first.

We’re not gonna let that hold us back, though. We live dangerous lives, there’s always a risk, but what’s the point in not living just ‘cause you’re scared of dying?

And don’t worry. I’m not leaving this guy any time soon.

Mmh. I thought we were going to sleep in this week…

I did sleep in! It’s 6:30!

I hate morning people.

Shoulda thought of that before you married me. Twice~

Ugh. Make me coffee, then I’ll regain the capacity to love you…

Heh. Love you too~

[yoyneversawmehere]

hai...it's me again... can you write a Telemachus X reader where Telemachus doesn't want to marry reader until his father comes and after Odysseus comes and kills all the suitors, meets Penelope, Telemachus goes to reader, bloodied, and asks for their hand in marriage? ILY ITS OKAY IF YOU DON'T REMEMBER TO TAKE CARE OF YOURSELFN!!

"Serendipity"

♡Telemachus x reader

♡review: telemachus asks for your hand in marriage after killing the suitors

♡Content: Fluff, mentions of blood, killing, death, marriage proposal, Odysseus and Penelope mention, and bloody Telemachus.

♡Author's note: Hi sweetie, no worries, I'd write anything for you, love. Also, Penelope being shipped to Sparta is not canon

Although you've been with Telemachus for a while, any talk of marriage was quickly dismissed. It wasn't that he didn't want to marry you, far from it. It was because he knew the risks that came with it. If he were to be wed, it would confirm the suspicions of his father being dead, and once that happens, his mother would be shipped back to Sparta, where she was bound, making him the new king of Itacha.

He refused to let the people of Iticha believe that the brave king they once had was dead at sea, nor did he want to lose the last of his family he had left, and you understood it quite well, though it still pulled at you slightly.

Tonight was the night of the challenge. Telemachus was out on his diplomatic mission, causing you to feel quite lonely. You now understand what Penelope had felt for two decades. The worry and concern that overlapped every night was unbearable. You didn't know if he would return to you, nor did you know if it would be sooner than later. You'd look out of your window every night to view the sea, hoping to see a glimpse of his boat sailing back to shore, but of course, just waves could be seen.

You helped to encourage Penelope to arrange this all, knowing how much she dreaded it. You went out to the room of suitors alongside her, staying by the door as she announced the challenge's rules. You looked around the room, and it was filled with grown men driven by lust and power. They were disgusting, like pigs, it made you feel dirty just looking at them. Your eyes continue to follow the sea of men. You spot a cloaked figure in the crowd. He caught your eye as he didn't seem dangerous, although his face was covered, yet you didn't pay much mind.

Once the rules of the challenge were given, Penelope took you away from the room of the suitors and brought you to your chambers. You thank her gracefully for her company, though her words took you a bit off guard.

" I think it would be best to stay in for the night." She said. Her voice was hollow but also had a slight hint of relief and happiness. You had not pushed the issue further and obeyed her request, assuming she would be referring to the suitors and their spontaneous behaviour.

...

Later that night, the halls of the castle were filled with agonising screams and desperate pleas. You locked your doors, attempting to barricade them as much as possible. You stayed huddled in a corner, trying not to scream or move suddenly as if someone was looking for you with only a dim torch as your only source of light.

You had no idea what was going on. Your heart pounded against your chest as if it was threatening to burst out and run off, your whole body, from your head to your toes shaking vigorously. You tried to calm yourself down, but the slashes of flesh and choked pain, along with blood spattering on the walls, just got louder. You hear the loud snaps of a bow as it releases arrows. You thought it was the suitors causing a riot against each other to be the last one standing for the queen.

However, you heard the voice of an older man, his voice echoed through the palace, rage and agony led in his voice as he talked about the suitors' plans to do to his son and wife. Your blood fell cold as the realisation kicked in.

'Odysseus?!" You thought.

You gripped yourself to find comfort, hoping that nothing would happen, that no one would try to enter your room. Hot tears fall from your eyes and down your cheeks, and your breathing gets hitched when suddenly, silence.

All of the screams were gone, and everything was quiet, uncannily quiet. You froze for a moment, wondering if it was all over. You slowly move out of your stiffness, walking over to the door to press an ear to hear anything. Then, a loud knocking hit on your door. It startled you enough to fall back. Your hands quickly found your mouth, and panic began to hit once more, trying to stay as quiet as possible.

"My love...it's me." A familiar voice rang from behind to door.

Your body tensed upon hearing the voice before registering just who it was. You felt yourself start to slowly calm down from the adrenaline, and you quickly got up and rushed to the door.

"Telemachus?" A choked cry left your lips as you swung open the door. There he was, covered in blood, his clothes ripped in odd places, and his weapon discarded a few feet from the door. The air reeked of blood, and all of the torches had gone out.

You pulled him into the room and embraced him as if he would disappear at any moment, not caring about how he was completely covered in blood. He hugs you back with great compassion before kissing your face sweetly. You felt all of your worries and fears melt away now that you were in the hands of the person who made you feel safe.

Your remedy soon fades as he pulls away from your embrace and grabs hold of your hand. His eyes look straight into yours as if wanting to say something. Before you could ask him what was wrong, he suddenly fell to his knees. He looks up at you, his eyes soft and pleading.

"Y/n, my dearest, the love of my life..." His voice was raspy, but still held the same ribbon of honey that laced his voice whenever he spoke to you. You stay still in shock, watching as he hesitates slightly.

"Will you marry me?"

You automatically stumbled back a little, eyes widened and mouth agape, though you couldn't keep a smile from growing on your face.

"What?" A hand comes to your mouth, an attempt to hide the excitement in your voice, though you fail.

"I've never loved anyone the way I love you. You have stayed by my side through my hardships, my downfalls, and my upbringings. I feel myself striving to be better all because I have you by my side.

To grow and learn with you has been the highlight of my life, and I never want to let you go."

His voice is genuine and sweet, though it also shakes from nervousness.

"I don't know what the future may hold, or how we grow past this point, but I know for sure that I don't want to move forward if I don't have you by my side. You're the most courageous, funny, loving, and beautiful person I've ever met, and I love you. I want to be the man that keeps you safe, to be your home, I want to be able to call you my wife. So I ask you, Y/N. Will you marry me?"

You feel your face heating up, and tears prickled in your eyes. A rush of emotions overwhelms you. Your hands started to shake, and your heart was pounding out of your chest once more, though this time it wasn't fear. You felt yourself absolutely melt at his words. It all felt like a fever dream to you. The man that you loved and cherished is now waiting for you to accept his hand in marriage. Although it wasn't the most conventional way, you couldn't care less.

"Yes! Yes... I will marry you, Telemachus."

You leap onto him, wrapping your arms around his neck tightly. He picks you up bridal style and spins you around, his giggles filling the room and infecting you with its blissfulness. You dipped his head to land a kiss on your lips; his lips tasted metallic, but you didn't mind. Soft giggles escaped both of you as you pulled away. Happy tears fall from your eyes as you wipe them slowly. That's when a realisation sets in.

"Does this mean–?"

"Yes. My father is finally back home." His eyes were soft along with his words. You could hear the pride in his voice, and it just made your heart squeeze. You can't help but smile, imagining just how sentimental his meeting with his father was.

He had finally reunited with his father and can finally share his love with you.

You couldn't wait to finally be a part of his family.

Thanks for reading♡

[fru1t4fr0gs]

You and Me - Chapter 15

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Avenger!Reader

Summary: In order to find information about the other supersoldiers, Bucky is forced to become the Winter Soldier once again. In the seedy criminal underworld of Madripoor, the two of you see just how far you'll go to protect one another.

Warnings: 18+ Minors DNI: Swearing, Violence, Implied sex, Guns, Protective!Bucky, Protective!Reader, Alcohol consumption, Angst, Please let me know if I forgot anything!

Author's Note: Oh boy, this one was fun to write! We love these two protecting one another to the point of violence, and it's always an angsty party when Winter Soldier!Bucky makes an appearance. Let me know what you guys think!

-

You land in the morning, which gives you all until nightfall to work out a plan and adapt to your new personas. Zemo uses some sort of connection to find some sort of apartment on the outskirts of the city, but whether the place belongs to him or you’re technically squatting for the next twelve hours, you’re not sure.

You and Bucky spend the majority of the day catching up on some much-needed sleep, collapsing together into the first bed you find. Moments after he pulls you into his chest, you’re out like a light, waking hours later to the dying light of day streaming in through the window. You feel the steady rise and fall of Bucky’s chest against your back, and you wiggle out of his embrace as carefully as possible, doing your best to avoid waking him before you pad into the kitchen.

“Hey there, Bedhead.” Sam greets, and your still sleep-crusted eyes narrow at him as you raise a hand to pat at your hair. “Glad you're finally up. I couldn’t tell which one of you was snoring louder in there.”

“You’re one to talk.” You retort, plopping down at the counter and wiping the remaining sleep from your eyes. “I was on that plane last night. It sounded like you were losing a fight with a chainsaw.”

“Nice try. We all know I’m way too pretty to snore.” He says, fixing you with a grin, and you can’t help but smile back.

-

A few hours later, Bucky and Sam discuss the plan inside while you sit on the balcony and try to prepare yourself for the night ahead, nursing a beer with a name you can’t pronounce as you gaze out at the skyline of Madripoor. 

“I understand that you do not like me very much.”

“That feels like a pretty tame way of putting it.” You raise an eyebrow, and Zemo takes a seat beside you without permission. You roll your eyes, take a swig of your beer and pointedly refuse to look at him.

“If it makes any difference, I like you very much.” He says, and you open your mouth to tell him that it absolutely doesn’t before he continues. “I see a lot of myself in you. We are similar, you and I.”

You scoff, appalled by the insult. Because that’s what it is. An insult. “I am absolutely nothing like you.” You grit out, but he stops you with a look. Knowing. Calculating. You hate how his eyes seem to look right into the very center of your mind.

“Oh?” He asks, and your eyes narrow as he continues. “I have seen the way you look at your husband. The way you protect each other. I see the grief in your eyes when you talk about Steve Rogers. Or Natasha Romanoff. Or Tony Stark.”

You bristle. He doesn’t stop.

“I see that he is anchoring you, and you him, in many ways. So tell me, if someone were to kill him, to take him from you, would you simply wither away and die?”

You blink.

“No, you would not.” He says, certain, and his eyes are still boring into you. “I see the fierceness in you. Like me, you would burn the world to the ground.”

“I wouldn’t.” You say, and you can taste the lie mingling with the beer on your tongue. Sour and cold.

Zemo looks at you like he’s won. Like he’s finally solved a difficult math problem. You despise him for it. “Hate me if you want, but you know I am right.” He says, with a shrug so casual you could be talking about the weather. “You dislike me for what I’ve done, but I frighten you. Not for what I could still do, but because I remind you of who you could become.”

You don’t say another word. You put down your drink and walk away, leaving him on the chilly balcony with a smile that is still far too sure of himself. Far too smug.

You pass by Sam and Bucky, ignoring their bickering and making a beeline to the room you slept in earlier that day. You don’t have to say anything, don’t even have to give him a look. You feel his presence in the doorway almost immediately, concerned eyes tracing over you as if checking you for wounds.

“What would you do?” You ask, turning around and meeting his eyes. “If someone killed me. What would you do?”

He looks taken aback by the sudden question. You don’t blame him. But you also don’t have to hear his answer before you see it on his face.

“…you already know.” He says, simply. Honestly. Like he’s just pulled out a piece of his heart and handed it to you.

Burn the world to the ground.

You nod, your own heart twisting. “Me too.” Your voice is quiet, vulnerable as you keep your gaze locked on his. “Does it scare you?”

He’s silent for a moment, but he isn’t thinking about his answer. Once again, he already knows it. He’s just looking at you. “Every day.”

You don’t waste another word before you kiss him, crossing the room and crushing your mouth to his like the contact might burn away whatever darkness could be lingering in your soul. He catches you, holding you just as tightly, kissing you just as desperately, and you can hear his foot kick the door shut behind you before he guides you back to the bed.

-

Bucky’s eyes are on you.

You can feel the weight of his gaze boring into you, tracing over your body as you stand by the bar. His face is clinical, Winter Soldier-blank, but you can feel the hunger emanating off of him like it’s seeping through his pores.

When you’d walked out of the bathroom in your tight black dress and incredibly uncomfortable high heels, he’d gone so still you had to snap your fingers in front of his face to make sure he was still computing.

He’d blinked, like he’d been woken from a trance.

“You’re not wearing that.”

You’d smiled, making your way to the door. “Trust me, I wish the same thing. I already can’t feel my toes. But-“

His arm shot out, blocking you. He looked pained.

“I’m serious. You’re not wearing that.”

“I can’t exactly wear your hoodie to the criminal operation, Buck.”

“You could wear more.” He tried, eyes moving helplessly over your exposed skin.

You’d just kissed his cheek, given him an apologetic look, and ducked under his arm to make your way into the living room.

Now, you can sense that same pained expression beneath his mask of emptiness as you watch Sam, desperately trying to stay in character, try not to gag on a snake heart. Oh man, you are going to get some mileage out of that later.

You and Zemo take your own shots. You keep your expression neutral. Almost bored. But the urge to look over at Bucky is harder and harder to ignore with each passing second.

This is going to be a long night.

-

There are too many people looking at you. No, leering at you. The seedy underworld of Madripoor must be filled to the fucking brim with creeps.

The minute this is over, he’s going to rip that dress off of you. It’s killing him to keep from doing exactly that right now, mission and crowded bar be damned. It’s taking an incredible amount of effort to keep his hands still. To keep his fingers from breaking a chunk out of the fucking bar as a seedy-looking man approaches you.

Zemo says something, though even Bucky’s enhanced hearing can’t pick up on it. You frown, some sort of realization dawning in your eyes before he finally sees Zemo turn to him. Hears those horribly familiar worlds.

It’s so, so easy to fall back into it. To disappear into the darkness as he slams the man into the ground. His mind empties. He feels nothing. He doesn’t switch back into the Winter Soldier, not fully, but he sinks back into the familiar motions, the acts of horrible violence dealt out with almost casual precision.

His hand is wrapped around the man’s throat, choking him to death on the bar. He hears guns cocking around him. He’s not worried. He can take them. He could kill everyone in this room if he wanted to. He’ll probably have to, anyway. No witnesses.

A hand falls on his vibranium arm. Not to fight. Not to dislodge him from his current target. Just…there. Familiar and warm. His head whips to the side, preparing to assess the threat.

And it’s you. Your eyes are looking into his without a trace of fear. Just concern. Worry. You’re checking to see if he’s okay, and you can see that he’s not.

He’s Bucky. Bucky Barnes. He’s not the Winter Soldier anymore.

The emptiness fades, and you fill it instead. The look in your familiar eyes pulls him back from the edge so quickly it almost gives him whiplash.

Zemo whispers to you to stay in character, and you look like it physically pains you to let him go. He wants to pull you back to him. He wants to grab you and run from this place. These memories.

He can’t. But now, as he dips back into the void of the Winter Soldier, he still has something to tether him.

-

You’re going to be sick.

You’re going to kill someone.

Bucky’s eyes are deliberately empty, staring straight ahead as Zemo offers him to Selby in exchange for information like he’s selling a fucking refrigerator. The greed in the woman’s eyes, the blatant hunger as she looks your husband over, makes your fingers twitch at your sides. It takes everything in you to avoid curling them into fists.

You can see the pain etched in every line of his body, dancing behind his blank expression. You would never catch it if you didn’t know him like the back of your hand. You can’t go to him. You can’t comfort him. You have to just stand there and watch, keeping your expression neutral.

This is only the smallest glimpse of what he went through, for decades, and it’s torture to watch.

Everything happens very quickly after that. The phone call. The blown cover. The bullet fired through Selby and the ensuing escape. You don’t have time to think. You do, however, have time to wish you were wearing something more comfortable to run from gunfire in.

“I can’t run in these heels!” Sam shouts, and you manage to give him an incredulous look before you stumble in your own heels. Bucky catches you effortlessly, and you contemplate taking the shoes off and running barefoot through the streets of Madripoor. 

“Are you kidding me?!” You shout back over the sound of bullets firing, “I’m basically wearing a fucking napkin and stilts!”

You skid to a halt in an alley, watching the attackers go down.

And then there’s Sharon.

You haven’t seen her since she stole Steve’s shield, and the explanation for why makes your stomach twist with guilt.

And yet, she agrees to help you, offering you a place to stay and beginning to lead the way to her car.

No one makes it two steps, however, before you move.

Zemo’s foot is kicked out from under him with inhuman speed, and he goes down with a grunt of surprise. Before he can seem to register what just happened, you’re pressing the barrel of a gun between his eyes.

“Woah woah woah, what are you doing?” Sam begins to ask, but you ignore him.

“Never again.” You say, and your voice doesn’t even sound like your own. It’s low. Dangerous. Carrying the promise of pure violence.

He knows what you’re talking about. His eyes glimmer with something. He raises his hands in surrender. “It was necessary-“

You push the gun harder against his skull. “I don’t care if fucking Thanos comes back and that’s the only way to stop him from wiping out half the universe again. Never. Again.”

You suddenly recognize the look in his eyes. See the small quirk of a triumphant smile on his lips. Your conversation from earlier plays through your mind.

Like me, you would burn the world to the ground.

He nods, a silent agreement, and you pull the gun back. When you turn, Bucky is staring at you. His blue eyes are filled with surprise. With love. He looks at you like he doesn’t think he deserves this, deserves you, and your heart cracks.

“Not so much a lab geek anymore, are you?” Sharon asks, drawing your attention to her.

You’re already walking forward, clicking the safety of the gun back on.

“Couple things are different now. I’ll catch you up later.”

Previous Chapter

-

Taglist: @vicmc624, @saucysasha2035, @iyskgd, @intothesoul, @capswife, @otterlycanadian, @phoenix666stuff, @astridphantom, @miss-chuchu, @frog-fans-unite

[deceasedream69]

I got you

Sorry if I use this gif wayyy too much teehee

Warnings: mentions of violence, mentions of menstrual blood.

_______________________________________

The team was on edge, you've been missing for two days now, your husband was the best profiler and agent but right now his head wasn't in the best place, but still, the team was sharp and building the case rapidly to help.

Hotch sat down, running is hands through his face and hair, letting all the air from his lungs out, holding it for a few seconds and then breathing in again, he did this a couple of times to regulate his anxiety, Rossi just watched him from afar. He kept watching him just to make sure he was fine, and that he wouldn't scape to try and search for you alone.

- talk to me, baby girl

- ok, so... Hotch told me about this stalker hypothesis, and I've been digging but I couldn't find anything

- so what have you been working on?

- until... I got to her old Facebook account, which is filled with comments from a "Mark Smith", so I digged even deeper and his blocked from every social account from y/n, so he created an account under a different name, to be off her radar, but not mine

- we need an address, Garcia! - Hotch said desperate, ready to jump, run and do anything it took to get you safe

- there's no real address under his name...

Hotch pushed himself away from the table, desperate, running his hands all over his head

- ok, let's think this through - Derek tried to keep it calm and think

- he's a stalker, does he have relatives? - Spencer suggested

- he lived with his grandma and mom... Which look exactly like y/n, oh, that's creepy, like really creepy

- Garcia - Derek insisted before Hotch lost it and mistreated her out of stress

- but they died... His grandma died 9 years ago and his mom... Right when the stalking started again, a month ago

- ok, so that's the stressor - Rossi said

- he needed a replacement once and for all, he lost his main woman - Derek replied

- that's- that's good, cause that means he'll want to keep her alive

- and y/n's smart, she'll comply to make sure he won't get upset - Hotch said from afar

They all turned to look at him. You could see two things in his brown eyes: pain and hope

- I have something else, he didn't have any more family, technically, but he did have a stepsister for a little, while his mom was dating Robert Panko, the sister also looks exactly like his type, and she has a house with a big barn 25 minutes away from the last place y/n was seen

- send me-

- already sent, go get her!

The team got their guns ready and their vests on. they didn't let Hotch drive because of his condition but he was allowed to go and help.

- everything will be fine, you'll save her - Rossi patted Hotch's shoulder from the back seat

The team got their guns out, Derek signaled each member which route to take, covering every exit, and they quickly moved into the barn.

- FBI! HANDS UP

They aimed at a figure, after everyone got their flashlights they could see the person was on top of someone else, it was y/n... Stabbing her kidnapper before they could rescue her and arrest the guy.

- PUT THE KNIFE DOWN! - the lightning was poor

Hotch dropped his gun.

- it's y/n- it's y/n!! Put the guns down!

He quickly rushed to hold her

- Hotch-

He hugged her tightly

- Hotch-

- omg, I missed you so much

- I want to go home... - tears started to fall

- I know sweetheart, I want more than anything in the world for you to be safe and sound in our house, next to me, come on

- Hotch...

She kept her legs tight and her hands covering her front somehow

- I can't... Really

He furrowed his eyebrows

- are you okay, sweetheart?

- I...

- are you okay? - emily got close to her, grabbing her arm slightly

- I...

She could feel everyone's eyes on her, that's when they noticed the blood dripping from her legs

- omg, are you hurt?! I need an ambulance! - Hotch got even closer in case you felt too weak

- no! No! Hotch... I'm fine, really

- how are you fine? You're bleeding

You turned to look at Emily and she understood immediately, doing an 'oh' sign with her mouth

- Hotch, she needs something else

You're legs trembled and shook as the embarrassment washed over you, of course you felt relieved when you saw the lights and FBI vests, but now, this was really private and embarrassing, and Emily understood that, getting everyone out of the barn to leave you some privacy, while she got you new clothes and some pads and tampons

- sweetheart, what's going on?! I don't -

- it's not lethal... Blood, Hotch

He finally understood, taking his jacket off and putting it on you, it was so big it cover you completely till the back of your thighs.

He tried to carry you in his arms, but you instinctively got back.

- Hotch, you're gonna get stained

- my love, no blood from you could make me avoid helping you or carrying you, please, let me be of help now that I can, now and for the rest of your life - he kneeled in front of you

- you're sweet, let's go home, please - you whispered, already tired from everything

He got up, taking you in his arms with the movement, kissing you slowly and carefully, scared to make any sudden move that'll hurt you even further

- let's get home, my love

> don't forget to like xoxo <