he walked down the hallway, his socked feet making no sound on the marble tile, and leaned against the kitchen doorframe.

there you were. sitting crisscrossed on the cold kitchen floor in one of his oversized t-shirts you decided to steal from his closet, completely lost in your own world.

spread out around you were three open books on deep sea marine biology, a laptop glowing with a research paper on bioluminescence, and a small plate containing a bizarre concoction.. sliced apples dipped in hot sauce and peanut butter.

marcus stayed quiet for a moment, just watching you. his dark eyes softened, a tiny, amused smile tugging at the corner of his lips. he shook his head slowly. fucking weird, he thought to himself - not for the first time, but with a warmth in his chest that completely caught him off guard.

“you know there’s a dining room table, yeah?”

his voice was low, deep, and thick with that all too well known smooth, quiet manchester cadence. it carried that gentle, relaxed drawl that always made the room feel a little warmer.

you flinched slightly. not because you were scared, but because you’d been so hyperfocused you’d practically forgotten the rest of the universe existed. you looked up, your eyes wide behind your messy curls.

"the floor has better grounding," you said flatly, as if it was the most obvious thing in the world. "the table has too much wood density. it feels heavy."

marcus let out a soft huff of laughter, rubbing the back of his neck as he walked over to the fridge. "wood density. right. silly me, innit?"

he grabbed a bottle of water, twisted the cap off, and took a slow drink before turning back to look at you. he didn't tell you to get up. he didn't act like you were crazy. instead, marcus folded his long, athletic frame down onto the floor right across from you, resting his wrists on his knees.

he leaned forward, looking down at your little snack plate with a raised eyebrow.

"what's all this then?" he asked softly, gesturing with his thumb toward the plate. "you're gonna ruin your stomach with that, man. serious." he quipped.

"it's sensory calibration," you explained, your tone completely serious as you nudged the plate toward him. "the hot sauce triggers endomorphins, the peanut butter provides fat for protein absorption, and the apple is crunch. it balances the central nervous system." you explain as if it was common knowledge.

marcus stared at the apple slice, then looked at you. his eyes danced with amusement, a genuine, wide smile spreading across his face, showing off his teeth.

"endomorphins, yeah?" he teased softly, his voice dropping into that quiet, husky voice. "you just make these words up to sound clever, don't you? endorphins, mate. endorphins." he chuckled.

"endorphins," you corrected yourself without a hint of shame, waving a hand dismissively. "same thing. try it."

"i am not eating hot sauce and peanut butter at one in the morning," he chuckled, leaning back against the base of the lower cupboards. "i've got training at ten. boss'd kill me if i turned up with an upset gut because my girl's doing food experiments on the floor."

my girl. the casual way he said it always made a strange, pleasant buzz hum through your chest.

marcus settled in, resting his head back against the cupboard door. he looked exhausted - the faint dark circles under his eyes spoke to the high intensity week he'd had, the pressure of the media, the fans, the constant demand to perform at the highest level.. but sitting here on the kitchen floor with you, all of that armour melted away.

"how was the match?" you asked, leaning your chin on your knee.

marcus let out a quiet sigh, looking at his hands. "tough, you know? they sat deep, made it right difficult for us to find space in behind. had to work for it. got the three points in the end, though. that's all that matters, really." he paused, looking over at you, his gaze gentle. "what were you up to all day? just.. reading about fish?"

"bioluminescent anglerfish," you corrected, immediately shifting into high gear. your posture straightened, your eyes lighting up with that intense, unblinking focus that marcus found equal parts terrifying and fascinating.

"did you know that when the male anglerfish finds a female, he doesn't just mate with her? he physically bites into her skin and releases an enzyme that dissolves his own mouth and body until his vascular system fuses with hers. he literally becomes a permanent parasite attached to her body so he never has to be alone in the pitch black of the deep ocean."

silence filled the kitchen.

marcus just stared at you. his mouth opened slightly, then closed. he blinked once. twice.

"..that's dark, you know," he said finally, a quiet, disbelieving laugh slipping out of his chest. "like... proper weird, man. why are you reading that before bed, love?"

"because it's poetic," you insisted, leaning closer. "it's complete devotion. total physical integration.”

"it's creepy," marcus countered softly, though the corner of his lip was twitching up again. he reached out, his big, warm hand reaching across the space between you to gently tap the tip of your nose. "you're a proper weirdo. absolutely mental."

"you love it."

"do i?" he murmured, his tone shifting into something impossibly tender. he reached out further, grabbing your wrist softly and pulling you closer across the floor. "come ‘ere."

you scrambled forward, crawling into his space. marcus opened his arms and pulled you up into his lap, wrapping his long arms around you securely. he buried his face into the crook of your neck, taking a deep, heavy breath of your familiar scent— vanilla and warm cotton. you felt the deep rumble of his chest as he relaxed completely against you, all the physical tension from ninety minutes of elite football finally draining out of his muscles.

"you're warm." he mumbled against your skin, his voice muffled.

"you're cold," you retorted, running your fingers through his short, dark curls. "you need to regulate your body temperature, rashy.”

marcus gave a quiet, breathy laugh against your neck. "always gotta have a reason for everything, don't you? can't just be 'cause i want to hold you?"

"that's a psychological reason," you pointed out softly. "oxytocin release."

marcus lifted his head slightly, looking down into your face. up close, his dark eyes were incredibly gentle, carrying that quiet, humble warmth that made him who he was. he looked at you like you were the most interesting, complex puzzle he'd ever been given to solve. someone completely untouched by the fame, the money, or the noise of his world. you were just you. unfiltered, blunt, chaotic, and entirely his.

"you talk too much." he whispered affectionately, though his eyes were full of devotion.

"you asked me about the fish."

"and you gave me a horror story." he teased, his thumb gently smoothing over your cheekbone.

"next time, just tell me they glow in the dark, yeah? keep it simple for me.

"i don't do simple."

"nah," marcus murmured, his soft lips brushing against yours in a slow, lingering kiss that tasted like mint and pure bliss. "i know you don't. wouldn't want you to, either."

he pulled back just an inch, resting his forehead against yours. his hands rested securely on your waist, anchoring you to him.

"come to bed now, yeah?" he murmured softly, his accent rich and soothing in the quiet of the night. "leave the glowing fish for tomorrow. i'm dead beat, and i need my girl with me."

you looked at the books spread across the floor, then back at marcus - his heavy eyelids, his gentle smile, the quiet, safe space he always built around you no matter how loud the rest of the world got.

"fine," you whispered. "but tomorrow i'm telling you about vampire squids."

marcus let out a low, rumbling laugh, shaking his head as he helped you stand up, keeping his arm wrapped tightly around your waist.

Enjoy! 👅

"What are you doing?"

"What does it look like I'm doing?"

You slumped back in the sofa, watching how Mason slid himself lower and lower on top of you. The movie you put on earlier became white noise in the background, the sound fading into the distance as you worried for what would come next.

"Mason, you don't have to—"

He lifted his head, pleading brown eyes staring back at you. "Come on. You never let me."

Well there was a reason for that.

"I'll make it good. Trust me."

You nodded. "Okay."

Sex with Mason was great. Amazing, actually. Even before the two of you started seeing each other romantically. He was gentle, attentive, and always caring for your needs before his own. But when it came to going down on you.....well, there was no gentle way to express your worries, but what if he was terrible at it?

It would certainly ruin things, wouldn't it? Considering how perfect everything was now.

Not to set the bar high but never had a guy with as slim lips as Mason's, given you a good time downstairs. It just wasn't in their nature.

"Mason." You gasped. The first sensation of his tongue jerking your body in suprise.

A low chuckle was heard from below. "I'm sorry. Did I scare you?"

"Oh, shut up."

You regretted those words. Because Mason obeyed, worsening the anticipation by not talking you through it.

He slid himself further down. Taking your sweatpants and panties along with him before settling down between your legs.

"Mason?"

"Shhh. I'm busy."

Your eyes darted at the ceiling, waiting. Just waiting.

"Unless..." A cold draft swept past your thighs, Mason, raising himself to look at you with slight concern in his eyes. "Unless you want me to stop?" He said. "Would you like me to stop, baby?"

It was so pure. His need for your consent. You knew that Mason wouldn't continue without it, and that's why you let him. "It's okay. I want you to." You assured.

"Are you sure?"

You sat up and reached for his face, cradling his cheeks between your hands. "I'm sure Mason. I want this."

He nodded and perked up to kiss your lips. You smiled and let your head drop back against the cuchens.

Things started off quite innocent, with Mason pressing tender kisses closer and closer to your slit. Teasing you this way. Your pulse rose with the heat from his mouth, the tickle of his mustache raising the hair on your arms.

"You smell....amazing."

You exhaled in relief. Followed by a quiet giggle.

"What?"

"What if I hadn't...smelled amazing?"

"I would've of told you."

"Would you have stopped?"

"No."

Your eyebrows elevated "Oh."

Who would dare stop a starving man from eating?

You quickly realized how much it pleased him to please you. With every moan that unintentionally escaped you, a low mutter echoed below. Mason, mumbling secret endereaments against your skin.

"I love you."

It filled your heart. Mason was so bare and open. Even though you were the one laying with your woha in his face.

"I love the way you taste. So sweet. So..."

"Mason."

"Yes?"

"Stop talking."

He had you on the edge. Already on the verge of bursting.

"Baby, are you—"

"Yes. God yes."

He was good at it. His mouth warm against your lips, his tongue knowing exactly when to circulate, to lick, or to just be there, pressing hard against your beating pulse.

You were wrong.

So wrong.

"Mason, I'm gonna....I'm gonna." You surprised yourself with a high-pitched shriek. "Mason, fuck."His finger, maybe one maybe two, arched your back, pressing your hips into his face, letting you ride out the last of your orgasm. It was embarrassing how hard you came. Succumbing to your boyfriend's hands and mouth.

Once you finished. Once the rhythmic spasms seized to posses your body, a smothering warmth overwhelmed you.

"Was it good? Did I do good baby?"

"Mason I—" You were lost for words, eyes wide, staring blankly at him. "You're....you're..."

His grin went from proud to complacent, maliciously complecant. "I was good wasn't I? Better than you thought."

You threw yourself at him, wrapping your arms around his neck as the two of you fell back on the sofa. A josyeus laughter threatened to burst your lungs. "I wanna go again."

"You do?"

"Yes."

"Like right now? Right after I just..."

"Again, please."

Mason chuckled nervously, working his now tight jaw. "I see that I've created a monster."

Mason blinks and pauses for a moment, “Well… personally, I don’t mind eating it whole. I’ve never really understand the controversy. My girlfriend has strong opinions though.”

He pauses with a laugh, eyes crinkling, “I remember when we first started dating, I made her a sandwich, and I watched her cut it into triangles before she ate it. I was so confused, and then she looked up at me and told me that sandwiches always need to be cut into triangles. I just agreed because I wanted to keep dating her, but now if I don’t cut her sandwich into triangles, it becomes a whole conversation about sandwich shapes.” 

You hold back a laugh before calling for him, “Mase!”

A few moments later he pokes his head in, mild confusion written on his face. An eyebrow furrowed, you hold yourself back from going to kiss his cheek. “What’s this about sandwich shapes, I hear?” you ask, humor in your voice. 

His face flushes slightly, “Babe, that was months ago.” He moves towards you, pulling you into his chest. You squirm slightly, holding back laughter. 

“I refuse to be dating a man who won’t admit that triangles are the best sandwich shape!” you say, your voice muffled by his sweatshirt. You feel his chest shake slightly as he holds back a laugh. 

“What difference does it make?! It’s all a sandwich,” he jokingly remarks. You raise your head looking at him with an exaggerated expression of sadness. 

“Alright, alright…” he concedes, “How about this, we can each ask our followers what they think and whoever wins is correct.”