#the present is a foreign land

[obsessivevoidkitten]

The Omega Knight

Male Alpha Dragon-Hybrid x Male Omega Reader CW: Noncon, stalking, reader fucked into the mud, reader fucked so hard he pisses himself, overstimulation, emotional manipulation, stockholm syndrome, omegaverse, a/b/o dynamics, mating cycles/heat, two-dicked dragon-man, double penetration, knotting, biting, claiming bites, combat, medieval dystopia with shitty gender roles, praise kink Word Count: 4.9k (This is a comm for somone wishing to remain anonymous. I hope everyone enjoys it. I made it much longer than it was supposed to be.)

In a time defined by the prominence of magic, the might of kings, the power of knights, and discriminatory sex and gender views, it was extremely difficult to be an omega. They were commonly looked upon as sex objects, incubators, and the property of whoever they ended up forced to marry. Male omegas, given their rarity, were treated as particularly fragile trophies.

You were one such male omega. Not wanting their only son to be looked down upon as someone’s property or prize, your parents raised you as an alpha. They were not the highest house of nobles, but they were still very wealthy. They used their connections and power to get you the very best magically enhanced suppressants and fake alpha scent.

With a combination of careful planning, staying as far from others as you could, and suppressants you manage to become one of the knights of the realm. Despite your smaller stature, everyone thought you were an alpha given your fake scent, dedication, and skill. It took a lot of effort to push your omega body so hard, but you persevered, not willing to besmirch the honor of your house through failure. Your father helped train you, and you paid for your station with sweat and bruises.

Once you became a knight you were one of the very few who worked alone. Knights were responsible for defending the country from the more dangerous bandits and the ever present threat of highly dangerous monstrosities. As such they typically worked in groups and went on missions that could take days to weeks. But you couldn’t risk getting caught applying suppressants and fake scent while out on the road. This required you to be better trained and more skilled than anyone else could hope to be.

The result was that you were quick and lethal on every single mission, quickly racking up kills. You started out by being sent to take down bandits, as every new knight is. But that isn’t what you stayed doing for very long.

You quickly graduated to the occasional ghoul or wandering undead, though these were little more than slow moving beasts. Honestly, rarely as dangerous as a bandit.

From there you went on to put tougher foes in the ground. Chimeras, gargoyles, and the like. They were still feral but they were much more cunning and moved without the stiffness that plagued the undead.

Finally you were regularly slaying werewolves and vampires. Considered to be the deadliest of foes. The king himself had assigned you some of your tasks and awarded you medals for your courage and skill. You became renowned across the land, your name muttered far and wide for your impressive service. Though, as always, you never lingered after receiving praise or rewards. To be discovered at this point would mean enduring certain… consequences…

One day you were summoned to meet the king privately. As you passed the guards and presented your summons you weren’t nervous at all, you assumed that there was a threat to the kingdom that only you could be trusted to resolve. Probably one that was a bit too discreet to share via messenger. Something that could cause embarrassment or panic.

Your assumption was dead wrong.

When you reached the king on his throne you saw he was accompanied by one of the princes, the one who was around your age and also an omega. Prince Orleias stared at you eagerly. It was rather unnerving, though not something that was entirely foreign to you. There were many omegas that looked at you like that.

“Ah, there you are, prompt as always.”

You gave a smile and curt nod at his praise.

“Of course your grace, I would never keep you waiting.”

“I have something very important to discuss with you. You are a well decorated knight of this land and have saved hundreds of lives, if not more. You are also high born and the heir to your house name.”

He paused and looked at you and then back to his son for a moment.

“I am giving you my son’s hand in marriage. He wholeheartedly agrees.”

At this Prince Orleias crept towards you and clung to your arm, looking at you with unfettered admiration. Uh-oh.

You didn’t know what to do, if you declined it would surely enrage the king and possibly bring his ire down upon your entire family. He was not known to be an angry man, but he took note of traditions and honor as most in this society did. He wouldn’t behead you, but it would be highly offensive.

On the other hand, if you accepted, then your secret would be found out. And that deception would be received very poorly indeed.

Luckily, as if the very gods were interjecting on your behalf, a messenger came scurrying into the room to interrupt.

“Sire! Sire!”

“What’s the meaning of this intrusion!? I am discussing a very important personal matter with our top warrior here!”

“Yes sire! I beg your apologies! But we have reports of a dragon terrorizing the small town of Umbrafell!”

Your head was immediately filled with images of villages fleeing in terror as a flying beast rained down fire and fury down from above. You had to help, no one else had as good of a chance to defeat such a creature! This was also your opening to remove yourself from accepting the proposal… or at the very least buy yourself some time to think of a more permanent solution… You extricated yourself out of the clingy grip of the amorous prince.

“My king! I will go at once! It is one of the mightiest beasts in all of the world and I have the best chance to defeat it!”

You quickly dashed from the room and out of the castle and made your way home to don your armor and set out on your newly acquired quest before the king could object, not that he would have. You were obviously the best choice for the job.

Once you had your weapon, armor, and pack of supplies you set out at once on one of the knight’s horses. As grateful as you were from the reprieve that the situation had afforded you, it was still a very serious situation with the lives of many potentially in danger. You had never even fought a dragon before and it was not a fight to be taken lightly. You couldn’t even recall if any living knight had ever encountered one.

The best plan was to talk to the locals once you got to the town and ask them what exactly they had seen of the beat, find out its size, age, speed, and elemental attributes. It was probably a fire dragon, that was the most common from the old tales and songs.

The town of Umbrafell was on the southern outskirts of the kingdom. It would be a journey of a few days to get there.

You continued on at a steady pace that wasn’t too demanding of the horse but still gave you good progress on your journey. You had to stop and camp a couple nights, and stop when necessary to eat and allow your mount to rest and get hydrated, but the weather was pleasant and you made remarkable time. You arrived in Umbrafell late in the morning on the third day of your quest.

The questioning of several of the locals had you believing that the dragon was a giant beast that descended upon the villagers and their livestock, devastating entire flocks and burning to cinders entire fields. Definitely an adult dragon of fire.

The question was how would you fell such a creature? Charging in blindly was not an option. You decided drugging would be the best option. But you didn’t even know if dragons were susceptible to such things. And even if they were it probably would be far too clever to take any form of drugged bait. No, the course of action most likely to end without your smoldering corpse was to find the lair, stake it out, and wait for it to sleep before attacking.

The locals pointed you in the direction the dragon came from. A thick forested area with many hills and slopes. Not the best area to take a horse. You left your mount at the local livery stable, you paid well and knew the knightly steed would be well looked after.

You trekked through the forest for several hours, there was no telling exactly where the dragon had set up its den and you only had a general direction to search in. Whatever lodgings the dragon had found or made for itself had to be massive so you were sure that you’d know it when you came across it.

As you continued your search you cursed your omega biology. Something you did frequently. You felt a familiar tingle in your belly that was unmistakable. Your body was getting ready to enter heat. Even with magic suppressants there was just no way to completely avoid a heat. Or to hide one if someone got too close to you during one. The best modern magical marvels could do was shorten one and make it less intense.

Another reason you’d have to avoid marrying the prince. But that was something you could worry about at a later time, it would do you no good to have your mind head elsewhere while trying to locate and kill a dragon.

Little did you know that the dragon had already located you, long before you had entered its territory. The only warning you had was the swoosh of wings as he descended upon you. Your reaction was fast though and you managed to block the strike of his sharp claws with your blade. What the hell? He wasn’t a giant dragon… he was a half-breed… A race of dragon-human hybrids originally created with a magical blood pact between ancient dragons and wizards. The locals let their fear overtake them and greatly exaggerated the threat.

That didn’t mean you could take him lightly, dragon hybrids were known to be powerful and swift. Well they were rumored to be, at least. They were even less common than dragons.

A more ferocious foe you had never encountered, clawing and slashing at you with grace and brutality. The scales on his hands and arms allowed him to strike your blade with no weapon other than his relatively short claws. They were black and shimmered with each movement. They covered his well muscled arms, legs, and framed his face. To get a good strike on him you’d have to hit his face or chest.

Easier said than done. He was nearly 7ft. tall and exceptionally strong. He wasn’t making this simple for you. What was worse than that though were his mounting pheromones. As the battle went on he sweated more and more, and with no clothing other than a barbarian style fur loincloth it was easy to smell him. The musk of a normal human alpha was something you had long since learned to ignore as if it was damn near nothing, but this wasn’t like that at all. It was making you a little dizzy.

“You should just give up omega.”

His sensitive nose could pierce through your false scent. You shook your head and redoubled your focus and determination. You stared right into his fiery red eyes as you deflected a harrowing blow before tackling him with your metal clad body, opening him up to an additional attack. You slashed into his torso, causing him to recoil in pain. You pressed the advantage and stabbed him in the abdomen.

The dragon almost sliced you to ribbons before you could withdraw your weapon from him. Were he a regular man he would likely be on the ground bleeding out by now, but he was no regular man and roared as he began attacking you wildly.

Every strike was either dodged, deflected, or uselessly glanced off your armor. You got a few more solid strikes in, one on his bicep above where the scales started and another across the chest. He was breathing harder.

But for some reason so were you.

“Y-you should just give up alpha,” you sneered mocking what he had said to you earlier. Though it sounded a lot less intimidating than you had intended.

You started shaking and had to kneel down, leaning on your sword in the dirt. Pain in your stomach, a biological demand, slick rolling down your thighs beneath your armor. You were burning up. His pheromones hung thickly in the air, they had brought forth your heat much faster and harder than you had ever experienced before, completely negating any effect of the suppressants in your body.

All your experience and combat skill and taken down by a dragon’s musk and your own omega biology? It was a disgrace.

Now given the proper time to recover he used healing magic on his wounds. Combined with his already naturally enhanced healing abilities this resulted in him having only faint scars where he was previously injured. “Aww, all helpless because of your little heat darling~”

He sauntered over to you and looked down with a smug expression.

“Sorry for getting the drop on you, but you would have gotten it on me had you found me first. Anyway… now that you are a bit less feisty I think we can do a proper introduction now can’t we?”

Your heat was so strong now that you could barely focus on breathing evenly as you tried to stumble away. There was no way you could find the words to respond.

“I am Ivos, your mate. Don’t worry, I already know your name and everything about you.”

He pushed you down to your knees and kicked away your sword. At this distance his pheromones demanded your attention. He removed your helmet and started prying your armor apart plate by plate, totally scrapping the armor that had been so important to you. Soon you were in nothing but your regular clothes and then not even those as he sliced them up with his claws.

Now you were completely naked before him. The smell of his arousal was palpable. You glanced up towards him and noticed two large bulges poking out in his loincloth. He put his hand on your cheek and rubbed it with a scaled thumb. All it took was that touch for the last of your resolve to melt.

“I have been waiting for this for so long, have been following you for over a year now. Came across you taking down a horde of undead. Then watched you fight battle after battle. Scared the town because I knew it would draw you out. So strong. The only mate worthy of me. But an omega still shouldn’t be forced to live like an alpha.”

All you could do was whimper in need.

“Don’t worry, I won’t make you wait any longer. Couldn’t hold out if I tried.”

Ivos pulled off his loincloth and revealed two large slimy cocks, proud and erect, protruding from his genital slit. He sat down right on the ground then pulled you into his lap, he grinded his dicks against your hole then stretched it with a couple fingers before lifting you up and slamming you down. Both of his cocks firmly impaled your weeping hole. You gasped in pleasure. You had never put anything inside of you to relieve your heats, you thought giving into your omega nature would be like giving in to something you shouldn’t.

He grinded slowly into you, back and forth, making you drool as you leaned against him weakly. He teased your neck with his long tongue, swirling and lapping at your sensitive gland there. Your toes flexed and writhed as he did so. This felt so good. So so good. This is where you wanted to be for the rest of eternity, on his lap skewered on both of his cocks while inhaling his smell.

The dragon wanted to take your bliss to a higher level though, he increased the speed of his thrusts into you while carefully stroking your cock with the hand he wasn’t using to caress your back. He kept at it for a while, gradually increasing the pace as he went. You came hard, panting and shaking as your seed coated his abdomen.

Over the course of the next two hours you were entirely at the mercy of his sexual desire, too overstimulated to do anything other than twitch in pleasure and drool as he broke your brain with orgasm after orgasm. You gasped as he came inside you, stretching your virgin hole to its absolute limit with not one but two girthy knots. He did what came to him instinctively, biting your neck and claiming you as his with a mark. The stimulation was so extreme you not only emptied your balls once more but also your bladder, piss getting all over the both of you.

Ivos didn’t seem to mind at all, in fact he seemed pretty pleased with having fucked you so completely that you lost control of your entire body. He licked the bite mark he had branded you with free of blood before picking you up and flying to his lair, knots still firmly inside you. He took your sword with him, figuring the blade you had come so far with may be of sentimental value to you, but he left the destroyed armor and his loincloth.

Ivos held you as tightly as he could, the cold air returning you to your senses and making you very uncomfortable. When his cocks slipped out of you and retracted back into him gobs of cum dripped out onto the forest below. He smirked at how strongly you clung to him. It wasn’t like you wanted to, but you were terrified at being up so high. You certainly wouldn’t struggle when it could mean your death if you fell.

Your new lover had made his residence in a relatively small tower abandoned beyond the hills. By the time you got there you were so sore and tired from holding on so tight, and the brutal fucking you had endured earlier, that you were in no condition to rebel. You were so obedient when he cleaned you up and fed you. It made his heart flutter, his strong mate being so good for him.

“Such a good boy~”

A grunt of defiance was all you could muster in the way of a rebellious response.

Ivos would quickly learn that you would not be staying so well behaved. You fought him at every opportunity. And he fucked you back into compliance every time he needed to. It took a long while but at least you stopped struggling at the sex. It actually felt quite amazing. And afterwards you were always so good for him.

Even so, while he admired your rebellious spirit, he wanted you to like him all the time. Not just when you were drowning in his pheromones and bouncing on his knots. He caught you the best food, took care of all your needs, brought you trinkets and gifts that would have otherwise gone to his hoard. Sometimes it seemed like you resented these gestures, you were trying so hard to not be a typical omega, and he supposed you really weren’t to some extent.

He had an idea of what to do to get you to enjoy his company more, though he could tell you were planning an escape soon. Your scent was one of someone on edge. Someone deceptive. Luckily you had no idea he could smell such a thing.

The hybrid wanted to start taking you out to hunt with him, maybe even fight some monsters. He had come to the conclusion that maybe you weren’t entirely forced to act like an alpha, maybe you enjoyed some aspects of it and he needed to ease back a bit on catering to you as if you were a princess.

But he had to get you to give up hope of escape before he could trust you going on long outings, not to mention letting you wield lethal weaponry… he didn’t even let you have access to your sword...

Ivos was spot on about you trying to get away. You had spent a couple weeks with him and were constantly thinking about potential plans for getting away. You were also studying his behaviors. Testing how deep a sleeper he was, for example. You weren’t just going to bolt at the first chance. It had to be calculated.

To make your move, you needed a rainy day. The sound of the rain would help hide the sounds of your escape. Of course, you realized that even if your armor hadn't been reduced to scrap, you still would have had to abandon it whenever you made your bid for freedom. The pang of water on metal would give you away along with the weight adding to your footprints and slowing you down. You mourned its loss, not for the first time.

You also needed rain to help mask your scent from that damned sensitive dragon nose of his.

It was grueling. Having to wait for the perfect weather when you had no idea when it would finally rain. Having to act good and behave. Keep your head down and bear the sexual and romantic harassment that were damn near unrelenting. And those damnable pheromones of his. But finally, you had what you so desperately wanted.

A glorious downpour. You couldn't ask for a better chance at escape. Dark clouds late at night. Loud booming crashes of thunder. Pounding rain that would soak you in seconds. You just prayed that it would be enough to wash away your pheromones without your suppressants.

As stealthily as you could, you made your way down the tower and slunk out into the concealment of the storm. The only thing you brought with you were the clothes on your back and your sword for protection from whatever may dwell in the night. Unknown to you, Ivos had let it “fall” from the high place where he had mounted it. Didn’t want you to get hurt by something during your escape attempt.

Once you had traversed the nearby hills and then the forest, you'd be near the village he had terrorized to bait you and could get your horse there.

But one thing at a time, you still had to clear the sloping terrain and trees before you could worry about that. You went as fast as you could go without slipping in the mud or splashing through puddles, but it was going to be a long journey.

Ivos had been asleep when you crept out, or so you thought, but you couldn't be sure how long he would remain that way.

As you continued on through the rain filled night, you began to feel gradually more confident and hopeful about your freedom. You were going to make it. You had been worried if you had been able to maintain the correct course given the darkness and disorienting thunder, but after hours of hiking there it was, the edge of the forest. And when lightning flashed, you could see the town in the distance.

You were so close! You increased your pace, spurred on by the promise of successful liberation. Then, beneath the constant patter of rain, you could have sworn you heard the swoosh of wings. Probably the wind rushing through the tre-

The next thing you knew, you were on your stomach, pushed into the mud. Your sword kicked away uselessly. Your hope was shattered. You struggled, but you might as well have been a mewling kitten.

"If you wanted to play cat and mouse, darling, all you had to do was ask."

You clambered to get away, clawing at the wet ground, as he pulled you back towards him and slashed away all your clothes before sighing laboriously.

"You had been behaving so well too... I guess I'm going to have to give you a little attitude adjustment..."

Both of his large cocks protruded at full length from his genital slit. The rain had quickly faded to a light sprinkle, and the smell of his musk had quickly grown overwhelming. The smell of his desire rolled off of him and quickly had you once more slicked up against your will.

"There's a good boy~"

Your hole twitched around his fingers as he teased you by slipping them inside. You struggled to contain a whimper as you grinded your ass against his fingers.

"Beg for it."

You tried to resist, but his scent and touch had completely taken over your brain. You didn't even have a heat to blame it on this time, and he wasn't in rough. Just his aroused musk could reduce you to a throbbing ball of need.

"Pl-please just... do it already..."

You were glad the darkness of night and the grime that clung to you covered the shame on your face.

"Good enough."

He smoothly slipped both slimy cocks right on into you.

"Damn, that's gooood."

Once more, his twin pricks pounded into you at an increasing pace, filling you far better than any one-cocked human alpha could ever hope to.

Ivos smirked at your wanton moans. They were like candy for his ears. Proof that if you ever got too far out of line he could just fuck you back into obedience. With your armor and blade, you may have been a skilled combatant, but what did it matter when he could make you so helpless?

He kept right on railing you into the mud. His cocks filled you to the brim with cum as he renewed his claiming bite on your neck. You shuddered and came as he knotted you up, the girth of both knots firmly adhering the two of you together.

But he was far from done with your little "lesson." He didn't stop until both of you had come several times, and you lay beneath him trembling and barely conscious.

When his knots went down and his cocks slipped out cum splooged out all over your ass, thighs, and legs. You were covered in mud. Calling you a mess was a serious understatement. Though you were in no state of mind to care.

"Aaaah, that was great~"

The dragon picked you up bridal style and flew the two of you back home. He ran you a bath and cleaned you of all the mud, sweat, and cum.

The next thing you knew, you were in bed with his arms wrapped firmly around you. As the events from last night came back to you, you silently cursed yourself for having been taken so easily.

It became a new pattern in your defiance of him. One carefully curated by Ivos. You'd run off and, just as you were about to escape the forest, he'd swoop right in and fuck you damn near senseless. Then he'd take you back, and you'd wake up clean and in his arms.

You tried in various weather conditions, times of day, you tried fighting, you tried plugging your nose to shield against his scent, but no matter what you did it played out exactly the same.

The final time you had ever tried to escape went much like all the others, up until you neared the tree line. You paused, eyeing the divide between the forest and grassland that would lead you down into Umberfell.

Though you could not see him, Ivos was watching you intently, ready to pounce upon you at the last possible moment. A growing sense of unease gripped you. You even started shaking. No no. You couldn't go forward... Ivos would have you on the ground and fuck you into the dirt... It was all pointless.

You turned and ran back to the dragon's tower.

Ivos smiled brightly from his hidden position in the trees. Your training was complete, you knew what would happen if you tried to do something silly like running off. Now he could, at long last, execute his idea.

It did take much longer than Ivos would have liked, but the alpha was patient and ultimately he had gotten the results he wanted. Taking you out to hunt, letting you prepare and cook your own meat half the time, taking you out for some good old fashion monster slaying, not doting on you too much outside of your heats while at the same time tending to your biological needs by supplying you with all the dick and musk you could want, had gradually made you happily in love with him.

It was much better than your old life, you came to realize that. Being allowed to do things that alphas typically did and no longer having to repress your scent and omega instincts was liberating.

What’s more, you no longer had such weighty responsibilities. The burden of the kingdom’s safety, a kingdom that would have shunned you had they known your secret, was an immense weight to shoulder. And if you had made it back what would have happened anyway? Be a hermit forced to live alone as an alpha for the rest of your life? Thrown into a life of dishonor for refusing the king’s request that you marry his son? No matter what, you would have been miserable.

Ivos had actually freed you, and you loved him deeply.

[iniquitousyearning]

tom riddle. | everyone has their vices

summary: tom riddle tells you he jerks off (and more) to relieve stress. just….in typical tom fashion.

word count: 2k

tags: 18+, suggestive content, so much tension you’ll choke on it, frustrating subliminal tom riddle (though reader is just as stubborn), flirting, masturbation insinuation, make out sesh.

"But how?”

Tom inhaled sharply, the muscles in his jaw tightening as he prepared to reexplain for what felt like the hundredth time. "Because, the slightest distraction or doubt can result in consequence—as I said previous. A momentary lapse in any of the areas we covered will result in splinching."

You blinked, staring at him like he'd spoken an alternate language. The late night and the relentless focus on Tom's face for the past four hours had blurred everything into a haze and dulled his voice into a monotonous hum, blending with the soft rustle of parchment and the distant lapping of the lake against the window. He could see it—your disconnection, the way his words slipped past you like water through fingers.

He exhaled, slumping back in his chair, a hand raking through his dark hair in frustration. "Should we call it a night?"

"Probably," you muttered, your gaze drifting to the window behind him, the surface of the Black Lake rippling under the moonlight. "You've overloaded my brain. I stopped comprehending two hours ago."

You felt Tom's eyes narrow slightly as he studied you—you must have looked a mess. Strands of hair had fallen out of your ponytail, your uniform shirt was half undone, and there was a dullness in your eyes that spoke of more than just exhaustion. A week bedridden with the flu had set you back, and now, despite Tom's best efforts, you felt like you were drowning.

He knew you were stressed beyond measure—you were normally not like this.

"You need to relax," he said, the words landing with the flatness of an undisputed fact. "You won't retain anything in the state you're in."

"How can I relax when I'm two weeks behind? And exams are next week?" Your voice cracked with the weight of your frustration as you leaned your elbows on his desk, burying your face in your hands. "I'm helpless, Tom. I know you know it."

"Would I be sitting here wasting my time if I thought you were helpless?" He watched you, almost clinical in his intensity as he spoke—tone matter-of-factly, devoid of any false comfort. It cut through your despair with ease. Tom Riddle never did anything without purpose; if he was here, it meant he believed you were worth the effort. "My suggestion is that you reset your brain," he continued, his voice steady like his fingers as he shut the textbook between you. "Take a walk. Have a cold shower. Jump in the lake. Whatever you need to do to decompress."

The simplicity of his suggestions almost made you laugh, but it was the kind of laughter that would easily turn into tears if you let it. Tom had a way of stripping everything down to its most basic form—of cutting through your stress and chaos and presenting you with a simple, unvarnished answer.

You were a mess, and he was telling you to fix it—no coddling, no pity, just a clear-eyed assessment of the situation. And somehow, that was exactly what you needed to hear. You appreciated him for it.

"Decompress, huh. I don't believe I've ever done such a thing." You leaned back in your chair with a lopsided grin, arms crossed. "Is that what you do? Jump in the lake?"

Tom let out a huff, the corners of his mouth twitching upward in what was almost—almost—a smile.

"Something like that."

Interesting—Tom Riddle, always so composed, every inch of him meticulously put together, as if the mere idea of stress was a foreign concept. You couldn't imagine him spiralling, not the way you did—frankly, you couldn't imagine him ever feeling overwhelmed at all.

The curiosity gnawed at you, wondering what he did to unwind—what rituals or habits did the untouchable Tom Riddle indulge in when no one was watching?

"Something else, then?" You pushed it further, gently, your eyebrow arching just slightly.

For a moment, his gaze flickered, something dark and inscrutable passing behind his eyes. You knew he was considering your words, debating whether to indulge your curiosity or keep you at arm's length. Such a fascinating creature he was—all brick walls and boarded windows—you had a feeling he was going to shut this down.

Until, he leaned forward.

"If you're asking if I have habits—I suppose I do," he said, your eyes drawn to the way his lips moved, the way his voice curled around each syllable. "Habitual things I do to—relax, let's say."

You hummed and pulled your lower lip between your teeth as you considered him—fighting to hide your amusement. That was the biggest personal moment you've had out of Tom Riddle since the day you met him in first year where he told you his name.

"Well, isn't that a revelation," you teased, toying with the edge of your skirt. "Just the mere insinuation that Tom Riddle has to do something to relax—as though he's not always cool, calm, and collected like he lets on."

His lips curled slightly at your words, his gaze dipping briefly from your eyes to your mouth, trailing lower in a slow, deliberate sweep that brushed over your chest before landing back on the desk.

Your brain buffered, tingles in the wake of his wrath. He picked up his quill, spinning it idly between his fingers. 

"Everyone has their vices—if they don't, they end up like you," he said, his tone laced with an ambiguity that made you wonder just how deep his ran. "Perhaps it's time you found some."

You scoffed, leaning further back in your chair, the fabric of your shirt pulling tighter across your chest. You forced yourself to ignore the visceral reaction your body had as you caught the brief flicker in Tom’s gaze—the way his eyes darted up to the movement before he quickly masked his expression.

For a moment, you thought you might be imagining things, but the tensing of your thighs betrayed a reaction you couldn't quite shake.

"And what are yours?" You asked after a moment, your voice softer now. Tom Riddle was many things, but he was not a conversationalist—and yet here he was, indulging your curiosity instead of shutting it down. He was humouring you, and you intended to make the most of it. "Decompressing with bland tea and ancient tomes? Sneaking into the Restricted Section when no one's looking?"

“Mm, no.” Tom let out a snort, a hint of a smirk playing on his lips— "I’d say my vices are less...pedestrian, than all that."

The quill in his fingers stilled—the change in his demeanour was subtle, though you felt it in the air—electric, making your pulse quicken. He traced the edge of the feather with the tip of his thumb, the motion slow and deliberate, and you found yourself inexplicably distracted, fighting the urge to shift in your seat.

Why in Merlin's name was that so damn captivating?

"Less pedestrian?" You echoed, curiosity at an all-time-high. "What do you do, then, Tom? Dance naked by the light of the full moon?"

"I should hope not," he laughed—a low, rumbling sound that resonated in the pit of your stomach as you giggled alongside him. The quill twirled again in his fingers, the motion languid, almost hypnotic. "No, I'd say my vices are more...private. Less suited to polite company. Perhaps I should let you guess since the mystery of it seems to fascinate you so."

The look he gave you made you stiffen, a challenge—no, a dare—clear in his deep, dark eyes. Your thighs involuntarily reacted again—less suited to polite company?

"I believe I've already made several guesses," you tried to compose yourself with a shallow inhale. "I'm quite at a loss."

He shook his head, stifling his grin. "Clearly, you lack imagination."

"Clearly, you enjoy being cryptic." You shot back, unable to stifle yours.

At that, he hummed—it was obvious your stubbornness was as entertaining to him as it was aggravating. Perhaps you could say the same. He set the quill down, his eyes on yours as the fingers of his free hand began to tap idly on the desk—and then his gaze dipped again, tracing the curve of your lips before drifting lower, a slow, deliberate path that made you tense.

For a moment, you wondered if the tension in the air was all in your head. Was he always this adventurous with his eyes?

"When the mind is under strain," he began, his voice smooth, clinical, "it's a result of an excessive influx of neural signals. Synapses misfire, disrupting cognitive function. A basic physiological response." He watched your reaction closely, as though gauging the impact of his words. "To address such a state, one must reestablish control over these neural pathways. To be direct, I find the most efficacious methods involve tasks that stimulate the senses without being emotionally or physically taxing. A simple, repetitive action can suffice—something arbitrary enough to encourage the subconscious to lose focus."

You fought the urge to scowl at his change in speech—Tom knew damn-well just how overwhelmed your brain was—and then continued to recite scientific jargon as if it were his full-time occupation.

You’d almost be mad if it weren’t for the fucking words that stuck to the inside of your ears—stimulate, repetitive, lose focus—

"You're a walking textbook, aren't you?" You continued to play it off—you didn't want to make assumptions—you hated the way he danced around the edges of things, never quite saying what he meant. "Be specific."

Tom's grin grew as he leaned in slightly, his fingers stilling on the desk between you. "I find tasks that involve the hands particularly useful. Something that can be repeated in a smooth, steady rhythm, with little conscious thought required. The ability to lose oneself in the pattern is key."

Merlin help you—the atmosphere in his dorm had changed with those words; the air turned viscous, cloying, each breath sticking in your throat like syrup—hands, steady rhythm, lose oneself—the words pulsed with implication, even if it was buried under layers of his typical, infuriating ambiguity.

He was absolutely referring to—no—no assumptions—

You swallowed hard, your mouth suddenly dry. "So...knitting?"

The words tumbled out, a weak attempt at humour to cut through the tension, but they hung lifeless in the air—as hollow as the chuckle that rumbled from Tom's chest.

His eyes traced over you, lingering in a way that made your skin prickle. "Not exactly."

"Hm. A different kind of needlecraft, perhaps." You shifted in your seat, trying to inject a semblance of nonchalance into your posture.

But you weren't fooling him—you never had—

"How much longer are you going to play coy?" He murmured, the amusement clear from light-years away.

Heat surged up your neck, the flush burning across your cheeks, betraying you—"how much longer are you going to continue holding your tongue?"

Your voice came out sharper than intended, laced with a challenge you barely felt capable of meeting. You and Tom had always been cordial, the slight suggestive comment here and there, mostly from your end. But this—oh, this was different—this was uncharted territory.

He leaned in slightly, his voice dropping to a low, dangerous purr. "Would you prefer I do something else with it?"

Oh, fuck yes you would—

"You're being obtuse," you practically choked out, though the words lacked the bite you intended. "Entirely vague."

"I'm being clear," he countered, his gaze never wavering. "But you're being obstinate—willfully ignorant to my meaning because you refuse to acknowledge it without me saying it outright."

The air between you dissipated—you tried to grasp for a coherent thought, something to regain your footing, but your mind faltered, stumbling over the implications of what he was saying. His eyes never left yours—and you watched them deepen in colour, black pupils eating away the rich brown of his irises, darkening with something that made the room feel unbearably small.

You could feel the heat rising in your body, pooling low in your belly. How did he do this to you? How did he turn you inside out with nothing more than words and that infuriating, knowing smile?

"Tell me," you breathed, hating how desperate the words sounded, "what do you do with your hands, Tom?...how do you use them to relieve...stress?"

The second those words left your lips you realized what was truly happening here—Tom Riddle never did anything without intent—every word, every pause, every smirk, was a thread in a web he was weaving, intricate and inescapable. He'd led you here, gently, subtly, with the barest hint of force, and now that you were caught, you realized that you wanted this.

Needed it.

And it was clear he did too. Otherwise you'd never have gotten to this point—he wanted you to push, to dig deeper—your stomach twisting as you watched Tom wet his lips, but there was no smirk on them this time.

Only something intense—jaw set, eyes focused—

"I think we both know what I do with my hands," he whispered, the double entendre clear in every syllable— "you knew exactly what I was insinuating the moment this started."

Your breath snagged in your throat, a tremor running through your entire body as the warmth pooling in your belly began to spread, sinking lower, threading through every nerve. Your vision narrowed, centering entirely on him—his eyes, the curve of his lips, the way his presence seemed to devour the room, leaving no space for anything else.

And then, you nodded, the movement barely there—a subtle acknowledgment of your understanding.

"Do you touch yourself, Tom?..." the words escaped you, a soft, breathy whisper that you could hardly believe were your own. "Or do you touch someone else?"

For a heartbeat, everything seemed to freeze, suspended in the intensity of those questions.

The world narrowed to the point of his gaze, the sharp line of his jaw—the reality of where you were, what you were doing, almost seemed to blur—trapping you both in a moment that felt surreal, like a scene caught in the still frame of a film. Never—never—had you imagined a conversation like this with Tom Riddle, hardly your acquaintance, the untouchable genius of the school.

And yet here you were, heart pounding, every nerve on fire, and Merlin help you, you were going to wring every drop of this out for as long as you could.

He swallowed, and you watched the movement, entranced. "Depends on my level of stress."

Tom's expression was unreadable—except for the subtle tension in his shoulders as he leaned back, spreading his legs a fraction wider, the fabric of his dress shirt straining against the flex of his biceps—

"...and how stressed are you right now?" You whispered, reckless, without a trace of restraint.

Tom's throat bobbed with another swallow, a gesture so simple yet so charged that it sent your pulse roaring in your ears.

"Quite," he murmured, his voice taut, stretched thin. "The past four hours have been rather taxing—wouldn't you agree?”

A nervous laugh bubbled up, escaping before you could stop it. You tried to steady yourself, drawing in a slow, shaky breath. You had never felt so intensely aroused and frustrated in your life, and you knew, without a bloody doubt, that he was perfectly aware of it.

"Are you trying to imply l'm the cause of your stress?"

"On the contrary," he said, his gaze raking over you, his eyes dark and hungry, as if you were something to be consumed, devoured whole. "I'm saying you've exacerbated it. Though I'll concede a fair share of the responsibility—as it is mine, after all."

"How kind of you," you whispered, voice trembling with the effort to maintain composure. "To admit your own fault in the matter."

"I'm a kind man." His voice was a low purr, the kind that seeped into your bones, making your blood thrum with anticipation. "I like to take responsibility for my shortcomings."

Yes, yes—so very kind—

"Then take it."

The words left your mouth before you could second-guess them, a challenge thrown into the thick, suffocating air between you. The tension was a living thing now, colled tight, ready to snap, turning your insides into a churning mess of want and need.

Tom arched an eyebrow.

"Take it?" He echoed. "And what exactly do you want me to take, sweetheart?"

Sweetheart.

The pet name rolled off his tongue with a casual ease that sent a flush of heat straight to your core— the simple word wielded like a weapon, striking you down with its intimacy. There was no denying the power that name held over you, especially when coming from his lips.

"The responsibility..." you whispered, the words trembling as they left you, barely more than a breath. "…for your..." you hesitated, your eyes locked onto his as you finally said, "…shortcomings."

For a moment, everything hung in the balance—until, oxygen extinct, Tom leaned forward, closing the space between you until he was so close you could feel the heat radiating off him, mingling with your own.

Curse this fucking desk between you.

"My shortcomings," he repeated, his eyes flicking to your lips. "Is that all I should take responsibility for?"

"Are you suggesting..." you leaned in as well, the distance between you shrinking to a breath—your gaze drawn to his own mouth—the plush of it, how bad you wanted to feel it against yours, "...there's something else you wish to take responsibility for?"

Said mouth curled into the faintest hint of a smile and witnessing the shift this close felt dangerously religious—as though you'd experienced something sacred not many have before—part of you knew you did.

"Many things," he whispered, the sound soft as velvet, dangerous as a blade. "The list is long and varied..."

The heat in your body was painful—you had never been this close to him, never felt the full weight of his presence bearing down on you like this. His cologne—faint, rich, and so distinctly Tom—overwhelmed you, the same scent he'd worn since you first met him.

It was infuriating, how everything he did was so subtle, simple—yet so fucking intoxicating, so irresistible.

"...I'm not quite sure where to start." His eyes flicked back to yours.

Every word that fell from his lips was a new form of torture, his dark eyes pinning you in place, searing into you. The heat radiating from his body made you want to retreat, to find air, to find space—but the thought of putting any distance between you was unbearable, the need to be near him overriding everything else.

You'd rather lose consciousness than pull back.

"Why don't you start..." you whispered, tilting your head, your teeth grazing your bottom lip. "By fixing the insatiable ache in my curiosity...the one you created when you mentioned how you use your hands...to relieve stress..."

He exhaled, the sound rumbling from his chest like a growl and you could almost imagine that if he parted his lips, you'd glimpse fangs behind them right now—you'd never seen him like this—his gaze predatory, fucking ravenous, and it was as though he could devour you whole if he so chose to.

But you knew better. Tom Riddle would never be so crude. His methods of torment were deliberate—Methodical. A slow depletion of your senses until you're gasping for something only he can give you.

Then, in a voice that was all gravel and silk, he whispered, "is that all that's aching...your...curiosity?"

"Gods no—"

But you never finished that thought—because in an instant, his hand was tangled in your hair, pulling you forward with a force that sent you careening over the desk and into him—Tom Riddles lips crashed against yours, and it was like drowning, his tongue invading your mouth, stealing your breath and dragging all ounces of your cognitive ability along with it.

You were half out of your chair, caught in the gravity of him, unsure if your legs were even working, or if it was his grip alone that held you upright. His free hand found your wrist, pinning it to the desk as his mouth worked you with a fervour that made your head spin. The kiss was incendiary, a wildfire scorching its way through every nerve in your body, leaving nothing but ashes in its wake—the intensity of it, the sheer, unrelenting pressure of his lips on yours, made you wonder how you survived this long without it.

All the heat in your blood pooled low, deep between your thighs, an ache so profound it threatened to consume you. Tom Riddle was about to show you precisely how he used his hands to relieve stress, and Gods, if that wasn’t the only thing you’d ever needed right now.

[sp4ceboo]

The Princess's Guard: Bakugou Katsuki x Reader x Kirishima Eijirou

genre: medieval au, fantasy au, a/b/o au, omegaverse au, alpha!katsuki x omega!reader x alpha!eijirou, non conventional a/b/o dynamics, porn with some plot, afab!reader, princess!reader, smut

summary: you recognise something is amiss the moment you step into your quarters. getting rid of the kidnappers is the easy bit - the challenge is teaching your two bodyguards a lesson.

tw: 18+, smut (p in v, knots, overstimulation, one spank, one slap, double penetration, anal penetration - both fingers and dick 👍, oral f receiving, everyone's a switch, some knife kink, spit kink, size kink if you squint, cum eating, kats highkey loves the pain, reader is mean, degradation & praise), violence, blood, death, sword fighting, attempts at kidnapping, lil izuku cameo!, about 33% plot and 67% smut

wc: 5.9k

other works

You recognise something is amiss the moment you step into your quarters. The careful balance of scents - your own, and the comforting mix of campfire smoke and musky citrus - has been interrupted, invaded by a foreign odour that, though faint, is dirty and reeks of the undercity. Your ears prick, and your eyes find the rumpled curtains of the furthest window.

A sloppy job, then.

They may not be the subtlest, nor the most precise, but whoever they are, they certainly have their timing mastered (or they simply got lucky; a fluke of sorts), since both members of your personal guard are absent as of the current, busy quietly dispatching a nobleman you’d ordered them after. It had taken time, but you and your brother had discovered him guilty of covering up various crimes including some less than savoury instances with his underpaid scullery maids.

You know what the intruders are here for. It is not for the relative finery of your rooms, though they are not nearly as gaudy as they should be for a princess, nor the jewels gifted to you by neighbouring nations that nestle with all their lustre in the darkness of the small chest on your mantel, but for you.

It would not be the first time mercenaries and bounty hunters have been bribed exorbitantly to face your two guards and steal you away into the night. After all, you are of a rare kind. You are an omega: the youngest of the twenty that survive the ancient bane that still ravages the lands your father rules over, and those beyond your borders too.

When the nation found out that the princess had presented as an omega, they had rejoiced, almost elevating you in status over the crown prince, your older brother. Izuku had not minded -  rather, he enjoyed the peace, as for once, it was you who the people wanted blessing their babies and mediating their problems, not him.

You were, and still are, a sought after omega princess in a sea of alphas and betas, and so your father had hired your personal guard. Most of the kingdom is still under the impression that you will be married off to some lucky noble or foreign prince, but little do they know that you are already claimed; anyone who sees you and your guard up close will notice the way their eyes follow you at all times, the way they wear the grooves down their backs from your nails proudly.

They too have littered you in their marks, drenched you in their scents, claiming you as theirs without question, and you would have it no other way. You have your guard, and they are all you need.

But your alphas are not here, and though it is not the first time someone has tried to break into your quarters, it is the first time you are alone when it’s happened. Still, in the years of omegas’ absence, people have forgotten their strength; they have forgotten that the blood in your veins and the instincts woven into your being are just as potent and intense as an alpha’s.

You take a deep breath. The smell of the undercity has grown stronger, enough so to tell you that whoever lies in wait for you, concealed somewhere in your quarters, has crept closer, maybe even entered the antechambers you stand in. Your hand drops down to your sword, your fingers curling around the hilt as you spin slowly in a circle, scanning the room.

There is the soft scuff of the sole of a boot against floorboards.

Unsheathing your sword, you whirl to face the man who stands just behind one of the sofas: he is a beta by the looks of it, which explains why you couldn’t pinpoint his exact location. What little scent he has is fully masked by the stink of undercity on him.

His hand blurs, and a loud clang rings out as you slash your sword in a tight arc, deflecting the dagger he hurls at you. You trap it beneath your boot as it skitters across the floor - you can see a dark substance lacing its tip. Some sort of mild sedative, most likely, which means that he must have come with others to help transport your unconscious body.

Sedatives are a smart idea, if a little hard to carry out. If your alphas had been with you, the sedatives would have taken them out of the picture soon enough, allowing for less required brawn to take them out, but it’s only you, and you’re nimble enough that this beta’s rather shaky aim is not enough to finish you off.

You drop low, moving fast, skidding around the sofas and tackling him to the floor, pinning his throwing wrist to the ground with your knee. It’s a struggle to keep yourself from skewering him at such close distance while he wriggles futilely in an attempt to throw you.

“Who sent you?” You demand, pressing your sword to his neck hard enough to draw blood.

He takes a deep breath, but instead of speaking, he whistles tremulously - a signal of some sort. Cursing, you dispatch him quickly, briefly mourning the fate of your nice fluffy rug as your attention is drawn to the grappling hook that you hadn’t previously noticed on your window sill pulling taut. You’ve gotten soft, too reliant on your alphas. Back in the day, you would have noticed something like that immediately.

The two men that climb up the rope and into your antechambers are both alphas, and greed glows bright in their eyes at the prospect of the omega princess all by herself, only dimming slightly when they spot their fallen comrade. You take a few steps back, wanting to judge their abilities before you dive in.

Two against one are the sort of odds you like, even if you’ve deskilled enough to stupidly overlook warnings so obvious it’s like they’ve been left out for you. A grin pulls at your lips, even despite the way the two alphas look at you - your own barely let you lift a finger, and though they are perfectly happy to spar with you, you like it when there’s a little more at stake.

“Even from outside, you smell so sweet, pretty omega,” the one on the left croons.

He cackles, and the other laughs with him, the two of him like deranged hyenas. Fatally, they have underestimated you, unable to see past the fact you are alone and without your infamous guard. They think you are ripe for the taking. You will prove them horribly, horribly wrong.

You decide to kill the one who spoke first.

Lunging forward, you easily slip past his guard and deliver a sharp crack of your knuckles against his jaw; aghast, he gapes at you, and you don’t waste your time as you clash your sword with his, the sound of steel on steel ringing out. Out of the corner of your eye, you can see his companion is frozen in shock, mouth hanging open. It means that the fact they’ve gotten this fair is certainly down to beginners luck, and you’re a little disappointed they won’t prove more of a challenge.

You’re not being cocky - you understand how badly the kingdom needs you, as a figurehead of the omegas and a resistance against the bane if not someone for your brother to fall back on and your parents to gain support from. Still, you do not call for guards, and you do not run from this fight: something you’re sure your alphas will berate you for not doing later.

In truth, you miss the adrenaline rush. You miss duelling with people who aren’t terrified of slicing your precious omega skin open, and the bitter smelling alpha opposite you certainly doesn’t seem to be scared of such a thing as he recovers from the blow you landed.

He rushes at you, but he’s unsettled and a little frenzied, like an angry bull, and in a precise parry, you disarm him. His sword clatters to the floor. Swiftly, you bury your blade into his chest and yank it out again, letting him fall to the floor as you turn to the other, your shoulders squaring. This one’s face has gone pale, and frantically, he whistles - gods, of course there’s more of them.

Though the fear sours his previously overbearing scent, he’s more skilled than his late companion. You clash with him, feinting left before striking right, but he’s fast enough to dodge, only getting nicked in the forearm: still, he stumbles backwards, and you lash out again, sword glittering like quicksilver.

A glance over his shoulder reveals a hand on the sill as another attacker climbs up the rope, and you curse. There’s no way of knowing how many of them are waiting out of sight. You need to dispatch this one and get that hook off your window sill before the odds go from fun to mildly threatening.

Lunging forward, you take him off guard by twirling right past him instead of attacking; seizing the poker from by the fireplace in your left hand, you dart closer to him and bring it down hard on his wrist, using your sword to flick his out of his hand and backing him up against the window. You brace your feet, widening your stance in preparation to deliver the final blow.

“Gotcha.” Hot breath brushes your ear, a cold blade at your throat. The poker clatters to the floor.  “You’re a feisty one, omega. Now drop that sword.”

You swear. You weren’t fast enough, and another must have climbed through the window when you were by the fireplace, your back turned. Opposite you, you can see your former assailant’s eyes fill with relief, his fingers clutching the mantelpiece as he pants, gasping for breath.

A furrow forms in his brows, and he looks past your shoulder before walking over to the window sill and securing the grappling hook - the one holding you must be communicating with him somehow.

The dagger at your throat presses into your flesh. “Don’t make me tell you twice, fucking bitch.”

At first, you stiffen, but then you force your muscles to relax, feigning surrender as you let your sword arm droop. The attacker behind you chuckles, the blade at your throat easing, and you bring up your free hand to paw at his forearm, producing a breathy, frightened noise from deep in your chest. Anyone who knows you well enough would see right through it, but it works like a charm on the self righteous alpha you’re using it on.

Your fingers tighten in the fabric of his sleeve, yanking it away from your neck as you slam your head back, crunching it into his nose. He howls, stumbling backwards, and you keep a tight grip on him, heaving him forwards and right into his companion - the momentum sends them both right over the sill, and you don’t bother to watch them fall as you unhook the grapple and let it plummet after them.

Disgruntled, you step back from the window and stare at the bodies on your floor and their growing pools of blood. Sheathing your sword, you stride through the rest of your quarters to check if there’s any lurkers. You’ve just finished scouring your bedroom and have begun to unbuckle the plate armour you’d previously had on when you hear the door to the antechambers open, and two familiar scents wash over you. Your guards are back.

Katsuki smells like bonfire smoke and burnt sugar, while Eijirou is citrus and gentle musk; remnants of their essence linger on you and all over your quarters, woven deep into the well worn spots they often take up on the sofas of the antechamber and even deeper into your bedsheets.

Their scents spike suddenly, and you know they’ve seen the bodies. Katsuki calls your name, and suddenly the two of them barrel through your bedroom door - the space in your room seems to decrease rapidly as they enter, two huge, imposing alphas protective and ready for a fight. Eijirou deflates at the sight of you unscathed, but Katsuki bristles.

“Are you hurt, omega?” He barks.

“I’m fine,” you soothe, patting his broad chest. “Nothing I couldn't handle.”

Eijirou steps forward from where he fills the doorframe, inhaling, checking your scent for the distinct metallic tang of blood. You watch as he scans the room, skimming it for anything wrong despite knowing you’ve probably already done so.

Remorse is clear on his face, and you know that if Katsuki was less frustrated with himself, it would be on his too; though you are not hurt, though you are capable on your own, and though you are the reason there were gone, they still were not there to protect you when you needed them. You can see they are both painfully aware of it.

Slowly, Eijirou gets to his knees in supplication, and after hesitating, Katsuki does too.

“My lady,” Eijirou says softly, eyes downcast. “We have failed you.”

Katsuki remains silent, a muscle in his jaw feathering. He cannot meet your eyes. Taking a step forward to stand directly in front of them, you cannot help but relish the way the power rushes to your head. There they kneel, at your feet, heads bowed. It’s at odds with the pure strength that sings in their veins and permeates their very beings, strength that is so clearly evident in the ripple of muscle that lines their every movement and the patterns of scars on their skin.

“Two of you, and still you can’t do your job properly,” you sigh, bending down so you can look them in their eyes. “Pathetic, good for nothing alphas.”

Intertwining with Eijirou’s sweet musk, the warm scent of caramel floods the room as Katsuki immediately catches on to the cruel, saccharine tone of your voice. You laugh softly, prowling over to him, amused by the way he unashamedly breathes in your scent.

Picking up the silver dagger on your desk, you wrap your fingers around its ornate hilt and roughly fist a hand in Katsuki’s blonde hair, yanking his head back. He glares at you, his crimson eyes defiant, the muscles in his neck straining, and you flip the dagger in your hands before pressing the tip to his throat. A low growl sounds low in his chest as you trace the line of his jaw, clenched to perfection.

The burnt sugar flavour to the air only grows.

With a flick of your wrist, you nick his skin with the blade - another flick, and his shirt is in shreds; he snaps at your fingers with his teeth like he can’t help it. Quickly, you seize his face in your hand, holding him steady. He snarls again, deep and churlish, and you glance down, smirking at the sight of his cock tenting his trousers.

“Fucking bratty, aren’t you, Kats?”

“Omega,” he replies, a raging  inferno behind his eyes.

You ignore the way his chest heaves and the way he looks at you, instead turning your attention to Eijirou. He ducks his head, and though you like the way he grovels, you’re aware that it’s only because he knows you’re feeling mean today. You tip his chin up so you can look at him head on.

“And you, Eiji,” you coo, simpering. “You act all sorry, as if your dumb puppy eyes will make me go easy on you.”

Like he’s aching to touch you, his hands twitch, but he knows not to without permission, instead balling them into fists; you swipe a thumb over his lower lip before hooking a finger into his hot mouth, coaxing it open, careful of his sharp teeth. There’s something pitiful and pleading in his gaze, like he’d kneel at your feet to worship forever if he could.

His eyes glaze over when you spit in his mouth.

He whines, low in the back of his throat as he swallows like a good little alpha, and you tell him so with a fleeting kiss. Chuckling when he leans desperately into you, you pull away from him, perching on your mattress and beginning to undress: they remain kneeling on the floor, you the empress and they the reverent subjects of the kingdom inside your bedroom.

Carefully, Eijirou attempts to train his gaze on the mattress, loath to be on the receiving end of your ire, but Katsuki goads it, staring openly at your body with blood red eyes burning with hunger and wanting. When you remove your underwear, parting your legs for them to see, he surges up to his feet, his restraint at the end of its tether, but you halt him with a hand on his wide chest.

Firmly, you push him backwards, and his knees hit the floor with a dull thud. He scowls, and you drag your nails softly down his cheek. You know he likes the pain. In fact, he relishes it; both he and Eijirou wear the marks you make like badges of honour, of worthiness, for the omega princess deems them deserving of her touch.

“Move from there again, and I won’t let you touch me all night, alpha.”

A deep, rebellious rumble emanates from his chest like thunder, and this time, you strike him across the face - his head snaps to the side, and though he fights it, though he bites down hard on his lower lip in effort to stifle it, a muffled, helpless groan leaves him. Triumphantly, you smirk as he pants, great shoulders heaving, hands clenching to form fists.

You look to Eijirou, and he gazes up at you starstruck, so eager to please, to have a taste. Beckoning him forward, laughing at his hesitance, you kiss him hard before lying back against your pillows, helping him undress and directing his head between your legs. He moans into your pussy, licking so earnestly into your heat the moment he’s boxed in by your thighs it’s as if he might die if he doesn’t, so fervent that you're half inclined to believe it.

Burying your hands in his red hair, you tug lightly - just the way he likes it. You’re rewarded with a delicious, depraved sound that vibrates right against your clit, and you buck your hips against his face, eyes rolling at the friction.

“Please,” he whines when your thighs close around his head.

“He’s fuckin’ useless,” Katsuki spits. “I could do a better job, omega.”

You arch a brow. “Keep on like that, and you won’t get a chance.”

That shuts him up, the floorboards creaking as he shifts uncomfortably from his spot on the floor. He knows your threats are not empty, still, you can see his cock is hard, achingly so, because he likes, craves, the torture and the constraints just as much as he hates them. In the same way, Eijirou likes the way you give him space to let go, fucking him until he’s dumb as if he’s nothing but a toy, a knot.

You can feel the mattress rocking beneath you. Desperately, Eijirou humps the soft blankets beneath him, gasping into your cunt, his fingers clenching in the fabric as you grind against his face. Throwing your head back, you cry out his name; your orgasm builds molten in the pit of your stomach.

“Fuck,” you hiss, tugging hard on his locks to yank him right against your cunt, and then you’re coming on his tongue.

Sparks of overstimulation begin running down your spine as he continues to lap at your pussy; you pull insistently at his hair, and he lifts his head from where he’s lost in you, breathing hard as he gazes at you with lidded eyes. He’s amusingly fucked out from the taste of you, dazed and drunk and a little teary, still weakly rutting into the mattress.

“C’mere, alpha,” you laugh.

Eijirou scrambles to slot himself into the space made by your outstretched arms, and you kiss him sweetly. He’s fucking huge, broad shouldered enough that he covers your body completely with his, engulfing you in honeyed citrus and musk and still adorably struck dumb. The essence of you is laced on his tongue, and it makes you giddy.

He nuzzles against your scent glands, hiding his face in your neck, and you let him recover there, instead beckoning Katsuki over - he curls his lip at the easy way you call him but comes as you bid him anyways, too impatient for your touch to do otherwise. Eyes blazing, he glares down at you, his weight creating a dip in the mattress.

Lifting your hand, you pull him down to you. All it really takes is a kiss, and he’s tearing his trousers off like they burn him. You bite down on his lower lip, and he groans into your mouth, pumping his dick in his hand, once, twice, trailing his tongue down the column of your throat, holding your waist in a grip that’s bruising.

“Don’t make me wait any fucking longer, omega.” His lips are hot in your skin.

You smirk. “Oh, I think I will.”

Eijirou begins rolling his hips against you, wanting to steal your attention back. He’s painfully hard, his cock flushed red and pulsing against your thigh. Curling your fingers around him, you kiss him ardently, like you’re trying to taste the syrupy whimpers that fall from his lips. A short cry leaves him when you swipe your thumb over his cockhead; he bucks up into your touch, sensitive from how long he’d been grinding against the mattress.

You begin jerking him at a pace he can’t keep up with, savouring the sweet gasps and moans that you coax from him like treasures. Katsuki nips rather pointedly at the curve of your shoulder and you casually shrug him off, enjoying how you hold him in the palm of your hand maybe a little too much. It’s altogether too easy to ignore him with sweet, sweet Eijirou writhing in the sheets beside you, moaning your name like it’s worship.

“That’s it, alpha,” you coo. “Just like this, yeah?”

Frantically he nods, and the scent of citrus heightens, like an orchard of orange blossom has sprung into existence in your quarters, filling your nose with its fragrant perfume. It doesn’t take him long to unravel and shatter under your hands.

His thighs tremble as he comes, over his chest and yours, and still you do not let up, squeezing his knot tight - he sobs, begging you incoherently, and you groan, half because of the mess you’ve made him into, half because you can feel Katsuki’s cockhead rubbing against your pussy as he litters your skin with hickeys from behind.

Eventually, you ease up, and Eijirou goes limp, gasping and shaking like a newborn calf, hips twitching from the aftershocks; you laugh when he buries his face against your neck, his breath hot against your collarbone as he laps at your scent glands, still eager to please after you’ve worn him out. Carding a hand through his hair, you studiously ignore your other alpha as he nibbles at your earlobe, instead pressing gentle kisses to Eijirou’s face.

After some contemplation, you scoop up some of his release from your skin and twist around to face Katsuki. Holding his eyes, you bring your fingers to his lips, smirking at the soft whimper from your left as the blonde takes you into his mouth up to the third knuckle. Unsurprisingly, he’s impatient when you kiss him, as eager to taste you as you are to taste Eijirou on his tongue.

You’ve made him stay himself long enough.

Pressing him into the mattress, you pin him flat on the bed and straddle his hips, grinning triumphantly down at him when he has no time to curse at you for forcing him to hold back for so long - he’s too busy curling his fingers around the base of his fat cock and lining himself up. A soft groan slips from you as you sink down on him, unravelling from somewhere behind your sternum.

Being on top of an alpha like Katsuki is a thrilling thing, wholly different from Eijirou. Eijirou obeys, does everything he can to please you, and it gives you the type of power rush that leaves you giddy. But Katsuki, Katsuki fights, and even now, as you ease his cock slowly in and out of you, you can see the challenge in his eyes. In response, you rake your nails down his chest, carving red lines into the strength of him, and he could not hide the way his body responds to the twinge, the sting, if he wanted to.

Bucking up, he twitches inside you, and you bare your teeth at him, pinning his wrists and snarling when he surges against you, hips snapping up into your heat - you bend over him, grazing your canines over his jugular in warning, and though he goes still, a rumble thrums deep in his chest.

Katsuki is taut beneath you, muscles tensed as he strains against your hold, eyes gleaming with a hunger that makes your stomach twist. The view is enough to make you clench around him, and you hear a quiet whine from Eijirou, no doubt enjoying the sight of the other alpha with his hackles raised as much as you do.

“Sweet omega,” Katsuki pants, a note of desperation leaking into his tone. “Let me fuck you.”

Something coils in you and pulls tight, so hot it burns, and you yank him upwards so you can claim his mouth, sweeping your tongue against his and biting down on his lower lip: as you do, your hands release his wrists, and you feel every inch of him stiffen at the non verbal permission.

Caramel floods your nose, so potent you almost taste its sweetness on your tongue, and strong, calloused hands flip you onto your front, wrapping tightly around your thighs and tugging them until your back is arched for him. Hard, his palm cracks down on your ass, and your eyes roll back, hips jumping back towards him as the pain frissons down your body, tugging indelibly at your insides.

Your jaw goes slack as Katsuki runs his cockhead through your folds, your insides coiling as you brace yourself for the moment he thrusts in.

It doesn’t come.

Whining, you arch your back further, and then, softly, Katsuki chuckles. You grit your teeth, too easily able to imagine the smirk on his face, the way he’s gloating about how he’s got you to change your tune so fast - how he’s got you presenting for him like you’re in heat.

“Eager, aren’t we, princess?”

You snarl. “I’m warning you, alpha.”

This threat is empty, though, and he knows it as well as you do: any admonishment you make means nothing with how much your cunt is slicking up, hungry for his knot. Still, he knows not to test you any further, and in truth, he probably doesn’t want to. You made him wait, after all.

Unceremoniously, the air is knocked from your lungs when he sinks himself inside you to the hilt. The wanton sound that slips from deep in your chest is embarrassing enough that you bite down on the sheets beneath you, fingers fisting in the silky fabric, but Katsuki’s used to you, and he yanks at your hair until he can hear you clearly, the way he likes.

He stays there for a moment, drawing out the equilibrium, the sweet balance of every inch of his cock buried inside your heat, your walls clamping down on him like a vice. This alpha is petty, remembering his pride now he’s got you beneath him, and he wants to make you wait. It’s a good thing you’re more patient than he is.

You clench around him, on purpose this time, and the sound that leaves him is feral.

The pace he sets is brutal, avid, everything that is Katsuki. He is never one to do things half hearted, and fucking you is no different: he pounds into you like he means to imprint his family’s crest on your womb. You cannot think of anything but the heady pull of his cock through your walls, the slap of his skin against yours, the bruising grip he has on your hips.

Your hair is still twisted around his fist, and punishing, he tugs on it, keeping your back arched for him, keeping you there so all you can do is take what he gives, pussy fluttering around him, desperately trying to suck him in. The way your slick drips down your thighs is lewd, the sound of it lewder.

“Kats,” you gasp, and then his cock finds somewhere deep inside you, somewhere that makes your eyes roll back. “Katsuki!”

He chuckles, releasing your hair, and your head flops down onto the mattress - you’re too boneless to hold it up yourself. A gentle hand cups your jaw, and then you’re gazing blearily up at Eijirou, his kind eyes taking up your field of vision, a wide, ruby red sea to lose yourself in; with one hand, he holds yours, the other reaching up to pet your hair.

“You’re taking him so well,” he praises. “Good, yeah? Is Katsuki making you feel good?”

You try to respond, but you’ve been robbed of your words, your tongue stolen, so instead you moan, panting and trembling and twisting the sheets in your left hand; in your right, you grip Eijirou so hard you think you hear his joints crack, but you can’t be sure over the rough noises Katsuki is making - or the sounds he’s drawing out of you. Something stretches tight in your stomach, and you gasp, feeling yourself begin to tip over the edge.

Wickedly, still railing into you, he rolls his fingers over your clit, collecting your slick, and then you feel his thumb at the rim of your ass, not quite entering you yet, but there, almost there. Tears well up in your eyes, and Eijirou’s face blurs before you, your mouth falling open as Katsuki practically wrings the orgasm from your body.

Katsuki pushes his thumb all the way in. You come, voice hoarse as you scream his name.

He stills, and you realise there’s no knot stretching you out. Your breath hitches, thighs jumping as you brace yourself - he’s perfectly capable of fucking you through an orgasm and overstimulating you until you’re sobbing. He’s done it before, and you wouldn’t be at all shocked if he did it again.

To your surprise, all he does is pull out and pat your ass cheek fondly: confused, you attempt to push yourself upright, but your arms give out before you make it halfway. Laughing, Katsuki runs his fingers through your folds, collecting your wetness and obviously relishing the soft whine that escapes you, and then he’s pushing his thumb into your ass again. Something goes molten inside you.

He’s not done with you yet. He’s far from done.

Your thighs are still shaking as you come down from your high. You fight the urge to squirm, either backwards on him to ask for more, or forwards and away because you’re a little raw, a little sensitive. Katsuki scissors his fingers inside you, stretching you out: it’s clear now, he’s preparing you for his cock.

“Just relax, omega,” he soothes. “Breathe.”

Playing with you a little more, he leans over you and trails kisses down your spine - you glance over your shoulder, eyes flicking down to the length of his cock, rock hard and slippery against your thigh. You catch a glimpse of his eyes, glittering and hungry, and your pussy clenches around nothing. Eijirou curses under his breath, and you turn back to face him, noticing he’s hard again.

And then strong, calloused hands are lifting you up, and Katsuki is sitting you down on his cock, settled with his back braced against the headboard of your bed. A whimper escapes your throat, your nails digging into his thighs from where they frame yours, toes curling at the glorious stretch of him.

You’re panting again by the time he’s buried all the way inside. Eijirou is watching, his fingers wrapped around his cock, eyes fixed on where Katsuki’s cock enters you. Katsuki wraps an arm across your front, cupping your breast and kneading your flesh in his palm, easily drawing the other alpha’s attention - once he has it, he hooks your knees over each of his forearms and spreads your legs wide, and finally, you understand what he’s up to.

“Think Eiji wants to join us, my lady?” He taunts.

“Yes - ah!” You yelp when he rocks his hips, muscles jolting. “Fuck, p - please.”

That’s all he needs to hear before he’s crawling forward on the mattress, eyes fixed on you, on the tremors running down your legs, on your heaving chest. You whine his name, tipping your chin up to expose your throat for him. Eagerly, he trails wet kisses along your collarbone, turning his head to mouth at your scent glands and drink you in, laving his tongue over your sweat damp skin.

Eijirou lines himself up, easing himself in. You’re trapped between two deliciously warm, muscled chests, and gods, you’re full, so full you can barely breathe, so full you’re seeing stars before your eyes, a galaxy condensed into your room. Lips claim yours, citrus blooming on your tongue, and then they’re moving, they’re moving -

“Our omega princess needs two cocks to satisfy her, hm?” Eijirou croons. “Isn’t that right?”

Katsuki grunts. “Can’t - fuck - can’t leave her wanting,”

You sob, for it is divine, the friction, the pleasure, breaking you and mending you over and over until you lose your voice calling their names. Beneath it is the sharp bite of overstimulation, ever looming, electric in your veins. You’ve been launched in orbit, leaving you anchored only by their hands on you, lost in the cataclysm.

And then, shaking, enraptured, you are falling, flying. Behind you, Katsuki buries himself in your ass, spilling his load, his knot already beginning to swell. You’re convulsing around Eijirou, sucking him in, greedy, and that’s what pushes him over: he comes with a groan, grinding his cock into you so his knot sits snugly in your walls.

Gently, Katsuki rubs his hand up and down your side, a comforting purr already kicking up in his chest - you sigh as Eijirou strokes your hair, tucking your head against his shoulder and pressing a kiss to your forehead. Your eyes are already closing, soothed by the smell of caramel mixing with citrus to form a perfect half and half, sugary but a little tangy.

“You okay, sweets?”

You melt at the deep rumble of Katsuki’s voice, nodding with your nose pressed against Eijirou’s scent gland. Someone is drawing patterns along your side with their fingers, someone else’s breath is ruffling your hair: this is heaven, sandwiched here between your two alphas.

“We’re sorry about the intruders,” Eijirou mumbles.

You summon enough energy to half heartedly punch his arm. “Eiji. I can’t ask you to be a bodyguard all the time - I don’t want you to be. Besides, you two are the best alphas I could ask for.”

 “Mm, we take care of you, don’t we, omega?” You can hear the grin in Katsuki’s voice.

“Yeah,” you smile, content. “You do.”

a/n: u can literally see the point where i lose patience w it all 💀 whoops

taglist: @gethexxed @rori-ol @fashominnie

[sttoru]

toji never celebrates his birthday and thus learned to treat it as any other regular day. well, until you came into the picture and did the unexpected.

☀︎｜tags. dom!toji fushiguro x female reader. smut mixed with fluff & sprinkle of angst. implied age gap (reader early 20’s, toji late 20’s /early 30’s) implied size difference, p in v -> unprotected, cowgirl position, toji actually being a soft dom kinda, praise mixed with tiny bit of degradation, slight corruption kink, dirty talk / teasing, biting, creampie, reader gets called ‘princess, little girl \\ pretty, innocent, small'. not beta read. happy bday hubby!

“i told ya — fuck jus’ like that — not to buy or do anythin’ for me on m’birthday.” toji’s head lolls back against the pillow while his rough palms explore every inch of your gorgeous body. the word ‘birthday’ rolls off his tongue in a bitter manner. the assassin never celebrates that dreadful day, as he calls it.

he’s never found it to be worth remembering. his family couldn’t care less about that day when he was a child, so why would he?

but, that changed when you came into his life. toji flinched when he heard a loud ‘pop!’ sound upon opening the front door to his apartment. he was used to those noises being one of danger and thus swiftly reached for the spare weapon in his pocket. . . only to notice you standing behind the door with a party popper and a homemade cake.

the older man froze in place for a good few seconds, though was quick to realise the situation and relax. after the initial shock died down, you excitedly dragged him off to the living room to show him the presents you bought.

toji's first reflex was to scold you for spending money on him. he had never gotten anything for his birthday—it was weird to finally receive something from someone who actually cares for him. it somehow made him feel guilty as well. was he worth spending money on?

toji’s impressed reactions when unwrapping the presents showed you exactly how foreign the moment was to him: he’s never opened any gifts before. that much was even more evident after witnessing his inexperience in peeling off the tape from the boxes.

eventually, after opening around seven gifts, toji got to unwrap his final present. the present which was you.

the way you innocently yet seductively whispered words of affection in his ears made his mind go blank. even if it were simple ‘i love you’s and ‘happy birthday’ wishes. the red dress you had on and how your figure looked in it made everything ten times more sexual to the assassin. anything after that was a complete blur. his body moved on its own and yours followed right after until you finally landed on top of him — riding him.

toji’s half-lidded eyes couldn’t get enough of the sight he's witnessing. maybe his birthday wasn't such a bad day after all; the loving memories you're currently creating would surely outbalance the negative ones.

you shake your head at toji’s earlier sentence and tighten your grip on his shoulders, nails lightly digging into his skin and leaving faint red marks. you almost can’t talk due to the overexertion—your hips continuously rising and falling back down for the sake of your lover, “i- mph, wanted to get you all those things. you deserve them, toji.”

the view of your small body trying its hardest to not give in to its need of an orgasm made the assassin dizzy. his large hands settle on your waist and his eyes watch your every move from behind his black bangs. toji silently hisses as he feels your tight cunt clenching around him, “. . . f-shit. easy there.”

your pretty face is his weakness. especially when your usual innocent look gets replaced by one filled with carnal desire. toji can easily get off to the idea of him having that effect on you—his words, body, looks and actions that corrupted your every being in intimate moments like these.

“such a sweet thing,” the dark-haired man coos, brushing the stray locks of hair away from your face with his index finger. his other hand rubs up and down your inner thigh, each time getting dangerously closer to your clit, though never getting a single touch in. the scarred corner of his lips twitch in an amused grin at your whines, “oh? want me to touch you there, princess? that what ya want?”

you nod without a second thought. you were trying your best to hold out for as long as your body allowed it — desperately wanting to reach your climax at the same time toji was going to — but the idea seems impossible the longer this continued.

your boyfriend grins smugly, raising his eyebrows before entirely removing his hands from your body. his arms rest behind his head as he reverts to simply enjoying the view of you riding him so well. toji can never not be mean to you. your little pouts only drive him to tease you more and more, “hm, well, ya see - i thought you were gonna spoil me today, not the other way around.”

“t-toji! tha's mean. . .” you huff, bottom lip trembling. your arms circle his neck and your upper body leans forward to rest against his chiseled chest. you stop your hip thrusts and instead grind against his pelvis, trying to stimulate your clit on your own.

toji clicks his tongue, but figured it was best to leave you be. he didn't want to be too rough on you today - you had been nothing but sweet to him the entire night. you had blessed him with his first, proper birthday experience as well.

“aww, my little girl ‘s pouting,” the older man snickers and his hands return to their place. he allows you to grind against him, the sensations being amazing for him as well. the tip of his cock almost reaches your cervix from the current angle and your bodily fluids smear all over his thighs and lower abdomen, “shh shh, ‘tis alright.”

your needy whines and moans are music to his ears. toji rubs your lower back and pats your ass every now and then, squeezing the soft flesh gently just to hear another whimper spill from your lips. there was no way you could hold back now. especially when your bodies were rubbing together and you could feel toji’s defined abs and hardened muscles underneath you.

“toji - nngh - can i? wan' — wanna cum.” your small hands tighten their grip around his broad shoulders. you earn a low, breathy chuckle from your lover. the increasing sensations in his lower stomach were an indication to how close he was to his orgasm as well. he wasn’t going to deny you any further.

toji sighs in content and presses a soft kiss to your temple, thumb rubbing your cheek gently. it was a rare occurence to see that vulnerable and affectionate look in his piercing green eyes. the little smile plastered on his face only added to the soft and intimate atmosphere.

. . . well, toji wouldn’t be toji if he wasn’t going to add catch you off guard in any way or form. your eyes widen and your body jolts forward as he suddenly starts putting work in—his hips ramming into yours from below, the skin-to-skin sounds resonating throughout the room once again. it was like the wind got knocked out of you for a good second, “fuck! w-wait, toji! tojitojitoji!”

the older man holds tightly onto you — cradling you in his arms as he lightly lifts your hips to have free reign over the pace and movements of your two bodies — thrusting up into you over and over. he lets out a series of small, silent groans as he feels his climax nearing;

“shit, yeah - ‘m gonna stuff this pussy of y’rs full, princess.” toji's callused fingers curl around your hip bones, using them as leverage to increase the intensity of his thrusts, “think you can take it all?”

you mewl and nod again and again. you’re on the brink of tears when the waves of pleasure reach their peak. your eyes roll back and your body convulses, legs shaking and squirming during those few seconds of pure bliss. your adorable babble in the form of toji’s name was all your lover needed to push him over the edge—

“fuck. ‘m gonna cum,” toji groans and firmly bites your shoulder to hold back any more noises when he finally decided to let go. a choked sob leaves your lips the instant you feel the hot spurts of cum seeping into your senstive cunt. the older man continues to thrust in and out sloppily, riding out his orgasm and fucking his cum deeper into you at the same time, “so good — i love you s’much.”

you smile exhaustedly at the love confession from your boyfriend. toji’s grip on you loosens up after he completely emptied his balls deep inside your cunt, his jaw finally unclenching. he plants a few wet kisses along the bite marks on your shoulder in attempt to soothe the pain.

you catch your breath as you rest on top of toji's body. he didn't put the slightest effort into pulling out of you — even as a tiny puddle of your mixed juices stains his skin.

“i love you too, toji,” you reply and earn another lazy kiss to your forehead. he rubs the back of your head and massages your plush thighs in a tender manner. nothing could make this moment even more perfect, you thought to yourself.

you smile as you pull your head back to look into toji’s eyes. he was already looking at you — admiring your gorgeous looks as you basked in the afterglow of your lovemaking. you capture his lips in a delicate kiss, “happy birthday.”

[tritoch]

it took me until the pelupelu quests to really get what dawntrail is trying to go for with the moblins of earthenshire.

the first time through MSQ, the feat of pots stuff really didn't land for me. a lot of emphasis is placed on the relationship between the helphands and the potsworn in a way that ends up being pretty straightforwardly and kind of boringly about the importance of artisans, craftsmen, and other skilled laborers to civil society. after the collapse of the yok huy empire, earthenshire used to abduct potsworn under exploitative terms, gulool ja ja shows up and says "not only will hiring and caring for living workers keep people from wanting to kill you, it will also lead to the production of finer arts and crafts," the moblins agree, there is much rejoicing. in the present day, wuk lamat favors gulool ja ja's "let's all benefit from peaceful urbanization and governance" approach while bakool ja ja reverts to direct violence. it's not a bad bit of story, i guess, but it's also not much, and it's soon overshadowed by wuk lamat's abduction.

but the pelupelu society quests highlight it in a different light. it emphasizes not just the potsworn, but the fact that the moblins are facing the question of how to handle a bounty of natural resources.

the moblins of earthenshire were previously oppressed and exploited by the yok huy specifically for the natural riches of southern kozama'uka. what kinds of natural riches? well, gulool ja ja specifically calls out "the quality of the materials used" in earthenshire's goldwork, so we can guess probably gold.

another big answer is staring us right in the face, in the form of earthenshire's architecture: high-quality clay (and feldspar) for ceramics, and probably a characteristic glaze known to earthenshire's artisans. the blue-green color and "cracked" quality of the finish makes me think FFXIV's writers and designers had celadon in mind, even if the final hue is heavier on the blue and lighter on the green than the color celadon is usually associated with in english.

we are told some of earthenshire's traditional industries: underground mining, fishing, alluvial (stream-bed) mining. under the yok huy empire, moblin society was focused entirely on resource extraction. the tour guide says that without the yok huy, the moblins were bereft of both "providers and protectors," suggesting that under the yok huy the moblins were neither producing their own goods nor exercising many traditional powers of government. in many ways, they still don't!

what gulool ja ja proposed, and the moblins have enacted, is now almost an inversion of traditional metropolitan-hinterland relations. under the usual paradigm, the hinterland, resource-rich but unable to resist the interference of foreign powers, is exploited by the metropole, both in terms of its natural resources (which are extracted and shipped back to the metropole for use in the production of goods, as luxuries, etc.) and its people (who are oppressed and forced to labor in extractive industries for the benefit of the metropole). and of course as is usual in colonial relations you expect the metropole to impose itself culturally on the territories it controls. that kind of exploitative relationship between foreign powers and indigenous labor & resources is exactly what some people feared in the run-up to dawntrail (if you weren't paying attention at the time, some of the initial imagery out of shaaloani made some fans leery at the possibility that FFXIV was about to do an "old west" plotline about ceruleum extraction by eorzean powers in turali lands).

by contrast, the moblins of earthenshire control their own natural resources, and the relationship is that they take skilled labor from the metropole (tuliyollal), assimilate those artisans culturally and economically into their society, mediate their access to the natural bounty of kozama'uka, and sell their wares back to the metropole as products of earthenshire. it's all a bit hand-waved in the classic fashion of ffxiv (where are all the moblin miners?), but it's clear enough what's intended. even with the yok huy gone, the moblins have largely maintained their previous way of life, but in a way that centers and celebrates their culture and allows them both civic control and a sort of intellectual property control over the products that result ultimately from their extractive labor. it inverts the traditional "resource curse" narrative in which small, resource-rich countries are "naturally" inclined to be colonized and exploited.

it also pushes back a bit on ffxiv's usual paradigm around resource extraction and arts production. disciple of the hand quests, outside of their specific storylines, often broadly celebrate the ingenuity and labor of the individual artisan. disciple of the land quests, on the other hand, are often about the relationships between labor and the land (with an emphasis on natural stewardship and learning respectfully from local cultures about their local lands) or the importance of extractive labor to broader society.

on the subject of art, what earthenshire does is uniquely honor the role that extractive and reproductive labor play in the creative and artistic process. though the craftsmanship is certainly exceedingly fine, that's not what is truly unique about moblin society or earthenshire's wares. ffxiv is well aware that art cannot exist unless we compensate artists properly (and the existence of the cracked cistern works to complicate our picture of earthenshire along these lines). but what earthenshire truly celebrates is all the labor that goes into the creation of the art that often goes unremarked: the labor of the miner and the porter, of the cook and the launderer. that is the labor which makes each and every good made there not just a product of the individual artisan, but a product of earthenshire.

[earth-psyche]

Astrology Observation Pt.4

🍃I have seen this many times, if a person has Mercury in the 7th house, their spouse is going to be younger than them, this thing is irrespective of gender, if Mercury is present, one will marry a person younger than them.💐

🍃Pluto in the first house gives the native deep, beautiful and mysterious eyes, they are like so damm mysterious that you can never guess what that person is thinking or what emotion is that person experiencing. They can choose to change it (i.e. their default setting is mysterious eyes)👀

🍃People with Moon in the 10th house, will always be mumma's baby, specially for guys. They will do what their mother will tell them to do and will not let down their mother for anything in the world. (If positively placed mother will help in growth and if negatively placed mother will be kind of manipulative).🤱

🍃Exalted Jupiter if sits with Mars, i have noticed gives a person a habit of moral policing people around them. They always try to correct people and their actions and preach morality. This preching i have seen is mostly aggressive and not very soft. As Jupiter is moral values, being Exalted reaches the top and Mars is aggression along with being debilitated. Debilitated Mars shows aggression more than Exalted Mars.😡

🍃People with Venus in 11th house might have had FWB or something like that, even if they have not, they would have been in situations where they would have faced things like that and might have denied it.👫

🍃Mars in the 9th house (alone), person will have their brother or male friends either in publishing sector, University, Astrology or Foreign land. Mars is brothers and Male friends and 9th house rules the above things (for more details on which house rules what, link added)📖

🌃🌄���🌉🏞

So yeah that's all for this time, see y'all soon, till then love yourself and people around you as love will always take you to higher horizons and what else do we want...take care...Ilysm...🩷

[politicalprof]

The Declaration of Independence:

I usually only post this on July 4, but on "No Kings" day, the Declaration of Independence. If you've never read the whole thing, you should:

"In Congress, July 4, 1776

The unanimous Declaration of the thirteen united States of America, When in the Course of human events, it becomes necessary for one people to dissolve the political bands which have connected them with another, and to assume among the powers of the earth, the separate and equal station to which the Laws of Nature and of Nature's God entitle them, a decent respect to the opinions of mankind requires that they should declare the causes which impel them to the separation.

We hold these truths to be self-evident, that all men are created equal, that they are endowed by their Creator with certain unalienable Rights, that among these are Life, Liberty and the pursuit of Happiness.--That to secure these rights, Governments are instituted among Men, deriving their just powers from the consent of the governed, --That whenever any Form of Government becomes destructive of these ends, it is the Right of the People to alter or to abolish it, and to institute new Government, laying its foundation on such principles and organizing its powers in such form, as to them shall seem most likely to effect their Safety and Happiness. Prudence, indeed, will dictate that Governments long established should not be changed for light and transient causes; and accordingly all experience hath shewn, that mankind are more disposed to suffer, while evils are sufferable, than to right themselves by abolishing the forms to which they are accustomed. But when a long train of abuses and usurpations, pursuing invariably the same Object evinces a design to reduce them under absolute Despotism, it is their right, it is their duty, to throw off such Government, and to provide new Guards for their future security.--Such has been the patient sufferance of these Colonies; and such is now the necessity which constrains them to alter their former Systems of Government. The history of the present King of Great Britain is a history of repeated injuries and usurpations, all having in direct object the establishment of an absolute Tyranny over these States. To prove this, let Facts be submitted to a candid world.

He has refused his Assent to Laws, the most wholesome and necessary for the public good.

He has forbidden his Governors to pass Laws of immediate and pressing importance, unless suspended in their operation till his Assent should be obtained; and when so suspended, he has utterly neglected to attend to them.

He has refused to pass other Laws for the accommodation of large districts of people, unless those people would relinquish the right of Representation in the Legislature, a right inestimable to them and formidable to tyrants only.

He has called together legislative bodies at places unusual, uncomfortable, and distant from the depository of their public Records, for the sole purpose of fatiguing them into compliance with his measures.

He has dissolved Representative Houses repeatedly, for opposing with manly firmness his invasions on the rights of the people.

He has refused for a long time, after such dissolutions, to cause others to be elected; whereby the Legislative powers, incapable of Annihilation, have returned to the People at large for their exercise; the State remaining in the mean time exposed to all the dangers of invasion from without, and convulsions within.

He has endeavoured to prevent the population of these States; for that purpose obstructing the Laws for Naturalization of Foreigners; refusing to pass others to encourage their migrations hither, and raising the conditions of new Appropriations of Lands.

He has obstructed the Administration of Justice, by refusing his Assent to Laws for establishing Judiciary powers.

He has made Judges dependent on his Will alone, for the tenure of their offices, and the amount and payment of their salaries.

He has erected a multitude of New Offices, and sent hither swarms of Officers to harrass our people, and eat out their substance.

He has kept among us, in times of peace, Standing Armies without the Consent of our legislatures.

He has affected to render the Military independent of and superior to the Civil power.

He has combined with others to subject us to a jurisdiction foreign to our constitution, and unacknowledged by our laws; giving his Assent to their Acts of pretended Legislation:

For Quartering large bodies of armed troops among us:

For protecting them, by a mock Trial, from punishment for any Murders which they should commit on the Inhabitants of these States:

For cutting off our Trade with all parts of the world:

For imposing Taxes on us without our Consent:

For depriving us in many cases, of the benefits of Trial by Jury:

For transporting us beyond Seas to be tried for pretended offences:

For abolishing the free System of English Laws in a neighbouring Province, establishing therein an Arbitrary government, and enlarging its Boundaries so as to render it at once an example and fit instrument for introducing the same absolute rule into these Colonies:

For taking away our Charters, abolishing our most valuable Laws, and altering fundamentally the Forms of our Governments:

For suspending our own Legislatures, and declaring themselves invested with power to legislate for us in all cases whatsoever.

He has abdicated Government here, by declaring us out of his Protection and waging War against us.

He has plundered our seas, ravaged our Coasts, burnt our towns, and destroyed the lives of our people.

He is at this time transporting large Armies of foreign Mercenaries to compleat the works of death, desolation and tyranny, already begun with circumstances of Cruelty & perfidy scarcely paralleled in the most barbarous ages, and totally unworthy the Head of a civilized nation.

He has constrained our fellow Citizens taken Captive on the high Seas to bear Arms against their Country, to become the executioners of their friends and Brethren, or to fall themselves by their Hands.

He has excited domestic insurrections amongst us, and has endeavoured to bring on the inhabitants of our frontiers, the merciless Indian Savages, whose known rule of warfare, is an undistinguished destruction of all ages, sexes and conditions.

In every stage of these Oppressions We have Petitioned for Redress in the most humble terms: Our repeated Petitions have been answered only by repeated injury. A Prince, whose character is thus marked by every act which may define a Tyrant, is unfit to be the ruler of a free people.

Nor have We been wanting in attentions to our Brittish brethren. We have warned them from time to time of attempts by their legislature to extend an unwarrantable jurisdiction over us. We have reminded them of the circumstances of our emigration and settlement here. We have appealed to their native justice and magnanimity, and we have conjured them by the ties of our common kindred to disavow these usurpations, which, would inevitably interrupt our connections and correspondence. They too have been deaf to the voice of justice and of consanguinity. We must, therefore, acquiesce in the necessity, which denounces our Separation, and hold them, as we hold the rest of mankind, Enemies in War, in Peace Friends.

We, therefore, the Representatives of the united States of America, in General Congress, Assembled, appealing to the Supreme Judge of the world for the rectitude of our intentions, do, in the Name, and by Authority of the good People of these Colonies, solemnly publish and declare, That these United Colonies are, and of Right ought to be Free and Independent States; that they are Absolved from all Allegiance to the British Crown, and that all political connection between them and the State of Great Britain, is and ought to be totally dissolved; and that as Free and Independent States, they have full Power to levy War, conclude Peace, contract Alliances, establish Commerce, and to do all other Acts and Things which Independent States may of right do. And for the support of this Declaration, with a firm reliance on the protection of divine Providence, we mutually pledge to each other our Lives, our Fortunes and our sacred Honor."

[elikajinnie]

not necessarily a request but i think a dbd killer jungwon would be soooo fun to read omfg. especially since you write horror so well and your other jw fic was PHENOMENAL

just wanted to leave my little brainworm here 🙈🙈

P: Dead By Daylight Killer!Jungwon X Fem!Reader

Warnings: Obsession, Psychological Manipulation, Power Imbalance, Violence, Dark Themes, Mental Torture, Slight Mind Break, Blood, Mentioned Cult Activites, Humiliation, Bondage (Chains)

Synopsis: A new killer, a new map, and terrifying new powers. When you first learned the Entity had unleashed another killer, you were annoyed. But as you face him now, those feelings shift. His control.. his ability to manipulate your every move… it’s worse than you could have imagined.

a/n: Well originally the dbd series was only for the hyungline.. but anon.. you did this.. i love dbd, even more with Springtrap (OG fnaf fan.)

now playing: in the dark of the night (jonathan young)

Time was irrelevant in the Entity’s realm. From the moment you are captured, you could forget asking what time it was. There was no rhythm to the days, no routine, no sense of passing hours. "Good night" and "Good morning" had become meaningless. Darkness was constant here, shadows stretching, pressing in from every corner. The sun? Gone. Warmth? Never existed in this place. Only a numbing, all-encompassing cold that seeped into your bones.

There was nothing to do but wait, trapped in this perpetual limbo until you were inevitably called in. And when you were, it was always the same. Pain. Panic. The ever-present fear of what came next. It was a cycle—endlessly repeating. The only constant was the hum of the generators. Only one thought ever echoed in your mind: Where’s the next one?

It was a race for survival. One that you had grown accustomed to, even if you hated every second of it. You'd learned to adapt—staying low, staying quiet, and always moving with purpose. Always searching for the next generator, the next chance to escape. When you were called in for a match, you didn’t expect anything different. Another trap. Another game. Another nightmare.

So when you were called in for a match, you weren’t surprised to find yourself in a dark room, the familiar heaviness of the air wrapping around you like a suffocating blanket. You instinctively started moving, but as you took in your surroundings, something felt... off.

This wasn’t a map you recognized.

You pressed your back to the wall, narrowing your eyes, and began to cautiously explore. The layout was foreign, with jagged architecture that seemed almost ceremonial. The walls weren’t just cracked or broken like the usual maps, they were covered in strange, arcane symbols that seemed to pulse in the low light. Each step you took only deepened the unsettling feeling in your chest. This place wasn’t just unfamiliar; it felt wrong.

A chill ran down your spine, and the implications hit you like a cold slap. A new map.

A new map meant a new killer, and right now, that was the last thing you needed. The Entity had dragged you back into its twisted game, and you knew the rules: survival, at any cost. But with a fresh killer on the loose, you could already feel your grip on sanity slipping.

It didn’t take long for you to figure out the setup for the map, it was an old military fortress, abandoned and decaying, with walls that seemed to whisper the memories of battles long forgotten. The architecture was a grim reminder of something that had been built for control. It was a cold, imposing structure, with crumbling stone and rusted metal fixtures that still managed to hold a terrifying, menacing presence.

There was no light, not even the faintest glow. Not inside the fortress, not out in the sprawling dark forest that surrounded it. You couldn’t see a single star in the sky. Only the moon, hanging high above in a deep, unsettling red hue. It bathed everything in a faint but eerie tint, as if the very land was soaked in blood. The forest itself felt like an extension of the fortress—claustrophobic, suffocating, and full of hidden threats, where every tree and shadow could be hiding something that was waiting for the right moment to strike.

And you had the feeling of a million eyes watching you, eyes that you couldn’t see, but could feel burrowing into your skin. The hairs on the back of your neck stood on end, and you paused mid-step, breath hitching. Then you heard it.

Giggling.

Faint at first, like wind through leaves. But it grew louder—layered, distorted, like a chorus of laughter echoing from every direction at once. High-pitched and wrong. Mocking. It wasn’t just one person. It was like a crowd—a million voices laughing, whispering, enjoying something you weren’t a part of. Something you were the center of.

Your fingers curled into fists. No one was around, not visibly, but the laughter remained, somewhere just beneath the surface of the world around you. It didn’t stop. It was like the map itself was alive—like something about this killer didn’t just stalk you… it played with you.

You forced yourself to move, to breathe again. And as you crept through the shadows, you finally spotted others—Meg, Jill, and Nancy huddled near a generator about twenty yards away. Relief tugged at your chest, but it was fleeting. Something wasn’t right.

They all looked… off.

Nancy was crouched off to the side, healing herself with trembling hands, her movements clumsy and disoriented, like she was struggling to focus. Blood stained her jeans and hands, and her face was pale.

Jill and Meg were at the gen, but even from this distance, you could see the way their heads occasionally snapped to the side, as if reacting to a sound that wasn’t there. Their hands moved across the generator with mechanical repetition, but their expressions were empty—hollow, like the act of fixing it was just muscle memory now.

You decided to walk up to them, the tension in your chest tightening with every step you took. As you approached, their heads turned toward you, and for a brief moment, the hollow expressions on their faces softened. There was something almost relieved in their eyes as they noticed you.

Meg’s mouth opened slightly, but she didn’t say anything. Instead, her eyes darted between you, Nancy, and the surrounding forest, her hands still mechanically twisting the generator. Jill, on the other hand, met your gaze with a shaky exhale, her face pale as she wiped her forehead, as though the pressure was finally beginning to crack her composure. And Nancy, already nursing her own wounds, managed a small nod when you approached, but it was clear she was struggling to stay alert.

You moved toward Nancy, offering to help with the healing. Your hands worked quickly, but you couldn’t ignore the strange, nagging feeling creeping at the back of your mind, the shadows in the corners, the whispers on the wind, the eyes you couldn't see. The world around you felt too still. Too controlled.

Once you were done, you asked quietly, “What happened to you guys? What did you see?”

The moment the question left your lips, they all seemed to speak at once. Their voices were low, barely above a whisper, as if sharing the details of their encounter with the killer might somehow make it worse.

“I… I don’t know exactly,” Meg began, her voice shaky, as she glanced nervously over her shoulder. “He—he has these… shadow figures. Little humanoid things. They’re not real, but they feel real. They just appear out of nowhere.” She swallowed hard. “It was like he was controlling them.”

Jill interrupted her with a sharp intake of breath. “He doesn’t just control them. He controls everything.” Her voice trembled. “I—I swear, it felt like he was in my head, messing with my mind. Everything around me went black for a second, and I couldn’t move. It was like I wasn’t even in control of my own body.”

Nancy added quietly, her eyes darting around nervously. “He made me feel... trapped, like i couldn’t breathe.” She paused, wincing as she adjusted her bandages.

The three of them fell silent for a moment, exchanging uneasy glances as if the memories were fresh and raw. The weight of their words hung in the air, leaving you with the oppressive feeling that the killer wasn’t just a physical threat, but a mental one, too. His power wasn’t just about stalking or hurting; it was about breaking you down from the inside out. Control.

A mental killer wasn’t something common in the Entity’s realm. Most of the killers you’d encountered were brutal, physical creatures, ruthless in their pursuit, they were straightforward in their violence. You could fight against them, try to outrun them. But this? The idea that this killer could break you down mentally, control your every thought, every move, was enough to make your stomach churn.

You were barely able to process that thought when suddenly, the giggling—the maddening, distorted sound—grew louder. The laughter bounced off the walls of the fortress, seeping into your ears and clawing at your mind.

Before you could even react, the shadows around you shifted, and in the blink of an eye, three humanoid figures emerged from the darkness. Their forms were barely solid, shifting and flickering like smoke or mist.

The moment they appeared, the cackling began rising, high-pitched and mocking, like the laughter of a thousand twisted souls trapped inside these shadowy figures. They didn’t have faces—just hollow, shifting silhouettes, but you could feel the malice radiating off of them. It was as if they were laughing at you, at your fear, feeding off it.

Panic surged through you like a tidal wave. Without thinking, your body reacted. You spun on your heel, heart hammering in your chest, and before you knew it, you were running.

Behind you, you could hear the others scattering, all of them running in different directions, driven by instinct, their own terror feeding off the sinister presence of the shadowy figures. The giggles seemed to follow, echoing off the map as if they were everywhere at once.

You had to keep moving. You had to survive. The shadowy figures hadn’t followed you. No, they were flying off, following the others as if they were being drawn to their fear, choosing their prey with a twisted, malevolent intent.

For a fleeting moment, you wanted to stop, to look back, but the sudden pressure in your chest made it impossible. Something was wrong. Your heartbeat picked up, pounding in your ears, as if trying to warn you.

You forced yourself to turn forward again, desperate to put distance between yourself and the shadows, but that’s when it happened.

A sharp pain ripped through your side, sudden and brutal, as if something had slashed across your skin with precision. You screamed in pain, the noise ripped from your throat as your body staggered forward, caught off guard.

The blood dripped from the wound, staining your clothes, and your legs faltered as you tried to stay on your feet. But before you could fully comprehend what had just happened, you lifted your head—and there he was.

The killer.

He stood there, an imposing figure cloaked in darkness. His black, high-collared coat clung to his body, sleek and dark, moving almost unnaturally as if it were alive, responding to his every movement. The fabric shifted, undulating with an almost hypnotic rhythm, as if it were part of him, an extension of his being. Chains twisted and coiled around his form like a prisoner to his own power.

His hands were covered in long, sharp gloves, the fingertips tapering to sharp points. He gripped a long sword, its blade unnervingly smooth, and its surface etched with ancient, cryptic symbols that seemed to shift when you looked at them too long.

He was dressed in all black—from head to toe. Even his face was obscured by the shadows cast by the high collar of his coat, leaving only the glow of his eyes to pierce through the darkness. His expression was stoic, and emotionless. The very air around him seemed to tremble, like the world was bending to his will. There was no warmth, no humanity in him. Just cold, unrelenting control.

He took a slow step toward you, his eyes never leaving yours. The sound of his footsteps was barely audible, but each one sent a shiver through your spine, vibrating the ground beneath you.

You couldn’t move. Your heart hammered painfully in your chest, your legs barely holding you upright. Every instinct screamed at you to run, to fight, to do something but there was something in his gaze that made you feel like you were already caught, trapped in his web without even realizing it.

His eyes—dark, almost hypnotic seemed to be studying you. Assessing. The chains around him moved slightly, like they were waiting for his command, and you could almost feel the power radiating off of him.

Before you could react, he moved. Slowly, deliberately. His long, gloved hand reached out, his fingers curling around the hilt of his sword. With one smooth motion, he placed the cold, sharp edge under your chin, lifting it slightly, forcing your head to tilt upward so that your eyes met his. The pressure was light, but the sharpness of the blade made your skin prickle.

His eyes never left yours. They were intense, almost too intense, like they were piercing into your very soul, reading every hidden fear, every thought.

“Adorable.”

The single word hung in the air, and you didn’t know whether to be insulted or terrified. His voice was low and almost affectionate, as if he were speaking to something fragile, something delicate.

“You know, I can already see it. How sweet you'd look… under my control. Docile. Obedient.” He tilted his head, a faint smile curling at the edge of his lips. “It’s almost too easy to imagine you like that… so perfectly pliant, so ready to fall in line.”

Your heart skipped, the combination of fear and confusion making your mind race. Was he toying with you? Or was he serious? The way he spoke was both enticing and terrifying, like he was trying to lure you into something dark, something twisted, something you didn’t want to admit you were even considering.

The sword remained under your chin, the pressure just enough to remind you of how easily he could push you past the point of no return. But still, you couldn’t move. You couldn’t speak. There was something about the way he looked at you—so assured, so in control that made you feel like you were drowning, like the world around you was fading away, leaving only him.

“Imagine it,” he whispered. “You, belonging to me. No fear. No pain. Just... you and me. All under my command.”

The words sent a shiver down your spine, and you felt your pulse quicken. Was he asking you to surrender? Was he waiting for you to break? But you couldn’t. You couldn’t even fathom the idea of giving in, of becoming another pawn in his twisted game. You could only shake your head, your breath shaky, a barely audible sound escaping your lips. “No…” you whispered, but the word felt weak, like a futile protest against something far too overwhelming.

It was the only thing you could manage in that moment, shaking your head in disbelie. But the look in his eyes… that cold, unreadable gaze that pierced through you, it hardened.

And then, that smile—the one that had previously seemed almost teasing faded into something darker, something sharper. "What? You deny me?"

His words stung, more than they should have. They echoed in your mind, pulling at something deep inside of you. The anger in his voice wasn’t just the kind you felt when you were challenged, it was disappointment, like you had failed to meet some expectation he had for you.

He stepped closer, leaning in just enough that you could feel the heat of his presence, could smell the faint scent of something dark on him. His lips almost brushed against your ear as he spoke again, his tone colder now, laced with menace.

"You think you can defy me?" he whispered. "You think you have any control in this game? In this world?"

A chill ran through you, but you stood your ground, even if only on the outside. Deep down, though, you were terrified. Terrified of what he could do. Terrified of what he was. You swallowed, trying to summon some semblance of defiance, of strength. But your voice came out in a whisper, shaky and uncertain. “I won’t... give in... to you.”

He was quiet for a moment, his gaze never leaving yours. The air between you felt thick with tension, with a simmering, unspoken promise of what could come next. Then, he let out a low, almost amused chuckle, the sound deep and unsettling. "Such a brave little thing," he murmured, his voice almost affectionate. "But you’ll come to understand soon enough… everyone submits eventually."

You barely had a moment to process his words before the blade sliced through the air again, and before you could even brace yourself, the sword slashed across your side, cutting deep. The pain was instantaneous, blinding. You screamed, the cry of anguish tearing from your throat as you staggered, your body giving way beneath the weight of the injury.

Your legs failed you, and you crumpled to the ground, breath coming in ragged gasps. The world spun, and your vision blurred with tears from the searing pain. You could feel the blood dripping steadily from your wound, pooling beneath you.

But just as you started to crawl away, a shadowed hand shot out from the air, wrapping around your waist like iron. A sudden yank and you were hoisted up off the ground, your body flailing helplessly in the air. You didn’t even have the strength to fight back, cause before you knew it, you were tossed over his shoulder like a ragdoll. The movement was swift, effortless, and you were too dazed to do anything but feel the world tilt as you dangled helplessly in his grasp.

You could hear his footsteps as they echoed through the desolate, shadow-filled landscape. He moved with purpose, a slow and calculated pace, his eyes scanning the surroundings as though choosing the perfect hook.

When he found one, he didn’t hesitate. With a cold precision, the rusty hook was driven into your shoulder. The pain was instantaneous, a searing, bone-deep agony that made you scream, the sound echoing through the silent night, raw and desperate.

The world spun as you hung there, your body suspended from the hook by sheer force, your blood dripping slowly down your side, staining the ground beneath you.

And as you hung there, helpless and exposed, you watched him turn away. He didn’t look back, not even once. He dragged the sword behind him with a casual ease, the blade scraping the ground lightly, making a dull, metallic sound that sent a chill down your spine. It was like Pyramid Head's relentless, methodical walk as he dragged his own axe through the dirt.

You hung there for what felt like an eternity, the pain in your shoulder intensifying with every passing second. The Entity’s claws slowly began to emerge from the sky around the hook, creeping up from like nightmarish tendrils, their sharp, jagged tips glistening with a hunger that sent a cold shiver through you. They were coming closer, inching toward you, ready to finish the job and drag you into the void.

But it wasn’t just the pain or the claws that drove you to the edge. It was the voices. The giggling. The laughter that echoed from the shadows like a haunting symphony. It was everywhere, all around you, like the world itself had become a twisted echo chamber, filled with distorted sounds of joy and mockery. It was as if the very air itself was alive, alive with voices that jeered at you, taunted you, fed off your fear.

You could usually hang on a hook for a long time, enduring the pain, the waiting. It was a part of the game, a part of the cycle. But this?The laughter, the maddening giggles, the whispers that fluttered in and out of your consciousness, made your mind feel like it was slowly cracking apart. The voices didn’t just sound like they were taunting you—they were delighting in your suffering, savoring each moment, each second of your agony.

The giggles grew louder, more intense, like they were crawling beneath your skin, worming their way into your mind, threatening to break you from the inside out. You could feel your thoughts slipping away, as if the laughter was trying to take over, drowning out your ability to think clearly. Was this it? Was this what it felt like to lose yourself?

The urge to scream again rose in your chest, but you didn’t. You couldn’t. Your voice felt useless, lost in the chaos. Instead, the only thing you could do was hang there, helpless, and wish for it to shut up—the voices, the giggling, the madness that was crawling through your brain.

Shut up. Shut up. Shut up.

You clenched your fists, trying to hold onto your sanity, your control, anything that could keep you grounded. But every breath, every heartbeat, seemed to only make the sound grow louder, more intrusive, until you wanted to tear at your hair, rip your skin, anything to make the noise stop.

But all you could do was hang there, waiting for the inevitable.

Finally, after what felt like ages, just as you were starting to lose all hope, you felt a sudden shift. The pain in your shoulder became less sharp, almost bearable, and a figure appeared out of the darkness.

It was another survivor, limping, clearly injured—blood staining their clothes, face pale from exhaustion. They reached you quickly, their movements frantic but efficient. Without a word, they unhooked you, their hands trembling as they carefully lowered you down. You almost collapsed in their arms, your legs buckling beneath you, but they caught you before you could fall completely.

"You need to move," they whispered urgently, barely able to keep themselves steady. The moment they freed you, they were already backing away, looking over their shoulder. They didn’t even hesitate, they just turned and ran, leaving you there, breathless and confused.

As they disappeared into the shadows, you were left wobbly, weak, and disoriented. You could still hear the distant sounds of the killer's footsteps somewhere in the distance, but the laughter had subsided for the moment. The Entity's claws had retreated back into the sky, as though they were biding their time. You were no longer tethered to the hook, but your body still felt broken.

You forced yourself to move, stumbling through the darkness, your breath coming in short, uneven gasps, and your vision swam with the pain, but you couldn’t stop. You couldn’t allow yourself to collapse just yet. The only thought in your mind was finding a safe place, somewhere to heal.

You eventually found a small corner of the map, tucked away between crumbling walls and thick trees, barely visible through the shadows. There was no sign of the killer. No sign of the minions. You collapsed against the rough stone of a building, your body trembling as you began to fumble through your supplies, trying to bandage the wound and stop the bleeding.

Just as you finished bandaging your shoulder, breathing heavily in the dim light of your makeshift refuge, the sound of maddening laughter hit you again. You stiffened, your heart skipping a beat as the hairs on the back of your neck stood on end.

You turned quickly, your breath catching in your throat.

And there it was. A shadowy figure—a dark, twisted shape lurking beside you, its form flickering in and out like it didn’t quite belong in this world. Its giggle was sharp, distorted, and it echoed in the hollow space between you and the walls, making your chest tighten with dread. You froze, staring at it in horror, unable to move.

Before you could react, it made a sudden shrill noise—louder than before, like nails scraping against glass and with no warning, it leapt onto your back. The weight of it felt like being struck by a wave of darkness, its form clinging to you like it had no intention of letting go.

The tendrils, dark and writhing shot out from its body, wrapping around your wrists, pulling them painfully against your back, pinning you in place. The creature was fast, too fast for you to think, and now it was like you were bound by invisible strings. Every movement you made was sluggish, like your body didn’t want to obey.

You tried to scream, but the creature’s presence choked the air around you, leaving you gasping for breath. It giggled again, right next to your ear, the sound grating against your nerves like nails on a chalkboard.

“Good… good… so obedient,” it hummed, its voice low and mocking, and the words wrapped around your brain like venom. "So good, so very good..."

You couldn’t make it stop. The more it spoke, the more insane the words made you feel. It was as if the very sound of its voice was slowly eroding your thoughts, making it hard to think, hard to focus.

You tried to run. Tried to push forward, to escape. But your legs wouldn’t move as they should. It was as if the very presence of the creature was dragging you down, forcing you to walk slower, each step heavier than the last. You weren’t running—you were walking, like the creature was controlling your movements, slowing you down.

“Good girl...” it whispered again, too close, making you shudder. “Stay... We’ll play forever…”

You couldn’t handle it. The overwhelming sensation of being controlled, the constant taunting laughter, the words that seemed to worm their way into your mind and stir up every fear you’d ever had. It was driving you to the edge, to the brink of madness.

But still, you fought. You fought with everything you had left. Even as the world around you seemed to distort and fade, even as your body grew heavier, you tried. You tried not to give in. But the more you resisted, the more the shadow clung to you, the more its presence slowed you, its voice growing louder in your ear.

"Good... girl..."

You stumbled through the map, your steps growing heavier with every passing second, each step like wading through thick mud. The giggling was incessant, worming its way into your ears, until the sound became more insistent than your own thoughts.

You tried to focus, tried to push back against the pull of the shadows, but your mind felt as though it were unravelling. Your thoughts started to become fuzzy, like a broken radio signal, distorted and impossible to follow. You couldn’t think straight, couldn’t make sense of what was real and what was just part of the madness that the creature had wrapped around you.

Your vision started to blur, colors smearing together like paint on a canvas that was too wet. The world wavered in front of you, twisting and distorting, and each step felt like you were sinking further into a sea of confusion. The edges of your reality seemed to fray, and for a brief moment, you couldn’t even remember what you were supposed to be doing.

The laughter never stopped, only growing louder, until it felt like it was inside your skull, echoing from every corner of your mind.

And then, suddenly, the fog lifted, and you blinked—blinking hard to clear the haze from your vision.

When your blurry vision finally focused, you found yourself standing in front of the killer.

He was there, standing as still and imposing as ever. His gaze was locked on you, and for a moment, you couldn’t bring yourself to look away. The control in his eyes was suffocating.

You didn’t know how you had gotten here. You didn’t even remember moving. But somehow, the shadow—the minion—had led you here. To him. And now, as you stood before him, unable to move, unable to think clearly, you knew the inevitable was about to happen.

The laughter in your ear faded, replaced by an eerie silence as the shadowy minion began to unravel itself from you, its tendrils loosening their grip on your wrists with a sickening wet hiss. You stumbled forward slightly, knees buckling, but didn’t fall. You could only watch as the creature slithered down your back before it moved to the killer’s side.

Then, without a word or command, the minion melted into him—its form seamlessly merging with his body, as though it had always been a part of him. Shadows coiled around him like armor, wrapping tighter as the last flicker of the creature disappeared within him.

The killer then took a single, measured step forward.

You couldn’t move. Couldn’t speak. Your body obeyed his presence now, like a marionette waiting for its strings to be pulled.

He tilted his head, just slightly, his glowing eyes locked onto you with quiet amusement. And then he spoke, his voice low and smooth, yet cutting straight to the bone.

"The last survivor... at my feet. Like you should be."

The words hit you like a blow. There was no rage in his voice. No wild aggression. Only cold certainty. As if this outcome had always been written—you, here, broken and alone, with no one left to save you.

He leaned down slowly, giving you no room to flinch or retreat. His gloved hand reached out, and his fingers curled beneath your chin.

His grip was firm but not cruel. Possessive.

He tilted your head upward until your eyes were locked with his again, and everything else—your pain, the fog in your mind, the noise fell into silence. He studied you like you were something to own, something he’d hunted for and finally cornered.

His voice dropped to a whisper, brushing just over your skin. “Such a fighter,” he murmured, thumb grazing your jaw. “But even the strongest… kneel eventually.”

Without saying anything else, he stood up again and slid his sword in front of him, the blade gleaming with an almost unnatural light. The symbols carved into it began to shift, moving across the metal like they were alive.

The moment the symbols started shifting, shadowy figures began to unfurl from the killer’s body. They moved like smoke, winding and curling around him. They slithered through the air toward you, their giggles growing louder, more shrill, like a chorus of twisted voices, each one mocking you.

You tried to back away, to get away from them, but your legs wouldn’t respond. They were everywhere—surrounding you, closing you in. You shouted, desperate to push them back, to make them stop, but they didn’t listen. They just giggled more, their laugh echoing through your mind like a sick, rhythmic chant.

Some of them swatted at you with their shadowy limbs, their touch cold and mocking. Each swipe left you feeling more helpless.

"You're not strong enough," one whispered, its voice dripping with venom.

"Just give in..." another giggled.

The words were cruel, harsh, degrading. They spoke of your weakness, your failure, and it made your chest tighten with frustration and despair. You could barely breathe beneath the weight of it, the laughter, the mocking voices, the shadows that consumed everything.

And then, you felt the chains.

At first, they were slithering just outside your periphery, but before you could react, they moved quickly, wrapping themselves around your wrists. They were cold, tight, and they burned as they slithered up your arms, pulling you off the ground. Your body dangled in the air, weightless, but utterly trapped. The killer’s chains, now bound to you, pulled you higher, lifting you as if you were nothing more than a puppet in his grasp.

You looked down at him, your heart hammering in your chest, but his eyes were focused on you with that same cold, calculating gaze. Slowly, deliberately, he raised his sword.

Without warning, he sliced through the air.

The pain was unbearable.

It was a clean strike, swift and precise, but the force of it seemed to tear through your very soul. You screamed, but it was drowned out by the sound of your heartbeat rushing in your ears. Every part of you felt shattered, and you didn’t even know if you could still breathe.

And then, just as everything around you turned black, you felt the pull of the Entity’s grip once more, dragging you into unconsciousness.

When you woke up, your body was sore, aching from head to toe. The world around you was familiar, yet wrong. The scent of firewood and damp earth reached your nose before your eyes opened, and the steady crackling of the nearby campfire filled your ears.

You blinked, disoriented, as your vision slowly cleared. You were lying on the ground, just outside the survivor's camp, surrounded by familiar faces all sitting nearby, talking softly to each other.

You tried to sit up, but the ache in your body stopped you. It was as though you’d just woken from a nightmare or perhaps it had all been one.

But now, you were back here.

Back in the camp.

Like always.

After that night, you were called into two more matches. Neither of them involved the new killer. Neither of them involved that suffocating presence, that overwhelming control. But it didn't matter. Every time you returned to the camp, the memory of what had happened still clung to you, like a dark cloud hanging over your every step.

But it wasn’t just you. Other survivors had faced him, the new killer, and each time they came back, they were different. Broken, in a way. You could see it in their eyes—the vacant, haunted look that spoke volumes without a single word. They would return to the camp, their bodies battered, their minds frayed. They would fall silent, almost like the echo of the killer still lived within them, dragging them down into the depths of his control.

You’d watch as they stumbled back, each one looking less whole than before. They didn’t talk about it at first. They couldn’t, it seemed.

Eventually, when they would speak, it was always fragmented. Unclear. The words didn’t fit together like they used to. They’d speak about their match, but their minds were somewhere else.

Their sanity seemed to slip with each encounter, like pieces of them were lost in the game. It wasn’t just the physical toll of facing a killer. It was the mental and emotional cost. You could see how every time they faced him, they came back with less to give. Less of themselves to share, to offer. It was like facing him was leaving scars deeper than any cut or wound could.

You told yourself you were fine. That the first encounter hadn’t gotten to you the way it had the others. But deep down, you knew that wasn’t true. The memories of everything about him lingered like a toxin in your bloodstream.

So when the familiar pull of the Entity tugged at your core again, dragging you into another match, you expected nothing. Just another trial. Another run. Another chance to survive.

But when you opened your eyes… You were staring at the dark fortress.

That damned fortress. Its jagged stone walls and blood-tinted shadows loomed above you like the mouth of some massive beast, hungry and waiting. Your hands clenched into fists. You could only grit your teeth, the familiar sting of frustration prickling your eyes.

Really?

You tried to think positive. Maybe it’s just his map, you told yourself. The Entity had done that before—used a killer’s realm for another’s trial. Maybe this was someone else. You had to believe that. Maybe it was the Huntress, or the Trickster, or anyone else who didn’t drag your thoughts into madness with a single glance.

Please, let it be someone else.

But then you heard it.

The laughter.

That sick, echoing giggle, bouncing off every wall, carried by the wind, crawling beneath your skin. One voice at first… then two… then a dozen. It built in layers, high-pitched and overlapping, like a chorus of corrupted children whispering secrets they were never meant to know.

Your heart sank. Your spirit plummeted.

It wasn’t just his map. He was here.

Somewhere in the shadows of that fortress, sword in hand, chains dragging silently behind him like whispers of promises unkept. And the minions… they were already awake.

You pressed your back against the nearest wall, trying to steady your breathing, trying to fight the creeping sense of hopelessness threatening to swallow you whole.

You weren’t ready for this. No one ever was.

Taking a deep breath, you forced yourself to move. One step at a time. You couldn't afford to freeze in place, no matter how tightly the fear gripped your chest. You had to find one generator, just one, and maybe, you'd have a chance to survive this.

The laughter echoed around you, still distant. It seemed to follow you, seeping through the walls like a taunt. You clenched your fists tighter, pushing forward despite the dread clawing at your insides. There was no time to waste. The longer you lingered in the open, the more vulnerable you became.

But as you moved through the fortress, each turn felt more disorienting than the last. The corridors twisted in strange directions, every door you passed seemed to mock you, every hallway a dead end.

Then, you turned another corner.

And there it was.

A throne room.

It loomed in front of you, massive, and strangely pristine, given the state of the rest of the fortress. The walls were lined with ornate stone columns, and in the center of the room stood a throne, tall and imposing, carved from obsidian. The seat seemed almost to beckon you, as if daring you to approach.

You glanced around, a sense of unease crawling up your spine. It felt like you were being watched, like the very air in the room had shifted, making your skin prickle with a foreboding presence.

You turned to look behind you, your breath catching in your throat as the faintest laughter reached your ears. The sound was so quiet at first, like a low whisper on the wind, but it grew louder, until it became unmistakable.

The laugh was right behind you.

You spun around, heart pounding in your chest. The throne. The seat that had seemed empty just moments ago was now occupied.

There, sitting in the obsidian chair, sat the killer. His posture was relaxed, almost casual, as if he were sitting comfortably in his domain. And perched on his shoulder, like a twisted, grotesque pet, was one of his minions. Its dark and shadowy form flickered like smoke, its sharp teeth snapping at the air in your direction. It giggled, the sound high-pitched and unsettling, as if it took delight in the fear it was causing. The sound seemed to echo around the room, magnified, as if the walls themselves were laughing along.

Your heart thudded in your chest, the sight of him sitting so calmly in that throne sending a chill through your bones. You were frozen, caught between wanting to run and being unable to look away. Every inch of you screamed to get out but your body wouldn’t listen.

His eyes locked onto yours, and for a moment, time seemed to slow. There was no anger in his gaze, no wild fury, just an unsettling amusement. He didn’t say anything, but his lips curled into that eerie, cold smile again, and his eyes seemed to say everything. You were his now.

And the giggling… it didn’t stop. The minion on his shoulder let out another shrill laugh, and you could hear the rustling sound of more shadows moving around you, just beyond your sight, closing in, like a thousand eyes were watching your every move.

Suddenly, he tilted his head slightly, as though something had caught his interest. It was subtle, but there was an unmistakable shift in the atmosphere. The minion on his shoulder paused, and without warning, it detached itself from him, leaping from his shoulder and flying straight toward you.

You screamed, the sound loud and desperate, as the creature lunged at you. Its body seemed to dissolve into a dark mist before it reformed, clinging to you like a twisted parasite. The minion’s cold, clawed hands wrapped around your shoulders and chest, pulling you closer, its sharp teeth snapping in your ear as its giggles echoed in your skull. It smelled like cold stone and death, its touch icy, seeping into your skin.

You thrashed, trying to break free, but it was impossible. Its form was slippery, elusive—like it was one with the darkness, and no matter how hard you struggled, it held you tighter. You couldn’t breathe as it laughed—mocking you, taunting you.

The killer's voice cut through the madness.

“Be quiet.”

The word was spoken softly, but the weight of it was like a command, and in that moment, everything went still.

The minion on your chest froze, its body shuddering with the sound of its laughs dying in its throat. You couldn’t understand it at first, but then you realized something—it was shutting up. You didn’t even know why, but the giggling stopped, the pressure around you releasing just enough for you to suck in a trembling breath.

You wanted to scream. You wanted to shout, to demand that this nightmare end. But you couldn’t.

His words had an unnatural weight to them, and somehow, in the deep recesses of your mind, you understood—you had to obey. You opened your mouth, but nothing came out. Your voice had been silenced, as if by some unseen force, the very command in his tone forcing you to submit.

Your heart pounded in your chest, but your mind felt like it was fogging over. The minion was still on you, but it seemed almost dormant now, no longer laughing, just clinging to you in silence.

You could feel its unsettling presence as it nuzzled against you, the chill sinking deeper into your skin. The laughter had stopped, but its taunting silence filled the void left behind. It felt like your very thoughts were being muffled by its touch.

The killer moved then. Slowly he stood and approached you, his footsteps quiet. He didn’t look angry, or even bothered. Instead, he seemed almost… contemplative, like he was thinking, carefully choosing his words.

When he reached you, he tilted his head slightly, his eyes narrowing as if studying you closely. The silence stretched, and for a moment, you were certain he was trying to figure something out—something about you.

Then, he leaned forward, his gaze never leaving yours. His voice broke the quiet, low and smooth, but somehow, it carried a weight that made you want to shrink away.

“You know,” he began, his tone almost casual, “you remind me of someone.”

You didn’t know how to respond, couldn’t even form the words. You could only stare at him, your mind racing as your chest tightened with uncertainty.

He paused, still looking at you with that unblinking, unsettling gaze. Then, with a sudden snap of his fingers, a small smirk curled at the corner of his lips as if he’d figured something out.

“Yes...” he murmured, more to himself than to you. “You remind me of one of my past followers. My most devoted one, in fact.”

Your stomach turned at his words, the hairs on the back of your neck standing on end. You wanted to scream, to demand answers, but you couldn’t. You were frozen in place by the weight of his gaze, unable to speak, unable to do anything but listen as he continued.

“The one who died for me.” His voice softened, but the words hit you like a punch to the gut. His eyes glinted with something darker, something satisfied. “She was so loyal… so ready to give up everything for me. But in the end…” He paused, tilting his head again as if savoring the thought. “She gave up her life for me.”

Your breath caught in your throat. The mention of a past follower, someone who had been so loyal, so devoted, yet had met their end in his service made your skin crawl. Was he speaking of her with a sense of affection? You couldn’t really tell.

He straightened up, his face still unreadable, and for a moment, he just stood there, gazing at you. The minion on your shoulder shifted slightly, as though it too was listening, waiting for something more.

“And now,” he murmured, voice barely audible but chilling nonetheless, “I see the same potential in you.” His eyes darkened, the intensity rising, and you felt an overwhelming surge of fear. “You could be the same... so willing, so ready to give everything for me.”

Fear surged in your chest, thick and suffocating, but there was nothing you could do. No way to run. No voice to scream. Only the echo of his words wrapping around your thoughts, sinking their claws in.

Suddenly, with terrifying ease, the killer stepped forward and lifted your limp body off the ground.

You gasped, more from the shock than the effort but your limbs refused to fight him. Your legs dangled, your wrists still tangled in those invisible chains of command. He held you with little effort, one arm beneath your knees, the other supporting your back as if you were something fragile, something precious.

His hand moved slowly, and you felt the chill of his gloved fingers as they gently brushed your hair back from your face. The motion was almost… tender.

His expression shifted as he looked down at you. For a brief moment, he almost looked soft, like he was admiring a painting or some priceless relic he’d spent ages hunting. Then his lips curled into a smile—not warm, not kind.

It started at the corners of his mouth and spread unnaturally across his face, twisting it into something manic, something unhinged. His eyes gleamed with a hunger that sent a fresh wave of terror pulsing through you.

“I just have to charm you enough...” he whispered, his words soft, almost soothing, but his eyes told a different story—dark, hungry, and filled with crazed intent. “And then you’ll be mine. Completely. Beautifully.”

His face, now a warped blend of fascination and madness, hovered inches from yours. The warmth of his breath contrasted with the cold emptiness he radiated. You could see it in his eyes—he wasn’t asking. He wasn’t hoping.

He was promising.

The last thing you saw before your vision blurred again was his crazed smile, framed by the writhing shadows around him, as if the darkness itself had chosen to serve his obsession. And deep down, you felt it:

He wouldn’t stop until you were his.

a/n: For those who might be confused, Jungwon’s power revolves around control and domination. He has the ability to summon up to three minions at a time, which roam the map in search of survivors. Any survivors who come too close to Jungwon or his minions may be temporarily swayed into becoming loyal followers under his influence, forcing them to obey his will for a short period. Think of his power like the villain in Shazam.

══════⊹⊱≼≽⊰⊹══════

Perm taglist: @ilyunjina @nshmrarki @laylasbunbunny @dollyyun

@wensurr @immelissaaa @simj4k3 @vegahrid @03sunoos

@hollxe1 @moonpri @cherriesfine @badtzsan @anushkaaaiaiiaiaia

@heeseungbabydoll @wondash @renjiishot @demigodmahash

@strawberrieswithchocolateo3o @honeybunnee @jjongstar111

@enhaprettystars @zorange13 @jiminie-08 @gyuuberriess

@enhamonsterghoul @mrsjjongstby @bussolares @kiripimaspillow

@sumsumtingz @norucking @tunafishyfishylike @txnwvc

@jakeluvrrs @firstclassjaylee @xnatqq @arclviie @aussie-boys-wife

@vvenusoncasual @bamguetismee @cristy-101 @lynreiii

[dante-mightdie]

Became insane at work with your Rancher!John, I present to you my delusions:

As she settled into her routine, she was torn between gratitude and guilt. John had taken care of her animals and the land, working quietly as if her distress had become his own burden. While she struggled to dress, still deep in thought, he was out there feeding, grooming, and caring for the creatures that depended on her. Seeing him—strong and capable—her heart ached again, not only for her loss but for the strange, unspoken bond that was forming between them, which somehow felt as strange as it did comforting.

This bond, fragile yet profound, felt both foreign and reassuring. Each shared glance, each moment of unspoken communication, seemed to stitch together the raw edges of her grief. John was not just a caretaker; he had become a confidant, a silent witness to her suffering, and in turn, he offered her a sense of solace she had not anticipated. The way he moved among her fields—with quiet assurance and genuine tenderness—made her realize that perhaps he understood more about her heart than she was ready to admit.

She approached John, who paused to acknowledge her presence with a warm smile that seemed to bridge the chasm of her solitude. In that moment, she felt the duality of her feelings intensifying. The gratitude she felt for his support was interwoven with the guilt of relying on him in her time of need. Yet, there was something undeniably comforting in their shared silence, a cocoon.

“There’s breakfast at home,” she said. Not my house—home, both hers and his.

“Coming, honey.”

oh this is beautiful thank you for this

it’s simple the way his hand slots itself into the small of your back, herding you up the porch and back into the house. subtle signs of his existence living fill the once vacant rooms

his winter jacket, lining reinforced with plush wool he sheered from your sheep, waiting to be stitched up by you. his riding boots, freshly brushed and polished, waiting by the front door for him. and his thumb will slip under the knot tying your apron together, soothing other your skin with gratitude

the aging floorboards creek under his heavy weight, for which he can thank your cooking. he’ll replace those before winter comes, just let him finish up the barn roof first

he lets you serve his food, your eyes purposely avoiding his hungry gaze prowling the length of your body. not because you don’t enjoy it, but because you know you won’t be prepared for whatever brazen move he makes on you, not able to match his freak as one might say

he washes his food down with two fingers of neat rye whiskey, the liquor burns nowhere near enough as his eyes glaring into your figure, busy washing the leftover dishes

you don’t stop nor turn when you hear his chair scrape against the floor boards. his heavy footsteps and that damn creaking floor are nothing new. but the dishes slip from your hands and clatter in the sink when you feel his fingers tugging on the strings of your apron, tightening the knot and you backwards so you can feel the slight graze of his zipper on the fabric of your skirt

“need to put a man’s name on this land, sugar. bank might take it away from ya’.”

his footsteps retreat, as does his looming shadow. and when you turn, he’s gone…

[aerynwrites]

Give

King!John Price x Fem!Reader

A/N: It's FINALLY here holy shit y'all. sorry for the delay, it was just slow going mainly bc i got stuck on the smut lmao. SO, i just decided to post the bulk of the story now and then post a second smutty part later. I hope you all enjoy, and as usual I love to hear what you guys think!! Comments, reblogs and such are greatly appreacited. Also: this fic was inspired by the song Give by Sleep token as well as the song Kingdom of cards by Bad Omens! Word Count: 7.6k (oops) Warnings: Arranged marriage, mentions of past abuse to reader, reader's father is abusive, hurt/comfort, soft john price, mentions of consummation, fluff, just so much fluff.

The room is eerily silent, the complete opposite of what you expected on a day like this.

Your wedding day.

Your mother had stepped out once the handmaid that was provided to you had finished helping you with your dress - panicked when she couldn’t find the veil that she was passing down to you. Your father had entered as soon as your mother had left, and you dared not break the silence first. You know what will happen if you do. 

But you can’t stop the way you fidget, wiping your hands down the front of the bodice of your dress, tugging at the fingers of your silk gloves. You hate wearing gloves, they itch and they are too warm - but your father insisted, hand raised threatening above his head when you almost muttered a complaint. 

So. You’re wearing the gloves -

“Stop fidgeting,” your father bites, standing abruptly from the armchair in the corner to storm over to you. 

The flinch that jolts your body is instantaneous, shying away from the storm of a man approaching you. The only reason you don’t shield yourself is because even you know he won’t do anything. Not today at least. 

Can’t risk marking up the wares. 

But it doesn’t stop him from gripping your arm like a vice, his nails digging into your skin beneath the delicate fabric of the ornate gown. You choke down the whimper, but fail to hide the fear you know is present in your gaze as you stare up at your oppressor. 

“You will not ruin this for us,” he all but hisses. “I understand that decorum is a foreign concept to you, but if you so much as think about sabotaging this - me - I will-”

“I found it!” Your mother calls from the other side of the door, her voice shoving your father away from you like a storm would a willow branch. 

She breezes into the room with an elegance you could never hope to match, a beauty you could never achieve - at least according to your father. She smiles at you, and you don’t fail to notice the way she takes in your shrunken appearance, the tense in your shoulders, before her eyes flicker to her husband. 

She knows. She’s known the whole time - for she bears the scars too. 

Her smile becomes tight, but she doesn’t say anything, just comes to you with the veil raised in her hands. It’s floor length, the back so long it trails even past your dress train, the lace details so intricate you can’t imagine how long it took the original creator to tailor it. it has a front piece as well that drapes in front of your face, falling to just above your collar bone where it will stay until your future husband unveils you. 

The king. 

You have to fight the shudder that threatens to run through you at the thought. You’ve only met him once, and at the time neither of you knew you would end up wedding one another. The King rules over the land, but there are many territories, many clans - his the most fearsome of all. You’d heard whispers through your childhood of the ruthlessness of the capitol city in which the King resides. Its citizens were born and bred to fight - knights and soldiers trained to kill. 

Your father’s words ring in your ears as your mother fixes your veil to your head, fussing with the fabric. 

‘If you even think about sabotaging me…’

Any sane person would. They would probably try to run for the hills when they found out they were to wed the ruthless King, a king that has never lost a battle, a King whose Kings-guard have a reputation of gutting those who dare defy him.

But not you. Little did your father know that you would do everything in your power to escape him. 

For even death must be a better sentence than your life back home.

——

Every woman you’d spoken to back home always talked about their nerves on their wedding day. Some from fear, some from joy or just pure excitement. Some of them talked of the way they got sick just before walking down the aisle or the way their hands hook or their palms sweat. 

You don’t feel anything. 

It’s just pure numbness. As if you are outside of your body watching as the doors to the massive temple open wide, all in attendance standing immediately. You can see the King, your future husband standing on the dais in front of a priest, the incense from the thurible curling around them both as your father all but marches you down the aisle. 

You can’t feel your feet or your hands, you can’t even register your intakes of breath. The only thing that runs through your panicked mind is that at least your future husband is handsome.  You remember having a similar thought when you met him all those years ago at a kingdom wide celebration here in this very city. He was easy to spot, sitting above the jousting ring, crown atop his head, surrounded by his three kings guard. 

He takes up the whole room even now, commanding it with his very presence as the priest introduces him to the crowd - to you.

“King Johnathan Price, third of his name, King of…” you zone out again, instead focusing on the very man being heralded.

He lacks the armor he usually wears, exchanging it instead for rich garments of silk and other fine fabrics. A long purple cloak, the collar adorned with fur of what appears to be a wolf, hangs from his shoulders, held together with a heavy golden chain decorated with the sigil of his house. 

The crown still sits atop his head, golden and gleaming, each crevice and gemstone polished to perfection and nestled amongst chestnut colored locks. Only when you approach the dais do you notice the grey starting to pepper his temples and beard. 

This is also the moment that you seem to come back to yourself, your soul being sucked back into your body as you and your father come to a halt at the bottom of the stairs and piercing blue eyes capture your own despite the veil. 

He smiles, a soft gentle thing that makes your lips turn down in a frown, the action only further deepened when the priest says something about your father relinquishing your hand and soon two strong arms wrap around you too tightly for a loving embrace.

“Remember what I said,” he says lowly, and to onlookers it looks like a father telling his beloved daughter goodbye. But you know better. 

“Do not disappoint me.”

And then he’s placing a kiss to your glove covered knuckles before placing your hand in the much larger calloused one before you. 

The steps up the dais are a blur until you’re standing face to face with your fate. The priest rambles on as the king takes your other hand in his own, holding them between your bodies and all you can think about is how warm his hands are and how much larger he is up close. Your ears are ringing so loud you almost miss the prompt from the priest to say the scripted words, but your father’s threat echoes loudly in your mind and you speak the words automatically, your voice mixing with the rumbling baritone of the man before you as you recite them together. 

The priest then sprinkles a fragrant oil on your joined hands, waves the thurible around as the crowd chants some vague prayer to bless your union. And then the words you didn’t realize you were dreading until the moment they are spoken into the air. 

“You may kiss your bride.”

A hush falls over the crowd as the king releases your hands to reach for the edges of your veil. He lifts slowly, and you swear you stop breathing as he places it delicately over your head, finally revealing you to him. 

And he gives you that soft smile again, the one that’s so contradictory to the stories whispered in your ears. His eyes crinkle gently at the corners as his hands come up to cradle your face, again touching you like delicate porcelain as he dips down to press his lips to your own. 

His lips are soft, softer than you ever imagined, and his hands are so warm against the skin of your cheeks, and you feel something jump in your chest and-

It’s over so fast. 

The crowd erupts in cheers as he pulls away, giving you one last reassuring smile before you both turn to face the crowd and his hand drops to take your own before raising them both above your heads in rejoice as you both descend the dais. 

Rice and flowers and the like are thrown your way as you leave the temple, and once again your body works on it’s own set of instructions, following the kings lead and the attendants ushering you both through a maze of hallways until soon your seated at a large table in an even larger dining hall and the celebration has truly begun. 

Food, more than you’ve ever seen in a place at once is piled onto the tables, music floats merrily through the room, entertainers flooding the center of the floor to vie for their King’s attention. Only when the food has been served, the wine poured, and people start eating does anything manage to catch your attention. 

And once again, it’s those damned hands. 

One comes to settle atop your own that sits rigid in the table, fork held tightly between your fingers as you have yet to even touch the food set before you. 

“Are you alright?”

His voice is like a siren song, yet also reminding you of rolling thunder, a comforting lull that soothes the nerves that must have come crashing down upon you as the weight of today’s actions finally catches up with you. 

You turn to look at the king - no - your husband, and you have to fight the burn at the back of your eyes. 

Bright blue stares back at you, brows creased with worry as he gazes at you, and you’re suddenly aware of another set of eyes on you. You can feel them burning into the back of your head, and you can’t help but steal a quick glance, only to see the seething gaze of your father looking back at you as he gestures silently to your plate. 

Oh gods…you look down to your plate, then to the kings, and you’re just now realizing his Kings-guard is also sat at the table with you, two on your side and one on his left, and they’ve all finished at least Half their plates and you haven’t even touched yours-

“Forgive me, my King,” you rush out, sitting up straighter, and immediately moving to pick up a piece of fruit - you think it’s a strawberry but you can’t be sure, not past the buzzing in your head. “I did not intend to appear ungrateful. I’m merely…nervous that’s all.”

His brows furrow further, and that must have been the wrong thing to say.

“I just meant…I’m excited, the nerves stem from joy I assure you-”

Soon the King is abandoning his utensils all together, reaching over to take your hand in both of his own, as that concerned look never leaves his face. 

“It’s alright,” he says softly, that smile coming back to his face when he sees you relax slightly at his words. “And please, call me John,” he chuckles a little, “We’re married after all. No need for the formalities.”

You nod, “Of course, my King - John-”

“Aye, dinnae listen to him, lass,” an accented voice speaks from your right, and you startle slightly when the guard next to you leans in ever so slightly, blue eyes gleaming with mischief. “He’s full’o himself, call him ‘my King’ all ye want-”

A rough shove from the man on his right stops him in his tracks, and you can’t stop the way your eyes widen at the pure casualness of the interactions. 

“Cut it out MacTavish,” the man grumbles, leaning forward to address you now, “Apologies, your majesty, but this one-” he jerks a thumb towards the one you now know as MacTavish, “never knows when to shut his mouth.”

You go to speak, only to be cut off by John.

“Leave my wife be,” he says sternly before turning back to you. “Sorry about them,” he apologizes needlessly, “they’re…” he trails off and this time it’s you who gives him a smile, a real one. 

“It’s alright, I…” you pause, “thank you. For checking in with me and…thank you.”

You turn back to your meal before John can respond, missing the way his brows furrow again at your words as you finally start eating, trying and failing to ignore the way his earlier words made your heart stutter and you can’t tell if it’s good or bad.

My wife. 

——

The celebration went on for what feels like days, music and more entertainers and more gifts from more lords and ladies than you could name. They served dessert, and then the dancing began and John had even asked you out to the floor for a dance. It was one you knew the steps to, thank the gods, and by the end of it both of you were smiling so wide even you couldn’t deny the way the earlier trepidation seemed to melt off of you. 

That was until the night started to draw to a close. It was slow, but soon guests were retiring, coming up and giving their well wishes and goodbyes before leaving. With every guest that left it felt like a second closer to your perceived doom. 

You aren’t a fool - you aren’t some naive maiden - you know what happens on one's wedding night. You know what’s expected of you as a woman - as a queen now. And that thought is made all the more terrifying when your father and mother come up to bid their own farewells. 

Your mother is first, and John is chivalrous enough to give you some space, although he never quite leaves your side, just steps a few paces back as your mother envelops you into a hug. You can’t stop the tears in your eyes as her arms wrap around you, as you know this will be the last time you see her for a while, your fathers territory being many months away. 

“I love you more than the entire world, my star,” your mother whispers, pressing a kiss to your cheek as she pulls away, hands coming up to cradle your face in her gentle grasp. “You will make an excellent queen.”

You pull her into one last hug before your father is impatiently tugging at you, though not in an obviously rough manner - he must keep up appearances after all. Even the large smile he wears as he pulls you into him is fake, full of deep seated hatred and loathing for a daughter he only ever saw a nuisance, a means to an end. 

His grip is crushing, and you don’t miss the way his fingers dig into your sides again, his breath disgustingly warm against your ear as he pretends to whisper his goodbyes, but instead whispers words you would never dare repeat. 

It feels like an eternity before he lets go, and he only does so because another hand settles on your shoulder, tugging you gently. 

“I fear it’s time for us to retire for the evening,” John says, voice tight as he gazes at your father in a way that makes you suspect he isn’t as stupid as all the others your father has fooled in the past. 

Your father bows, all reverence and kind smiles and posterity. 

“Of course, my King.”

And then you’re gone, being whisked away from the only life you’ve known into an all new and terrifying unknown one. 

——

Your footsteps echo loudly in the hallways as you follow John through what feels like a maze. This castle, just like the capitol itself is massive, larger than any you’ve ever been in. If it wasn’t for John, you feel like you might get lost in the twists and turns forever. You try to remember where he’s leading you - this is your new home after all, you will need to learn your way around. But with each turn and door your pass through it just gets more confusing. Did you turn left or right before or after the door-

“Don’t worry,” John speaks up, breaking the tense silence that had befallen you both, “you will learn your way faster than you think.”

You turn to him then, surprised that he caught on to your internal intentions. But he’s perceptive, that’s at least one thing you know about your new husband. 

You try to return the small smile he gives you as you nod, looking around once more. 

“I have no doubt I will learn my way eventually,” you agree, letting out a small sigh, “It’s just so…big. I’ve never seen a palace so magnificent. I can’t even begin to imagine what all the rooms hold…”

A small chuckle meets your ears, the sound surprising you slightly as you turn to look back at your husband as he speaks. 

“Well, I would be happy to give you a proper tour tomorrow. I have a feeling you may enjoy the library the most,” he says, eyes twinkling in the dim light of the sconces lining the hallway. 

You do perk up at that. “A library?” 

John hums, nodding. “Yes I…” he clears his throat, and if you didn’t know any better you would think that he appears almost…nervous. “I noticed the multiple trunks of books among your things as the servants were bringing it in this morning. I’m almost worried that our selection of books might be too small compared to your own.”

You shake your head, another real smile tugging at your lips. “I highly doubt that,” you say softly, “And I…I will be most happy with anything you deign to show me. You are most kind.”

John only hums again, and another silence envelops you, this one much more pleasant. Only when you take a few more turns does he speak up again. 

“Here we are,” he says, gesturing to a large wooden door a few paces away at the end of the hallway. There’s another door that you passed a few steps back, both of them having a guard posted outside of them. The same guards that shared dinner with you earlier. 

As you approach the door John directs you too, the guard standing outside stands straighter, nodding gently to you and the John, “your majesties.”

John smiles at him, returning the gesture as he addresses him, “Garrick,” he reaches up placing a hand upon his armored shoulder, “Go join MacTavish will you? Make sure he doesn’t need any help patrolling.”

The guard hesitates for a moment, eyes flicking to something behind you both before John speaks again. 

“Don’t worry,” he assures him, “Ghost is back there.”

The guard, Garrick, you try to remember nods, offering a curt bow before taking his leave and walking in the direction you and John came from. The clink of his armor fades until it’s just you and the King again, and you only realize you’d lost yourself again when gentle words greet your ears, this time in the form of your name. 

You look up from where your eyes had fallen to the ground to see John standing in the doorway to the room, holding the door open and looking at you gently. A clear invitation to enter. You clear your throat, offering a small apology as you enter, eyes flitting about the space.

It’s a large bedchamber, clearly your own if your things placed neatly about have anything to say about it. The four poster bed is larger than any you’ve ever slept in, gauzy fabric draped prettily from the ceiling and down around the tall wooden posts. Furs, dozens of them adorned what was no doubt a feather mattress, made up to perfection. A fire roars in the fireplace across the room from the bed, a table and two chairs sitting off to the side of it near a stained glass window. A yewer of  wine and two glasses sits atop the table, and if your stomach were roiling you’d make a beeline for the substance. 

By all accounts the space is warm, welcoming even, leagues better than the single hard mattress in the tiny room of your old home. But all your eyes can seem to focus on is the bed, and the towering presence behind you. And as the solid wood door clicks shut behind you, it feels like the tolling of the bell, the final nail in your coffin as your spirit seems to leave your body once more. 

You can hear John talking, voice soft as he rambles about how he tried to have the servants place your things in the best places, have them organized. You think he also mentions something about how the nights here get cold so the fires were always going. He eventually walks over to the table by the fireplace, pouring two glasses of wine, all while you struggle to breath, your eyes only leaving the bed when he calls your name again, somehow even softer this time as he offers you the second glass. 

You walk over instinctively, taking the glass in your gloved hand, giving a wobbly smile as he taps his glass with your own before taking a small sip. 

You follow his actions before you take a sip of your own. But the wine is good - it’s slightly spiced and warm and if you are to face the coming moments then you need all the courage you can get - and before you know it the wine is gone and you're turning back towards the bed. You notice a small dressing table off to the side of the large armoire and walk to it on unsteady feet. 

John is speaking again, but you can’t hear him, not over the rush of blood in your ears or the breath stuttering in and out of your lungs as you reach up to pull the veil from your hair. You drape it across the table delicately, hands trailing over the fine embroidery before your hands fall to the laces of your dress. 

Let’s get this over with.

You’re just thankful the dress laces in the front, at least you could do that by yourself. But as you tug at the strings, you find you can’t - your hands shake and the damned gloves…

You yank off the delicate silk, ignoring the raised white scars that glare back up at you as you try and manage to succeed this time in tugging the laces loose. The bodice of the dress loosens around you, the weight of the gown pulling it down slightly, the only thing holding it up being the sleeves on your shoulders. You reach up, still shaking to pull those down next, when warm calloused hands stop you. 

He’s calling your name - he’s been calling your name but you couldn’t hear him over your own panic. But you hear him now, and the sound of it falling from his lips along with the grounding warmth of his hands holding your own brings you back to yourself. 

“What are you doing?” He asks, and you notice now that he’s standing before you, having turned you away from the dressing table to face him, blue eyes swimming with confusion. 

But you’re the confused one, your brows furrow as you look up at him. “What am I…?” You pause, looking down at yourself and then back to the bed behind you. “The…the consummation. I thought-”

Strong hands squeeze your own, and you look back to the man before you. He’s still dressed, you finally notice, and he’s looking at you like a delicate piece of glass, that you might break at the gentlest breeze. 

And maybe you would.

“Do you want to?” He asks, question sincere, brows raised slightly as his thumbs brush over your knuckles. 

The question startles you. Never had it even occurred to you about wanting this or not. Of course you didn’t want this. You just met this man - this man who is constantly contradicting every horrible thing you’ve heard whispered about him. This man who is a stranger but has been so kind. 

You’ve never been asked what you want. 

You shake your head, convinced this is a trick. Like one of the cruel ones your father would play on you - asking you a question that only had one right answer and then punishing you when you got it wrong. 

“I…” you trail off, fighting with yourself. You want to tell the truth, something screaming inside you that you can trust him while the other, the years of experience tells you otherwise. 

The latter wins out. 

You swallow thickly, eyes falling to the floor, unable to look him in the eyes as you lie. 

“Yes, of course. It’s my duty to-”

He squeezes your hands again, this time dropping one in favor of reaching up to cup your cheek, urging you to look at him once more. 

“Love,” he breathes, voice gentle, “You’re shaking like a leaf.” 

He takes a deep breath, as if stilling a rage inside of him as he takes in the sight of his broken bride before him. 

“I didn’t ask about your duties,” he practically bites the word. “Do you want this?”

Gods, you can’t do it. You can’t look at him and his kind eyes and remember his soft smile and feel the way he holds you so gently and lie to him. Your lower lip wobbles, and tears burn at the back of your eyes as you internally prepare for the consequences of your next words. 

“No.”

It’s whispered so softly that if he weren’t standing so close to you, there’s no way he would have heard it. But he does, and his hands are pulled from you so quickly that your eyes slip closed, prepared for a strike or a harsh word or something. 

But it never comes. 

Instead a tense silence falls over the room before his hand is taking one of yours in his own again, and your eyes open ever so slowly. 

“That’s it then,” he says, as if it’s the simplest thing in the world. “I’ll send for your handmaid, she can help get you ready for the night.”

You can’t stop the shake of your head, mind refusing to accept that this is it. That he is just going to leave you be. 

“I don’t…I don’t understand.”

John smiles, and you don’t miss the flicker of sadness in his gaze. Pity, maybe?

“I won’t start our marriage off by forcing myself on you. I don’t…” he looks away then, “I’ll wait. until you’re ready.”

You speak the next words before you can think. 

“And if I’m never ready?” 

John smiles, leaning down to place a gentle kiss to the back of your hand, either ignoring or choosing not to acknowledge the multitude of scars adoring the skin beneath his lips. 

“I’ve waited this long,” he says simply, “Forever doesn’t seem like much longer.”

And then he’s gone, slipping from your bedchambers just as a handmaiden takes his place. 

——

The same handmaid as the night before is the one to wake you, Ilora if you remember correctly. She says that the King has requested you join him to break your fast, as she’s already searching through the armoire for something for you to wear. It's a somewhat silent affair as she helps you get ready, tying your corset, brushing your hair. She even offered you a pair of gloves when she sees you staring at the ones from yesterday, but you decline. 

He’s seen them anyways, and if he hadn’t it was bound to come out at some point. 

Maybe the conversation will come easier over tea and sweet rolls. 

You follow Ilora as she leads you through the still winding passages of the castle until you eventually come to a door that opens into an open courtyard. It’s still confined by the castle walls but the ceiling is open, allowing sunshine to pour down onto the cobbled pathways that wind between a multitude of flowers and bushes and even fruit trees. 

It’s like a tiny paradise hidden within the walls, sequestered away from the grim stone walls of the building itself. Birds chirp happily, flirting from one branch to the next; and you even spot a butterfly, bright blue and fluttering so prettily in the air before you. It makes you halt in your steps, watching the rhythmic beat of its wings as it floats in the gentle breeze around you. 

You reach up before you can stop yourself, fingers held poised as you reach for the small creature. It flutters about for a moment before settling onto your offered hand, and you can’t stop the smile that splits your lips as its wings beat lazily against your knuckles. 

Soon, another presence joins you, and a familiar hand reaches up to mimic your own, a calloused finger tracing the delicate wing of the insect. Your eyes leave one color of blue only to find another, surrounded by familiar crows feet at the corners of his eyes as John gazes softly at you. 

“Pretty as a painting,” he murmurs softly, his words making the butterfly take flight, continuing on its earlier journey. 

“It was beautiful,” you agree, watching the winged creature until it’s out of sight. 

John only chuckles, reaching over to place a hand lightly on your back. 

“I wasn’t talking about the butterfly, love.” 

His words and the meaning behind them make heat rush to your cheeks, and you look at him in surprise before dropping your eyes to the floor when you catch his playful grin. 

“Come on then,” he says, breaking the tension, “let’s eat,” he turns back to your secret, “Thank you, Ilora.”

Ilora offers a small bow at the dismissal and takes her leave as John leads you a few steps further into the courtyard to reveal a stone table laden with food and only two chairs. Once again you’re slightly taken aback by the abundance of food. Yes, you were a daughter of a noble house, your family was wealthy, your father a lord of some land. But you never saw this side of that life - the life of luxury. Your father made sure of that. 

John must take your hesitance for nervousness rather than curiosity, because he smiles that warm smile and places that familiar hand on your back to urge you closer. He doesn’t force though, never pushing you if your feet did not want to go. He merely encourages, like trying to placate a scared animal. 

Maybe you are one. 

“I figured you may want to break your fast away from the prying eyes in the dining hall,” he says simply, moving to pull out your chair when you finally concede to his invitation. 

You nod politely, eyes still scanning the vast array of food before you until John takes his seat in the chair across the table. “Thank you,” you say softly, eyes flitting to the attendants that seem to come from nowhere, pouring your drink, placing silverware, and even placing a napkin in your lap before retreating once more. 

A silence befalls you both then, and you can’t help but want to shrink under the awkwardness of it all. It’s as if neither of you know what to say - what do you say to your husband or wife that - until less than a day ago - was a stranger to you. 

Thank the gods John speaks first, your throat to dry with anxiety to do so.

“Do you like blueberry tarts?” He asks, hand already reaching for one of the flaky pastries in the center of the table, “they’re our baker’s specialty,” he chuckles as he leans to place one on your plate when you offer no refusal. “If you don’t, I’m sure you will after you try this.”

You snag the olive branch offered to you, smiling as you pick up your fork. 

“I do,” you say, cutting into the delicate treat, “They’re…They’re my favorite, actually. But we…”you trail off, remembering how once your father found out your affinity for the tarts, they had all but disappeared from the tables during meals. 

You clear your throat, “the ingredients were hard to find where I’m from,” you lie smoothly, avoiding  John’s gaze. “So they were a luxury.”

You look up when he doesn’t respond right away, and find the usual upturn of his lips absent in place of a scrutinizing gaze. Not a harsh one, but one that made it clear he was studying you, watching for…something. 

But it was gone as quick as it came, that pleasant warmth back in full force. 

“Well,” he says, placing a pastry on his own plate, “I’ll make sure there’s never a shortage.”

And on the meal went. 

Conversation flowed easier after that, John picking up on when you were unsure of a particular dish or food, explaining it to you and watching in utter amusement for whether you would like or dislike a particular one. He’d let out a particularly hard laugh when you’d tried a rather odd looking dish, promptly trying and failing to spit it out in as ladylike a manner as you could. 

Blood pudding he called it - making you let out a disbelieving laugh at the withheld information, playfully tossing your napkin his way. 

He’d caught it easily, offering you a much sweeter fruit to wash the acrid taste from your mouth. 

It felt like the morning lasted forever, and truthfully, you never wanted it to end. It’s…nice, talking to someone without the fear of reprimand or a strike for saying the wrong thing. And John he…he listens to you. Truly listens and seems to enjoy the things you talk about. He asks you questions about yourself; your favorite food, your favorite color, things you like to do to pass the time, places and things you wish to see.

And he listens to all of it, seemingly absorbing every word as if he’s a man in the desert dying of thirst and you’re the oasis he’s been searching for.

It goes on like this for the rest of the day, the rest of the week, and soon weeks bleed into months and it seems like your past gets further and further behind you as this future you and John start to build gets closer.

He shows you the library like he promised, and it’s where you find yourself spending most of your time when separated from John. The first few weeks you both are nearly inseparable, claiming he wants to spend time getting to know his wife. But a kingdom cannot run itself and eventually he has duties and things to tend to, which you respect. 

It doesn’t mean you don’t miss him though. 

It’s a shock when the feeling first hits you. It’s the third day in a row of only  seeing him in the morning to break your fast together. It’s late, and you are as usual, sitting in the armchair you claimed in the library. You’re reading a romance novel, one that you confessed guilty to John early on that you enjoyed reading. Most people back home (your father) hated them - claimed they were undignified, unfitting for a lady to fill her head with stories that would never come true. 

John had hundreds of novels shipped in over the next fortnight. 

The one you’re reading now is a short one, a cliche about a knight and a low born woman. But it’s sweet, and when you get to one particular part, you find yourself looking up from the page, chuckling lightly to yourself and wanting to share it with John. 

But he isn’t here. 

And as you look up and notice the darkness outside the windows, the only light being the fire a few feet in front of you, you feel a pang in your chest. A longing you’ve never felt before, never thought you’d feel in your lifetime. 

You miss him.  

And on this night, it appears as if he misses you too. Because, like a siren's call, as soon as you stand, marking your place in your book to retire to bed, the door to the library creaks open. You expect one of the guards, probably Kyle, as he too seems to be fond of the library, having found him in here on several occasions when he was off duty. 

So, when you look up from where your book sits on the side table, you are surprised to see John slipping into the room, hair tousled, and looking as if he had just come straight from the stables. Riding boots caked in mud, light armor still adorning him. When he spots you, it’s as if the world itself falls from his shoulders, he sags beneath the relief and walks to you with sure even steps until he’s less than an arms length away. 

“John, what are you doing?” You ask, looking down at his muddy boots and back up to the weary expression on his face. “What’s…is something wrong?” 

He pauses for a moment, a flicker of something flashing in his eyes before it's gone, and those piercing blues are softening and crow's feet appear at the corners as he reaches for you, taking your hands in his own gently. 

“Nothing, love,” he says, that nickname that’s become more frequent making your heart flutter. “Just missed you, is all.”

His admission makes warmth spread through you, like warm honey on freshly baked bread. And you can’t help but lean into him, relishing in the way his hands move to wrap around your waist. 

“I…I missed you too, John,” you tell him softly, as if the words will scare him away. 

But they do the exact opposite, they make the man beam brighter than before, fingers squeezing your sides gently as he steps ever closer, eyes falling from your own down to your lips. 

Your breath hitches as he inches closer, and you can feel the heat of his words as he speaks, air brushing over your lips. 

“Can I kiss you, love?”

You haven’t kissed since your wedding day. Not other than the chaste ones he’d press against your knuckles or your cheek on occasion. He’d respected the vow he spoke to you on your wedding night, never pushing you, never forcing you. He waited. Waited until you made the decision. 

The nod you give him comes quicker than you thought it would, and his lips are on your own in an instant. They’re warm and slightly chapped from the ride he no doubt went on today, but to you it’s…perfect. It’s warm and gentle and all consuming, and even though it isn’t heated or rushed or rough you suddenly understand the passion that all those romance novels wax poetry about. 

He doesn’t dominate you or control it in any way, he moves with you - coaxing you at times perhaps, smiling against your lips when you let out a small whimper. His hands never stray far either, only moving to wrap further around your or caressing up and down your spin, maybe toying with the hair at the base of your neck before finally coming to cradle the apple of your cheek in his calloused palm.

Only then does he pull away, and you flush at how breathless you are, the embarrassment only soothed when you see he is just as affected as you are. He rests his forehead to yours, eyes fluttering closed as his thumb brushes softly against your cheek. 

“Maybe I’ll have them move my desk in here,” he says after a comfortable silence. “That way even if I have things to tend to, I can still spend some time with you.”

You pull away from him only enough so he can see the smile on your face; and the next day when you come to the library, John is sitting at his desk, right next to your arm chair. 

———

Another thing that has changed for the better is your dreams. Nightmares used to be a constant for you before the wedding, waking up in cold sweats, fear making your very bones ache. But after the first few nights in the castle…they disappeared. Once you realize that the danger you used to live amongst  each and every day is no longer present, it’s as if your body finally allowed you to rest. 

Maybe that’s why this one is so much worse. 

You’d been lulled into a false sense of security, your body's survival instincts failing you, telling you that you were safe when you should know better. It’s the very thing he screams at you as he strikes you down in this hellscape. The bitter words he spits upon you as blood splatters across the stone flooring, as the toe of his boot meets your stomach again and again. 

You naive, stupid girl - you’re nothing! 

You want to scream out at him, tell him that it’s not true, that you are something and that someone loves you and cares for you. But the words are stuck in your throat like tar, and copper floods your tongue and any and all protests crumble like ash in your mouth as you see his guard raise the whip above his head. 

You wake up screaming. 

Throat raw, the taste of copper still coating your tongue and making you gag as you fight against the furs and blankest tangled around your legs. It’s pitch black, the fire having died out to nothing but embers. So when a pair of hands finds you in the dark you can’t stop the wail that slips from your lips.

He’s come back for you. He’s come to take you away-‘

“It’s me, love stop-” the voice is muddled, far away from your panicked mind. 

You fight the grip on your wrists, only stilling when one lets go to cup your cheek. Calloused hands, warm…they speak again.

“You’re safe, it’s me. Love, it’s me…”

“John?” 

His name is but a whimper on your lips, and when he assures you that it is him, you fall apart like glass when it meets stone. Shattered into a million little pieces. 

But he catches you, he catches and holds each and every piece of you as you sob in his arms, tears soaking the skin of his neck where you hide your face, fingers clutching desperately at the thin cotton of his shirt. He holds you so softly. Always soft, always gentle. His hands run up and down your back, over your shoulders, through your hair as he shushes you softly, cooing reassuring words into your ear. 

And when you finally do calm, sobs ebbing away into ugly sniffles and hiccups, he still doesn’t let go, shifting instead to lay back against the pillows with you tucked into his side as he pulls the covers around you - a safe cocoon against the world - against the things that still haunt you. He only stops speaking, stops humming some small random lullaby he had started up, when you begin to speak. 

He didn’t pressure you, didn’t ask - he’s never asked. The whole time you’ve spent together, and you know John is a perceptive man - he knows things. You assume he’s worked most of it out himself; yet, he never once asked you. Even now, when your screams no doubt jerked him from his slumber, or when you cried into him like a terrified child. He never once asked. 

So you tell him on your own. You tell him of your childhood, of the hatred your father held for you, of the cruelty he subjected you and your mother to. You told him of the scathing words and the nights sent to your room without supper and maybe even days without anything but a simple loaf of bread and some water. You tell him of the things you swore you’d never tell anyone, of the blood and torment and beatings and the whip. 

And in the darkness of your bedchamber you pull away from his embrace, slipping your shift from your shoulders as you tell him about the scars. He’s seen the ones on your hands but…as he traces the jagged angry marks on your back, your ribs, your stomach in the darkness…you can practically feel the rage radiating off of him like the sun on a hot summer’s day.  His hands shake, fingers trembling as they trace over the evidence of darkness, of pure evil. You tell him everything, until the tears finally prevent you from saying more and he’s tugging your shift back up your arms and turning you back to face him and kissing them away with a reverence you never imagined possible for you. 

“You will never come to harm here,” he swears, voice terrifyingly calm and steady. “And if you do, gods help the man to do it, for I’ll hunt him down and slay him where he stands.”

 He pulls you tighter then, lips pressing against the crown of your head as arms wrap around your waist, soft words urging you back into slumber. 

And despite everything….you sleep, and dream this time of warm hands and kind words and a future worth living for.

[fishnapple]

Your successful qualities

Let's find out what qualities do you possess that can make you successful on your chosen path ✨️

This is a general reading meant for multiple people. Take only what resonates and leave out the rest.

Your feedback is much appreciated. If you find the reading resonated with you, leave a comment, I’d love to know 🎐

About me | Masterpost Book a reading with me - KO-FI (→ personal reading)

YELLOW

You have qualities that would make you a person of the people. You have a high level of emotional intelligence and charm that make it easy for you to dive into people's hearts. The chief element that will contribute to your success is how you connect with people. You know how to express your feelings in a calm and soothing way, people feel accepted and nurtured through the interactions with you and your presence. You care a lot about other's comfort. You intuitively understand what the other person wants without them having to voice it out. This is especially helpful when you are assigned a task or when you assign a task to other people. You know how to complete the task in the way that the other person wants and you also know what the other person is capable of, what is their working style, so you can give them suitable task and instruction. You also have the ability to pacify and harmonise difficult situations. Which are qualities that are very much needed when dealing with customers or working in employee relations. But if you're not careful, people's dependency and over demanding could be a problem. Dealing constantly with people's problems can drain your energy really fast. Also, when there are many people expecting something from you, a desire to please, to be helpful and perfect in your job, can become a burden for you. The downside of being in tune with others is that you're entangled with them, it would be hard to act independently.

What makes you popular with people is not just your aura or your caring and pleasant nature. It's also your communication skills. You have the gift of the gab, striking a balance between being funny and wise. Your humour can diffuse tense situations and your knowledge and wisdom can guide you through the intricate system of socialising, never appearing too jesting nor too serious. You can grasp abstract concepts easily and then explain them back in a simple to understand way, this ability will make you a great teacher or a supervisor or someone who needs to present their ideas to a mass. You also can turn those ideas into reality, ideas don't just stay in your head, you pull them out and mould them into solid existences. When you encounter new information or foreign topics, you don't shy away from them but revel in the process of analysing, understanding and absorbing that information. So new job, new position, new opportunities don't faze you, your adaptability is one of your biggest talents.

What can make you successful is your drive for success, it's very simple. As long as you have the desire to succeed in anything you do, you can achieve it, with patience, diligence but also a flash of genius. You are an innovative pioneer, you follow your own rules, and this will attract people and opportunities to you.

BLACK

This may sound corny but it's your heart and passion. As you can see in the picture above, the "heart" bead landed right next to the "sun" bead at the centre. It's just that simple. Your heart shines so brightly that it can attract success. The more you're in alignment with yourself, the better the chance for you to shine and soar. Self alignment can mean various things, self awareness, self compassion, self expansion, all the things that make you become clearer about yourself. In doing so, you can understand your strengths and weaknesses with an objective lens, develop a healthy ego to navigate the world and stand up for yourself, utilise your potentials fully and have a better vision of what you want out of your life (this sounds like an ad for self improvement program)

You being you, truthfully, unapologetically, without any shadow nor hiding, will make everything you strive for easier to grasp. Right now, you might have some fears about expressing yourself fully, showing your creative side, which is precious and a huge treasure. You don't want to be an outcast, being labelled as weird or individualistic. You might have a perfectionist living inside you, constantly criticising and questioning your every move and attempt at doing something creative. Maybe you don't feel confident enough, still thinking that you lack skills or you look at other people and see them getting busy and successful, you begin to doubt your resolution and your ability, no amount of practice is enough in your eyes. This line of thinking is really detrimental to your growth. Looking at other people for inspiration is fine but it can become an obsession, taking other's success as goals to achieve, while ignoring your own brilliance. There's something you need to know, that you don't have to be applauded by a crowd to prove that you're talented and worthy. You will find that, by being yourself and sharing your creativity, slowly and surely, there will be people who appreciate your work, even if they are not the mainstream crowd.

On the subject of the crowd, this group has a bit of similarity with the first group, in the ability to connect with people. But unlike group one, who uses their charm and verbal ability to harmonise and attract people, yours is more about your ability to get into the hearts of other people, through your sensitivity and kindness. This group's soul is like one of the artists. Beauty moves your heart, you see beauty in everything, down to their core, this kind of ardent appreciation will spread to your surroundings, the people around you. It's like you have a subconscious ability to beautify everything, making things softer, more tender, more kind. Don't hide this part of yours, the more you're willing to be transparent and spiritually "naked", the more joy and success will come into your life, for you will be the pure vessel that the universe will pour into endlessly.

GREEN

The quality that stands out the most is your ability to accept and commit to changes, whether those changes are about yourself, your environment, or other outside factors. It's not that you actively seek chaos or transformation just for the sake of shaking things up, but when changes come to you, you don't cower and complain, you accept them and try to find the best possible solution to deal with them, no matter how scared and uncomfortable you feel inside. It's this kind of courage that will help you sail through the ups and downs in life without being sunken and defeated by them.

When you feel afraid or anxious, uneasy in your mind, you actively try to find a solution, a different route of thinking to get out of that unproductive thinking mode. Sometimes you would even seek the very things that make you afraid, to learn more about them, to gain an understanding and to broaden your perspective. When your heart feels weak, you still believe in a better future. In doing so, you attract luck to your side. You would find that whenever you're in a difficult situation, if you keep your faith and your mind open, new understanding and support will come your way, helping you regain stability and inner peace again. Your heart is resilient, even though it might have suffered painful wounds in the past, it still remains optimistic and tries to break away from the clutch of the past. So you don't easily give up when there are hardship and setbacks in your endeavour. Your mind also can think up really out of the box ideas, great innovative ideas that can bring changes to the community, and the society you're in, as long as you give your mind total freedom.

With your resilient heart, your outward aura is very stable and solid, very sure of yourself. You have good self-control, from your body to your mind and your heart. Dark thoughts won't be able to stay in your mind for long, you exercise firm authority on them, not allowing them to sabotage you. Sometimes you can be in a melancholic mood, feeling hopeless or too weary, but you know how to get out of it, centering yourself to the physical reality around you, taking care of yourself and reaffirming your core values. You know how to offset the dark with light, the cold with warmth. When you're stressed, you might choose to do something physical or appreciate the beauty around you, bringing you back to simple happiness. This again points to the sturdiness of your core. You don't seek external validations or nourishment from others, you nourish yourself and shine your own light, you're not the moon waiting for other light to illuminate you and reflecting back that light, you are the sun that give out your light and illuminate others. This self containment, or independence will make you a great leader, or someone who can work independently, actually, any positive won't be daunting to you at all. You can take on lots of stress, not to say that you should, but when working or doing something under pressure, you can still manage the load and work efficiently.

BLUE

Life seems like a never-ending adventure to you. You're not meant to stay in one place, be contented with "normal" life, "normal" means what everyone thinks how life should be, not for you, you're a traveller, a seafarer, constantly following the flow of life. The fluidity of your energy enables you to navigate life situations with grace and ease, not that you're trouble-free or everything is smooth sailing all the time, but you don't get stuck. If you ever find yourself in a predicament, you don't sit and complain, asking why misfortune befell you, you try to find all the information you can get, the lesson you can learn, the most positive outcome and the most opportune moment to turn misfortune into your advantage, rising again, stronger and wiser. You have keen eyes that can notice opportunities from miles away and an open heart that can welcome those opportunities, which makes you seem like a very lucky person to the onlookers.

Your mind is your greatest asset that can make you rise in this world. You don't let valuable information slip through your mind, you examine it with curiosity and intense focus, extract from it the essence that can be used for the future. Your mind is not just geared with sheer laser focus, but also an ability for intuitive abstract thinking, it reminds me of genius, how it can weave all the bits of information into a fantastical picture. If something captured your attention, you would dive deeply into it, try to understand its core. This makes you an excellent researcher or someone who can do works that require focus and resilience. You can also read people accurately right from the first few exchanges and can adjust your approach accordingly. It's not about people pleasing, charming people to get your way, it's tact and understanding, thesr traits will make you greatly attractive, not just on one on one level but also on a bigger scale, in a professional environment or when you need to address a crowd.

Your energy is very balanced between masculine and feminine energy. It's both nurturing and authoritative. Drive and intuition, active and passive, strong yet soft. You shine but you also let others shine too, you don't steal other's light, if anything, you help them shine even brighter. Being with you makes people feel safe, at ease. You allow people to be themselves without ridicule or judgement. But you can also firmly lead people, giving them guidance and security. You can be serious but not rigid and cold, you can be chatty without being superficial, charming without hidden motives. These traits would develop gradually over the years, you will find that as you get older, you'll be more sure of yourself and more confident in front of people, stepping into your authority more, like growing a tree for many years and finally you can enjoy the sweet fruits.

WHITE

Right of the bat, the word "refreshing" came to my mind. You have a unique take on everything, from the most trivial matters to the worldly philosophical thoughts that you have, everything is different from the usual way many people are used to. People would definitely want to come to you when they're stuck in a problem and uninspired, they know that you will always have something unique to say to them, making them more aware of hidden aspects at play and a fresh solution. Problem solving could be one of your greatest skills. But it's not the logical, factual thinking that is usually associated with problem solving, it's highly intuitive. Your mind hovers between the collective thinking and the individual paths each person can have, you can synthesise those two worlds into an abstract thinking system that can get hold of information seemingly out of thin air and mix and match them together flexibly. You instinctively understand what people want and you deliver it, with a new twist. Your ideas are the road to manifest whatever your wishes are.

Not just mentally, but emotionally, you also express yourself truthfully, without trivialise other's emotions or making them feel ignored. You respect emotions, both of yourself and of others, creating an emotionally safe space that can foster trust. Commerce and sales might be the areas where you can express that strong point. Your emotional intelligence also adds charm to your physical appeal. You know how people always praise the eyes that are full of emotions and light? When you're in touch with emotions, your eyes show, and they beckon people to them. Your manner, your aura shows a charm that is real and earthy, nothing elusive or deceptive about it, like walking in an actual orchard instead of looking at it from a picture. You can see, touch, smell, hear all the things happening around you.

You also rarely judge people, if you do, it's not harsh or too triggering. You adopt the mentality of going with the flow, live and let live. You don't demand from people, other than respect for your boundaries and privacy, which you value above all else. Other than those, you let people live their way without imposing your beliefs on them. This open-minded attitude is very important when you're working in a team, you provide ideas, but you likely don't want to control and lead people. Though you could find yourself in the leader position often simply because the one with the good ideas usually is nominated to be the leader. You're fine working for others. But if you're in a leadership, you lead with leniency, allowing enough rooms for individuality to shine.

This might be a bit random, but you can be a good cook or a good decorator. If you're tasked with decorating an event or a living space, or just making anything aesthetically pleasing, you'll be surprised how positive people's receptions are. If this is not something you're aware of about yourself, you should pay more attention to it and develop it, it can open new career opportunities for you.

RED

There's a method to your madness, not that I'm saying you're mad or crazy, but you can think up some outlandish and original ideas, a little bit "out there". What people don't understand is that behind all those seemingly random and genius ideas is a very disciplined spirit. There's logic and sound reasons behind your every action. What people perceived were just the puppets playing on the stage, they didn't see the puppeteer controlling the puppets. Every action and word require fine skill, but you have the ability to make them seem effortless. Your mind is like the sky during a thunderstorm, thoughts and ideas zigzagging, making flashes that blind the eyes. What you say can be very spontaneous or somewhat irrelevant at first glance, but thinking deeper, people can't help but marvel. You might also have a knack of predicting the trends, always one step ahead. Creative careers of course would be very suitable for you, but you can also find success in predictive analytics or education. Your words need to be delivered to the world, they're your greatest contributions.

You have an air of feeling at ease with wherever places you're. You might be someone doing an independent freelance job, but then if suddenly, you're to be placed in the position of leadership or a completely different job, you wouldn't be fazed by it, you go into it as if it's the most natural thing to do, as if you've done this a million times. This air of confidence and ease makes people want to give you opportunities, to trust you with important tasks and jobs.

When you're faced with an unfamiliar subject, you would patiently deconstruct it into an understandable structure. There's an intense focus being put on it, not just to understand it but to master it. To be the object of your focus would akin to being scrutinised and studied by a scientist. You can be a quite obsessive and hyper focused when you're interested in something. Especially when you want to achieve a goal or possess something, you go with all your might, there's no fear, no hang-up involved, because you're not afraid to be judged. Your inner drive roots in the ideal vision you seek, not in simple egotistical desires like wanting to be recognised or praised. You might actually shun publicity or attention, because attention can curb your freedom, which is what you seek and value the most. So you're fine with working behind the screen, as long as you can achieve your goals, and those goals are usually about advancement and improvement of something that can benefit the collective.

[fioredeciliego]

Mommy Issues - Karina x Fem!Reader

11.2k words

Moving to another country wasn’t supposed to be easy. That was the mantra Y/N repeated to herself as she dragged her luggage through the crowded halls of Schiphol Airport. The Netherlands—a world away from the life she had known, filled with unfamiliar faces, a foreign language, and customs she barely understood. Yet, this was what she wanted. This was freedom.

It had taken months to plan, years to gather the courage. Back home, there was no peace. Privacy was a luxury she could never afford in a house that was always full: her mother, her three younger siblings, the constant noise. And then there was her mother herself—a complicated, volatile presence that dominated Y/N’s life. For years, Y/N had felt more like a caretaker than a daughter, shouldering responsibilities that weren’t hers to bear. It wasn’t all bad; she loved her siblings dearly and had moments with her mother that reminded her of the love buried under the chaos. But it was never enough to outweigh the suffocating sense of inadequacy and anxiety.

She rolled her suitcase to the curb and hailed a taxi, her heart hammering in her chest as she gave the driver her new address. The cityscape of Amsterdam blurred past the window as she tried to breathe deeply, grounding herself in the present. She’d rented a small studio apartment on the outskirts of the city—a modest space, but it was hers. No one would barge in uninvited. No one would demand things of her. No one would criticize her every move.

When the taxi stopped, she lugged her suitcase up the narrow staircase to her apartment. The first thing she noticed was how quiet it was. The silence felt foreign, almost eerie, after years of constant noise. She stood in the center of the room, taking in the plain white walls, the tiny kitchenette, the single window overlooking the street below. It wasn’t much, but it was hers.

As she unpacked, her phone buzzed on the counter. Her stomach twisted when she saw the caller ID: Mom.

She hesitated, staring at the screen until it went dark. The phone buzzed again, and this time, she answered.

“Hello?” Her voice was small, almost drowned out by the static of the poor connection.

“Y/N, where are you?” her mother’s voice demanded, sharp and accusatory. “Why didn’t you tell me you landed?”

“I just got in,” Y/N said, already bracing herself for the onslaught. “I was going to call you once I settled.”

“You should have called me right away. Do you know how worried I’ve been? You don’t think about anyone but yourself.”

Y/N closed her eyes, gripping the edge of the counter until her knuckles turned white. “I’m sorry,” she murmured, the words automatic, devoid of feeling.

Her mother launched into a familiar tirade about how selfish Y/N was, how ungrateful. She didn’t ask about the flight, the new apartment, or how Y/N was feeling. It was all about her mother’s own anxiety, her fears, her sacrifices. Y/N listened in silence, letting the words wash over her. She’d heard it all before.

When the call finally ended, Y/N sank onto the couch, tears prickling her eyes. She’d left the country to escape this, yet her mother’s voice still echoed in her head, a constant reminder of her failures. She wanted to scream, to cry, to do something, but instead, she sat there, staring at the bare walls of her new home.

--

The next few days passed in a blur of monotony. Wake up. Go to work. Eat alone. Come home. Watch TV. Sleep. Repeat. The job was unremarkable, a desk position at a small marketing firm. Her coworkers were polite but distant, their conversations flowing effortlessly in Dutch while Y/N fumbled with basic phrases. She spent her lunch breaks alone, scrolling through her phone and pretending not to notice the sidelong glances from her colleagues.

The weekends offered a slight reprieve. Y/N explored the city, wandering through parks, visiting museums, and losing herself in the maze of canals. She loved the quiet moments, the freedom to go wherever she wanted without answering to anyone. But even in the midst of Amsterdam’s beauty, she couldn’t shake the loneliness that clung to her like a shadow.

Her mother called almost every day, and every call left Y/N feeling more drained than the last. Her siblings would sometimes grab the phone, their voices bright and eager as they told her about school and their friends. Those moments were the only ones that brought a genuine smile to her face. She missed them terribly, but the thought of going back—of returning to that stifling environment—was unthinkable.

One evening, as she sat on the couch with a bowl of instant noodles, her phone buzzed again. She didn’t even need to look to know who it was.

“Hello?” she answered, her voice flat.

“Y/N, have you thought about what I said?” her mother’s voice was softer this time, almost pleading. “You don’t have to stay there. You can come home. We need you here.”

“I can’t,” Y/N said, her throat tightening. “I need to do this for myself.”

“Your siblings miss you. I miss you.”

Y/N’s grip on the phone tightened. “I miss you too. But I can’t come back. Not now.”

There was a long pause on the other end of the line. “Fine,” her mother said, her tone laced with disappointment. “Do what you want.”

The call ended, leaving Y/N feeling hollow. She set the phone down and leaned back, staring at the ceiling. She’d thought putting distance between them would help, but the weight of her mother’s expectations still bore down on her, even from thousands of miles away.

--

The following week, Y/N found herself walking aimlessly through Vondelpark, the crisp autumn air a welcome distraction from the thoughts swirling in her head. She’d taken to spending her lunch breaks there, finding solace in the rustling leaves and the laughter of children playing nearby.

She sat on a bench, pulling out a small notebook she’d started carrying with her. Writing had always been a form of escape for her, a way to process the chaos in her mind. She scribbled down a few lines, her thoughts tumbling onto the page:

I just want to feel loved. Truly loved. Not out of obligation or guilt. Loved for who I am, not for what I can do for others.

She stared at the words, her chest tightening. It felt selfish to admit, but it was the truth. For once in her life, she wanted someone to take care of her, to make her feel safe. She wanted what she’d never had—unconditional love.

⋆｡ ﾟ☁︎｡ ⋆｡ ﾟ☾ ﾟ｡ ⋆

The morning sunlight poured through the window of the cozy townhouse nestled in a quiet neighborhood of Amsterdam. Jimin stretched lazily, her fingers brushing against the edge of her soft duvet. The faint aroma of freshly brewed coffee drifted up from the kitchen, signaling the start of another peaceful day.

Her family was always an anchor of stability in her life. Her mother, a warm and nurturing presence, was undoubtedly the heart of their home. She had a knack for making anyone feel welcome, whether it was through her perfectly brewed tea or her way of listening that made you feel truly heard. Jimin’s father balanced her mother’s kindness with his grounded practicality, always ready with a steady hand or a piece of advice. Her older sister, Hana, was her confidante and occasional partner-in-crime, always there to lend an ear or offer her unabashed honesty. Together, they formed a bubble of unconditional love that Jimin knew she was lucky to have.

Yet, even with this steadfast support system, a void lingered in her heart—an unspoken yearning for someone to share her life with.

Jimin rose from her bed, padding over to the window to look out at the serene street below. “Another day,” she murmured to herself. She glanced at her phone to see a string of messages from her best friends lighting up the screen.

Aeri: “Morning! Don’t forget, you’re walking Cooper today.”

Minjeong: “Bet she forgets and we have to chase the dog again.”

Yizhuo: “Minjeong’s just mad because Cooper likes Jimin better.”

Jimin chuckled, her heart lightening. Her friends were like family. They had been inseparable since childhood, navigating the ups and downs of life together. If her family provided her foundation, her friends were the walls and roof that sheltered her from life’s storms. But even with them, Jimin felt that persistent ache for something… or someone… she couldn’t quite name.

--

After a quick breakfast, Jimin arrived at Aeri’s house to pick up Cooper, Aeri’s spirited greyhound. Cooper bounded up to her as soon as she stepped through the door, his tail wagging furiously.

“Hey, buddy!” Jimin crouched down to ruffle his fur, earning a happy bark. “Ready for a walk?”

Aeri leaned against the doorway, smirking. “You’re spoiling him, you know. He’ll never want to come back to me at this rate.”

“Can you blame him? I’m way more fun,” Jimin teased, clipping on Cooper's leash.

“Just don’t lose him,” Aeri called as Jimin and Cooper headed out.

The park was a short walk from Aeri’s place, a lush expanse of greenery dotted with families, joggers, and couples enjoying the crisp morning air. Cooper tugged at the leash, eager to explore. Jimin let him lead the way, her thoughts drifting.

As much as she loved her life, it often felt… predictable. Her days were filled with love and laughter, but there was a part of her that craved something more. She wanted to be the kind of person who could offer someone the same sense of warmth and security her family had always given her. She wanted someone to come home to, someone to share her quiet moments with, someone who would trust her to take care of them.

“Maybe I’m just a hopeless romantic,” she mused aloud, earning a curious tilt of Cooper’s head.

--

Later that afternoon, Jimin met up with her friends at their favorite café. The cozy space buzzed with chatter, the scent of freshly baked pastries mingling with the rich aroma of coffee. Minjeong was already seated, scrolling through her phone, while Yizhuo animatedly recounted a story to Aeri.

“You’re late,” Minjeong said without looking up as Jimin slid into the booth.

“Cooper wanted to inspect every single tree in the park,” Jimin replied, grinning.

“Sure he did,” Minjeong said dryly, but the corners of her mouth twitched in amusement.

“Speaking of dogs,” Aeri began, “have you guys noticed how much Jimin’s been sighing lately? Like a lovesick puppy?”

Jimin’s cheeks flushed. “I have not!”

“Oh, come on,” Yizhuo said, leaning forward with a mischievous grin. “You’ve got that faraway look in your eyes. Spill. Is there someone you’ve got your eye on?”

“No,” Jimin said firmly, but her friends weren’t convinced.

“You know,” Aeri said thoughtfully, “it’s okay to admit you’re looking for someone. We all know you’ve got that whole ‘caretaker’ thing going on. You’d be a great girlfriend.”

Jimin groaned. “Why do I even hang out with you guys?”

“Because you love us,” Yizhuo quipped.

Despite their teasing, Jimin knew they were right. She was looking for someone, even if she didn’t know who yet.

--

That night, Jimin sat on her bed, scrolling aimlessly through her phone. She paused on a photo from the park earlier that day—Cooper sniffing a patch of flowers, his grey fur glowing in the sunlight. It was such a simple moment, yet it had brought her so much joy.

“Maybe that’s all I’m missing,” she thought. “Someone to share the little moments with.”

She set her phone down and lay back, staring at the ceiling. Her life was full of love and laughter, but she couldn’t shake the feeling that there was someone out there who needed her just as much as she needed them.

And maybe, just maybe, she would find them.

With that thought, Jimin drifted off to sleep, her dreams filled with fleeting images of laughter, warmth, and a pair of eyes she hadn’t yet met but somehow already knew.

⋆｡ ﾟ☁︎｡ ⋆｡ ﾟ☾ ﾟ｡ ⋆

The morning air was crisp and fresh, carrying the faint scent of flowers blooming across the park. Jimin tugged at the leash in her hand, glancing down at the sleek Greyhound trotting alongside her. Cooper’s thin frame and long legs made him look almost regal, but his excitement for sniffing every patch of grass made Jimin chuckle.

"Cooper, can we stick to the path for once?" Jimin muttered, gently tugging the leash as the Greyhound veered toward another tree.

She’d agreed to take Aeri’s dog out for a walk, something she didn’t mind doing since it gave her an excuse to enjoy the peaceful weekend morning. The park was alive with activity—families on picnic blankets, joggers weaving through the paths, and couples strolling hand in hand.

Jimin barely noticed the lone figure sitting on the edge of the fountain, head bowed as if lost in thought. You had come to the park seeking a bit of calm amidst the chaos of adjusting to your new life. The sound of the fountain’s gentle splashes mixed with the distant chatter of park-goers, providing a soothing backdrop to your wandering thoughts.

Suddenly, a blur of movement snapped you out of your reverie. Before you could react, a Greyhound barreled toward you, its leash trailing behind it.

"Whoa!" you yelped as the dog jumped up, placing his paws on your lap and eagerly licking your face.

"Cooper!" a voice rang out, frantic and apologetic.

Despite the surprise, a laugh bubbled up from your chest. "Okay, okay! I get it, you’re excited!" you said, gently scratching the dog behind his ears.

Jimin sprinted toward you, her heart pounding from both exertion and embarrassment. She grabbed Cooper’s leash and tugged gently. "Cooper, af! Kom eraf!"

At her command, Cooper obediently stepped back, though his tail wagged with unbridled enthusiasm.

"I am so, so sorry!" Jimin blurted, her words spilling out in Dutch. "Hij doet dit normaal gesproken niet—uh, sorry! I mean... uh..."

She froze as soon as you looked up, her breath catching. Your laughter had already left her stunned, but now, meeting your gaze for the first time, Jimin felt her heart lurch. You were looking at her with a mix of amusement and curiosity, your eyes sparkling in a way that made her brain short-circuit.

Realizing she’d spoken Dutch, you blinked, scrambling to piece together the few words you recognized. "Sorry... I don’t speak Dutch," you said, your voice hesitant but kind.

Jimin’s face turned crimson. "Oh! Oh, right! English, sorry," she stammered, switching languages. "He doesn’t usually do this—I mean, he’s usually... better behaved?"

She winced at how clunky her words sounded, her usual confidence completely abandoning her under your gaze.

"It’s okay," you said, a smile tugging at your lips. You brushed some dog hair off your clothes. "He’s sweet. Maybe a little too enthusiastic, but sweet."

Jimin exhaled a laugh, relief washing over her. "Yeah, that’s Cooper for you. Always ready to make an impression."

You crouched slightly, giving the Greyhound one last pat. "Well, he succeeded. Is he yours?"

Jimin shook her head quickly, glad to have a straightforward question to answer. "No, he’s not mine. I’m just watching him for a friend. I’m Jimin, by the way."

You hesitated for a moment, unsure if you should introduce yourself. But there was something disarming about her—the way she seemed both nervous and sincere.

"Y/N," you said, standing and offering your hand.

Jimin hesitated before taking it, her touch warm and a little unsure. "Nice to meet you, Y/N. And I really am sorry about Cooper."

"Really, it’s fine," you replied, waving off her concern. "Honestly, I needed a distraction today. He’s adorable."

Jimin glanced at Cooper, who was now sitting obediently, his tail wagging lazily. "Adorable is one way to put it. He’s also a bit of a menace."

You laughed softly, and Jimin felt her chest tighten. The sound was so genuine, like a spark of light cutting through her nerves.

"So," Jimin began, shifting her weight awkwardly, "are you touring here?"

You tilted your head, the cliché making you grin. "Not really. I actually just moved a couple weeks ago, so I’m still figuring things out."

"Wow," Jimin said, genuinely impressed. "That’s a big change. How are you finding it so far?"

You shrugged, your gaze drifting toward the fountain. "It’s... an adjustment. Some days are harder than others."

Something in your tone made Jimin pause. She wanted to ask more, to know why your smile seemed tinged with something wistful. But instead, she nodded, her voice gentle. "I can imagine. If you ever need tips or recommendations, I’m kind of an expert. Born and raised here."

Your smile softened, and for the first time in weeks, you felt a little less like an outsider. "I might take you up on that."

“Well, I really feel like I owe you something for all this,” Jimin said, gesturing to Cooper, who wagged his tail innocently as if he weren’t the culprit of the chaos.

Y/N waved it off, awkwardly chuckling. “Really, it’s fine. No need to apologize.”

Jimin shook her head, determination shining in her eyes. “How about I buy you a coffee? My treat. I insist. That way we can start the tour”

Y/N hesitated, glancing down at her phone as if she could escape the situation. “You don’t have to—”

“I know I don’t have to,” Jimin interrupted gently, “but I want to. Please?”

Faced with Jimin’s earnest smile, Y/N found herself nodding despite her reservations. “Okay, sure.”

--

They walked together to a small café nearby, Cooper trotting beside them, now behaving like a model citizen. The atmosphere was a little awkward at first; Y/N wasn’t used to spontaneous social interactions, especially with strangers.

Jimin, sensing the tension, started to ramble. “So, do you live around here? Or were you just visiting the park?”

“I live close by,” Y/N replied, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. “I like to come here on weekends to unwind.”

“That’s nice. I come here pretty often too. Well, not usually with Cooper—that’s Aeri’s dog. She’s one of my best friends. She couldn’t walk him today, so here I am.”

Y/N nodded, her lips twitching into a small smile. “He’s sweet. A little intense, but sweet.”

Jimin grinned. “That’s a perfect description of him.”

By the time they reached the café, Jimin had managed to pull a few more details out of Y/N: she’s taking intensive dutch classes, worked a remote job, and didn’t know many people yet.

Inside the cozy café, they sat by a window with steaming cups of coffee in front of them. Cooper lay sprawled under the table, finally tired out.

Jimin shared funny stories about Cooper and her friends, while Y/N talked about her favorite hobbies and places she’d discovered so far.

Jimin found herself captivated by Y/N’s laughter. It wasn’t loud or boisterous, but it was genuine, and Jimin decided she wanted to hear it as often as possible.

By the time their cups were empty, Jimin didn’t want the moment to end. As they stepped out of the café, she took a deep breath.

“Can I—uh—get your number?” Jimin asked, scratching the back of her neck nervously. “You know, so I can let you know when Cooper’s planning his next ambush.”

Y/N laughed, the corners of her eyes crinkling. “Sure.”

They exchanged numbers, and Jimin couldn’t help the wide grin that spread across her face.

As they parted ways, Jimin did a little jump of happiness. Hearing a giggle, she looked back to see that Y/N was still there, looking at her. Blushing, she clumsily waved goodbye and walked Cooper back to Aeri’s place, her heart feeling lighter than it had in a long time.

Y/N watched her retreating figure, a faint smile lingering on her lips. It had been a long time since she felt this kind of warmth.

⋆｡ ﾟ☁︎｡ ⋆｡ ﾟ☾ ﾟ｡ ⋆

The weekend had been unusually lively for you, though not in the traditional sense. Your apartment remained your sanctuary, the world outside still too daunting to face for long. Yet, your phone buzzed more frequently than it had in months, each notification bringing a smile to your face.

Jimin: "Do you think Cooper knows he’s a Greyhound, or does he just think he’s a really fast human?" You snorted at the absurdity of her question, shaking your head as you replied.

You: "Fast human, 100%. With questionable manners."

Jimin: "Hey, Cooper has AMAZING manners! He only licked your face because he sensed you’re nice." Jimin: "…Or maybe he just thought you smelled good. Either way, he’s the goodest boy!"

Her messages were a mix of humor and sweetness, each one pulling you further out of the fog that had settled over your mind since you’d arrived in this new country. It was strange how quickly Jimin had become a presence in your life. Her texts were the highlight of your days, her playful energy a stark contrast to the loneliness you often felt.

You spent most of Saturday exchanging messages with her, laughing at her jokes and learning more about her life. She told you about Cooper’s quirks, her friends’ antics, and her favorite spots in the city. It was easy, effortless even, and you found yourself wishing you could hold onto this feeling a little longer.

Sunday morning was no different. Jimin sent you a picture of Cooper lounging on her couch, his long legs sprawled awkwardly.

Jimin: "Look at this absolute model. He’s posing for Vogue, clearly." You: "GQ, maybe. He’s got the ‘brooding male lead’ look down."

Your laughter filled the quiet apartment, a sound that had been absent for far too long. But just as you were settling into the comfort of this new routine, your phone buzzed again, and your heart sank.

Mom.

The name on the screen felt heavier than it should have, and for a moment, you considered letting it go to voicemail. But the guilt crept in quickly, as it always did, and you sighed, swiping to answer.

“Hello?” you said, keeping your tone neutral.

“Y/N,” your mom’s voice came through, sharp and impatient. “Finally. Do you ever check your phone? I’ve been calling all weekend!”

You closed your eyes, already bracing yourself for the familiar cycle. “I’ve been busy, Mom,” you said, trying to keep your voice steady. “Just trying to get things done.”

“Busy?” she scoffed. “Too busy to call your own mother? You have time to move halfway across the world but not to pick up the phone?”

Her words stung, as they always did, but you forced yourself to stay calm. “I’m not ignoring you,” you said carefully. “I just needed some time for myself.”

“Time for yourself,” she repeated, her tone dripping with disdain. “And what about your family, Y/N? What about me? Do you ever think about how hard it is for me to keep everything together without you?”

Your chest tightened, the familiar guilt settling in like an old friend. “Mom, I didn’t leave to hurt you. I just needed space to figure things out.”

“Space,” she said bitterly. “From your own family? From the mother who’s done everything for you? Do you even care about us anymore?”

Her words felt like a punch to the gut, but you bit your tongue, refusing to let the frustration spill out. “I do care,” you said softly. “I just—”

“Forget it,” she snapped, cutting you off. “You clearly don’t have time for me. I’ll let you get back to your oh-so-busy life.”

The line went dead before you could respond. You stared at the phone in your hand, the silence in the room now deafening. You knew you hadn’t done anything wrong, but the weight of her words pressed down on you all the same.

You tried to shake off the heaviness, but it clung to you like a shadow. Desperate for a distraction, you opened your chat with Jimin, your fingers hovering over the keyboard.

You: "Are you free for a call?"

Her reply came almost instantly.

Jimin: "Always! Give me 5 mins to grab headphones."

You smiled faintly at her eagerness, even as your chest still felt tight. A few moments later, your phone buzzed with an incoming call. You hesitated for a second before answering.

“Hey,” Jimin’s voice was bright and cheerful, a stark contrast to your mood.

“Hi,” you said softly, your voice quieter than usual.

There was a pause on the other end, and you could almost feel her concern. “Are you okay?” she asked gently.

You hesitated, not ready to unpack the storm of emotions swirling inside you. “I don’t really want to talk about it,” you admitted.

Jimin didn’t press, her voice lightening instead. “That’s okay. Want me to tell you about how Cooper tried to steal my breakfast this morning?”

A small smile tugged at your lips. “Yeah. Tell me everything.”

And just like that, Jimin launched into a dramatic retelling of her morning, complete with exaggerated impressions of Cooper’s antics. Her voice was animated, full of warmth and humor, and it didn’t take long for her stories to pull you out of your head.

“I swear, if he had opposable thumbs, he’d be unstoppable,” Jimin said, finishing her tale of how Cooper managed to knock her cereal bowl off the counter.

You laughed, the sound feeling almost foreign after the weight of the day. “Maybe you should hire him as a food critic. He’s clearly got opinions.”

Jimin gasped theatrically. “Brilliant idea. I’ll start his blog tomorrow: Cooper’s Culinary Adventures.”

The conversation shifted to lighter topics—your favorite foods, her favorite spots in the city, and a heated debate about whether pineapple belonged on pizza (Jimin was adamantly against it, to your amusement).

As the hours slipped by, you found yourself relaxing more and more, the tightness in your chest easing with each passing moment.

“Thanks for this,” you said quietly, interrupting her mid-sentence.

“For what?” Jimin asked, her voice genuinely puzzled.

“For... just being here,” you admitted. “I didn’t realize how much I needed this.”

Her voice softened. “Hey, anytime. Really. I like talking to you.”

Your heart warmed at her sincerity, and for the first time that day, the weight of your mom’s words didn’t feel so crushing.

The call stretched late into the night, neither of you wanting to hang up. Jimin’s laughter filled the empty corners of your apartment, her warmth seeping through the phone and wrapping around you like a comforting blanket.

By the time you finally said goodnight, the heaviness in your chest had lifted

⋆｡ ﾟ☁︎｡ ⋆｡ ﾟ☾ ﾟ｡ ⋆

The scent of spices and sizzling food filled the air as you approached Jimin’s apartment. Your stomach churned—not from hunger, but from nerves. Meeting Jimin’s friends felt like stepping into uncharted territory. You weren’t sure if you were ready for this yet, but Jimin had insisted.

“They’re going to love you,” she’d said, her voice warm and confident over the phone.

You adjusted your grip on the small bouquet of flowers you’d brought—a gesture you hoped would make a good first impression. Maybe this would be okay.

When the door swung open, Jimin stood there, dressed in a simple yet effortlessly stylish sweater and jeans. Her warm smile eased some of your tension immediately. “Hey, you made it!” she said, stepping aside to let you in.

Her apartment was cozy, with string lights lining the walls and the faint hum of music playing in the background. The voices of her friends carried from the kitchen, punctuated by bursts of laughter.

“You didn’t have to bring flowers,” Jimin said, taking the bouquet from your hands. “But they’re so pretty. Thank you!”

“I just thought it’d be nice,” you replied, your voice quiet but steady.

Jimin placed a comforting hand on your shoulder. “Seriously, they’re going to love you. Promise.”

You nodded, though the knot of anxiety in your stomach remained as you followed her deeper into the apartment.

As you entered the kitchen, three people were clustered around a counter piled high with food. Their laughter faded as Jimin announced your arrival.

“Guys, this is Y/N,” she said, her tone bright and cheerful.

Three pairs of eyes turned toward you. For a split second, you wanted to retreat, but their faces broke into warm smiles that made you feel a little less out of place.

“Finally!” said a tall girl with sharp features and an easy grin. “Jimin’s been talking about you nonstop. I’m Aeri, by the way.”

“Minjeong,” another introduced herself, shorter with a mischievous twinkle in her eye. “Nice to meet the person who’s been monopolizing Jimin’s attention lately.”

“Don’t mind them,” the last one said, her tone playful. She was bubbly and energetic, her bright smile instantly infectious. “I’m Yizhuo. And I promise we’re not that scary. Just a little.”

You smiled shyly, feeling the heat rise to your cheeks. “It’s nice to meet you all,” you said, clutching the strap of your bag tightly.

“Come on, sit down,” Aeri said, gesturing to the table. “Jimin’s been cooking all day. She refuses to let us help, so if it’s bad, we’re blaming her.”

“Excuse me!” Jimin interjected, hands on her hips. “You’re the one who burned the rice the last time we let you cook.”

The banter flew back and forth easily, the teasing and laughter filling the room with a warmth that started to chip away at your nerves.

The table was laden with dishes—steaming bowls of pasta, fresh salad, and crispy garlic bread. As you took a seat, you noticed the effort Jimin had put into making everything perfect.

“This looks amazing,” you said, glancing at her.

She grinned. “Thanks. Cooking is kind of my thing.”

As everyone dug in, the conversation flowed effortlessly. They teased Jimin mercilessly, recounting stories that had you laughing despite yourself.

“Did she tell you about the time she fell into the canal trying to impress someone?” Minjeong asked, her grin wicked.

“Hey!” Jimin protested, her cheeks flushing. “That was years ago!”

“And yet, here we are,” Aeri said, smirking.

“She never learns,” Yizhuo added. “The other day, she tripped over Cooper’s leash and spilled coffee all over herself.”

“That wasn’t my fault! Cooper’s deceptively strong!” Jimin defended, throwing a napkin at Yizhuo.

“So, Y/N,” Aeri said, leaning forward with a curious grin, “what’s your deal? How’d you end up stuck with Jimin?”

You hesitated, but their faces were open and inviting. “We met at the park,” you said, glancing at Jimin. “Your dog kind of ambushed me.”

Classic Cooper,” Minjeong said, shaking her head with mock exasperation.

“Sounds about right,” Yizhuo agreed. “But hey, at least something good came out of it.”

You smiled, feeling a little more comfortable as the conversation turned to lighter topics—favorite movies, travel destinations, and the best local restaurants.

At one point, Yizhuo turned to you with a mischievous grin. “So, Jimin’s been on her best behavior, right? No embarrassing serenades or awkward pickup lines?”

“Yizhuo!” Jimin groaned, burying her face in her hands.

You laughed softly. “She’s been great. No serenades yet.”

“Key word: yet,” Minjeong teased, earning another napkin thrown her way.

As the night went on, you felt the weight of your anxiety begin to lift. Jimin’s friends had a way of making you feel like you belonged, their easy camaraderie wrapping around you like a warm blanket.

By the time the plates were cleared and everyone settled into a more relaxed conversation, you found yourself leaning back in your chair, feeling a sense of comfort you hadn’t felt in a long time.

“So,” Aeri said, raising her glass with a teasing grin, “if Jimin ever messes this up, just know we’re all here to steal you for ourselves. No pressure, Jimin.”

Jimin groaned dramatically. “Can you guys not scare her away?”

You couldn’t help but laugh, the sound light and genuine. “I think I’ll stick around for now,” you said, glancing at Jimin with a soft smile.

Her eyes met yours, and for a moment, the room seemed to fade away.

⋆｡ ﾟ☁︎｡ ⋆｡ ﾟ☾ ﾟ｡ ⋆

The evening sun cast a golden glow over the city as you and Jimin strolled through a quiet street, the rhythmic hum of bicycles filling the air. The two of you had spent the day wandering through local shops, sharing little anecdotes and indulging in pastries from a nearby bakery. With every moment, you felt a little lighter, your laughter coming more easily around her.

“You have powdered sugar on your face,” Jimin said, pointing at the corner of your mouth with a teasing smile.

“Where?” you asked, swiping at your cheek.

Jimin shook her head, chuckling. “No, not there. Here—” She reached out, her thumb brushing gently against your skin. The touch was brief but enough to make your cheeks warm.

“Thanks,” you mumbled, looking away to hide your flustered expression.

Jimin’s grin widened, but she didn’t tease you further. “I’m just saying, it’s a sign you enjoyed the pastry.”

“Maybe I did,” you replied, your voice softer now.

The two of you continued walking, the atmosphere comfortable and filled with the kind of quiet contentment that didn’t need words. But as you reached a small bench by the canal, your phone buzzed in your pocket, pulling you out of the moment.

You hesitated before pulling it out. The screen lit up with a name that made your heart sink: Mom. For a moment, you considered letting it go to voicemail. But the guilt that always lingered when you ignored her calls was too heavy to bear.

“Sorry, I have to take this,” you said, stepping away from Jimin.

Her brow furrowed slightly, but she nodded. “Take your time.”

You walked a few paces away, answering the call with a tentative, “Hello?”

Your mom’s voice came through, sharp and insistent. “Y/N, finally. I’ve been calling all day. Why haven’t you answered?”

“I’ve been busy,” you said, keeping your tone as neutral as possible.

“Busy? What could you possibly be doing that’s more important than answering your mother?” she demanded, her voice rising slightly.

You sighed, already feeling the familiar weight settle over your chest. “I’m just out right now. I can’t talk long.”

“Out? With who? Are you making bad decisions again?” she asked, the accusation in her tone cutting deep.

“No, Mom,” you said firmly, trying to keep your composure. “I’m just with a friend.”

Your mom’s tone softened slightly, but the edge remained. “You’re always so distant these days. I don’t understand why you can’t make more time for your family. Do you even care about us anymore?”

The words hit you like a punch to the gut. “Of course I care,” you said, your voice quieter now. “But I’m trying to build my own life here. I need space.”

“Space?” she repeated, her voice dripping with disbelief. “You’ve had all the space in the world since you left. But do you even think about how hard this has been for us? For me?”

You closed your eyes, swallowing the lump in your throat. “Mom, I—”

“No, Y/N. You don’t understand. You’ve abandoned us, and now you’re too busy to even talk? What kind of daughter does that?”

Her words, laced with guilt and frustration, made your grip on the phone tighten. “I’m trying my best,” you said, your voice breaking slightly.

“Clearly, your best isn’t enough,” she said sharply before the line went dead.

You stared at your phone, the screen dimming as the call ended. The knot in your stomach tightened, and the guilt clawed at you, even though you knew you hadn’t done anything wrong.

You turned back toward Jimin, who was watching you with concern. She stood as you approached, her expression soft.

“Everything okay?” she asked gently.

You tried to nod, but the lump in your throat made it impossible to speak. Instead, you sat on the bench, staring at the ground.

Jimin hesitated for a moment before sitting beside you. She didn’t press you for details, but her presence was steady and comforting.

You forced a small smile, though it didn’t quite reach your eyes. “Yeah, it’s fine.”

Jimin studied you for a moment, her gaze searching. “You sure?”

You hesitated, then nodded quickly. “I just don’t want to talk about it.”

“Okay,” she said softly, her tone understanding. She didn’t push, didn’t pry, and you were grateful for it.

imin didn’t look away, though, her presence steady and grounding.

After a while, she broke the quiet. “You know, if Cooper were here, he’d probably be trying to sit on your lap right now. All 30 kilograms of him.”

You couldn’t help but let out a small laugh. “Yeah? Sounds like a handful.”

Jimin grinned, the corners of her eyes crinkling. “He is. But he’s also a giant baby. Last week, he tried to hide behind me because he saw a pigeon.”

“A pigeon?” you repeated, laughter bubbling up despite the heaviness in your chest.

Jimin’s smile faltered, her tone turning sheepish. “Okay, so... I might’ve been a little scared, too.”

You blinked, caught off guard. “Wait, are you telling me you’re afraid of pigeons?”

Jimin groaned, burying her face in her hands. “It’s not a fear! It’s just... they’re unpredictable, okay? They move too fast, and they’re always staring at you like they know your secrets.”

You burst out laughing, the sound startling even yourself. “That’s the most ridiculous thing I’ve ever heard.”

“Well, I’m glad my suffering amuses you,” Jimin said with a mock pout, though the sparkle in her eyes betrayed her teasing.

“Seriously, though,” you said, your laughter subsiding into a grin, “a Greyhound and a grown woman scared of a pigeon? That’s a story for the ages.”

“Hey, don’t knock it until you’ve been on the receiving end of a pigeon’s wrath,” Jimin said, crossing her arms in mock indignation.

Her animated expressions and playful tone pulled you further away from the storm of emotions left by the call. The ache in your chest didn’t disappear, but it dulled under the warmth of Jimin’s company.

“Thank you,” you said suddenly, your voice quiet but sincere.

Jimin looked at you, her brows lifting in surprise. “For what?”

“For just... being here,” you said, meeting her gaze briefly before looking away.

A soft smile spread across her face. “Always.”

The rest of the evening passed in a blur of lighthearted conversation and quiet companionship. Jimin didn’t push you to share more, didn’t try to fix what she couldn’t understand. Instead, she simply stayed by your side, her presence a steady reassurance that you didn’t have to face everything alone.

And for now, that was enough.

⋆｡ ﾟ☁︎｡ ⋆｡ ﾟ☾ ﾟ｡ ⋆

The café was bustling with life, the hum of conversation mixing with the clatter of coffee cups and the hiss of the espresso machine. You and Jimin had claimed a small table by the window, the sunlight streaming in and casting a warm glow on her features.

As always, Jimin had a way of making you feel at ease, her laughter contagious and her stories brimming with energy. But today, your mind was elsewhere, pulled into a spiral you couldn’t seem to escape.

It started when a girl had walked up to your table—a tall, confident woman with a dazzling smile. She greeted Jimin with an ease that spoke of familiarity, her tone playful as they exchanged a few quick jokes. You tried to focus on your coffee, pretending the interaction didn’t bother you, but the way Jimin’s face lit up as they talked sent a pang of unease through your chest.

The woman left as quickly as she’d arrived, waving goodbye to Jimin with a wink. Jimin returned to your conversation seamlessly, completely unaware of the way your heart was now hammering in your chest.

You told yourself it didn’t matter. Jimin wasn’t yours; you weren’t dating. She was just being her naturally kind and warm self. But the thought didn’t stop the flood of doubts that followed.

Why would someone like Jimin ever want someone like you?

You stirred your coffee absentmindedly, your gaze fixed on the swirling liquid. Jimin’s voice cut through your thoughts.

“Y/N?”

You looked up, startled to find her watching you with concern.

“Everything okay? You’ve been quiet.”

You forced a smile, hoping it looked convincing. “Yeah, I’m fine. Just tired.”

Jimin didn’t look convinced, but she didn’t press further. Instead, she launched into a story about her friend’s latest antics, her animated gestures drawing a small, genuine laugh from you.

But even as you smiled, the doubts lingered.

--

You lay in bed, staring at the ceiling as your thoughts raced. Images of Jimin laughing with that woman played on a loop in your mind, each one twisting the knife of insecurity a little deeper.

You reminded yourself again that Jimin wasn’t yours. She had every right to talk to whoever she wanted. But no matter how much you reasoned with yourself, the feelings wouldn’t go away.

It wasn’t just jealousy—it was something deeper, more insidious. A voice in your head whispered that you weren’t good enough for someone like Jimin. That she deserved someone brighter, someone more put together, someone who didn’t carry the baggage you did.

By the time morning came, the weight of those thoughts felt unbearable.

--

Jimin noticed immediately when you met up that afternoon. She always noticed.

“You’re quiet again,” she said, tilting her head as the two of you walked along the canal. “Are you sure everything’s okay?”

You nodded quickly, avoiding her gaze. “Yeah, I’m fine.”

But Jimin stopped walking, her hand gently catching your arm to stop you too.

“Y/N,” she said softly, her eyes searching yours. “Talk to me. What’s going on?”

You hesitated, your first instinct to deflect. But the concern in her eyes made it impossible to lie.

“It’s nothing, really,” you said, your voice shaky. “I’m just... in my head, I guess.”

Jimin didn’t let go of your arm. “In your head about what?”

You looked away, your gaze fixed on the water. “I just... I feel like I don’t measure up sometimes. Like I’m not... enough.”

The words felt heavy as they left your mouth, and you braced yourself for her reaction.

But Jimin didn’t look at you with pity or disbelief. She looked at you with so much care it almost hurt.

“Why would you think that?” she asked gently.

You shrugged, still unable to meet her gaze. “Because it’s true. I mean, look at you—you’re amazing, Jimin. You’re kind and beautiful and confident. You could have anyone you wanted. Why would you ever...”

You trailed off, unable to finish the thought.

Jimin stepped closer, her hand moving from your arm to your hand. Her touch was steady, grounding.

“Hey,” she said, her voice firm but kind. “Don’t do that. Don’t compare yourself to anyone else. You’re amazing too, Y/N.”

You shook your head, your throat tightening. “You don’t understand. I’m a mess, Jimin. I’ve got so much baggage, and I’m not... I’m not like you.”

Jimin squeezed your hand, her grip warm and reassuring. “You’re right—you’re not like me. And that’s a good thing. I don’t want you to be like me, Y/N. I want you to be you.”

Her words made your chest tighten, the sincerity in her voice breaking through the wall you’d built around yourself.

“But what if me isn’t enough?” you whispered, the question breaking your voice.

Jimin stepped closer, her other hand coming up to gently rest on your shoulder. “Y/N, you are more than enough. You’re kind, and funny, and smart. You make people feel seen and heard. You make me feel... happy. Really happy.”

You blinked, her words sinking in slowly. “I do?”

Jimin nodded, her eyes never leaving yours. “You do. Every time I see you, every time we talk, I feel like my day gets brighter. You don’t have to be anyone else or do anything special—you just have to be you. That’s enough for me.”

The lump in your throat grew, but this time it wasn’t from sadness. It was from the overwhelming warmth of Jimin’s words.

“Thank you,” you said softly, your voice trembling.

Jimin smiled, her hands giving yours a reassuring squeeze. “You don’t have to thank me. I just want you to see yourself the way I see you.”

For the first time in what felt like days, the weight on your chest began to lift. Jimin’s words didn’t erase your insecurities completely, but they made them feel smaller, more manageable.

“Can we... just keep walking for a bit?” you asked, needing a moment to process everything.

“Of course,” Jimin said, her smile gentle. She let go of your hand, but only to fall into step beside you, her presence steady and comforting.

As you walked together, the canal glinting in the afternoon sun, you realized something important: Jimin saw you—truly saw you—and she didn’t run away.

Maybe, just maybe, you could start seeing yourself the way she did.

⋆｡ ﾟ☁︎｡ ⋆｡ ﾟ☾ ﾟ｡ ⋆

Jimin had texted you the day after the call that had left you shaken. Her message was simple:

“I was thinking... maybe we could hang out this weekend? Just you and me? Nothing too fancy, just... a date?”

Your heart had skipped a beat at the word "date." It was the first time she’d said it outright, and though the thought filled you with nervous excitement, you agreed.

So now you stood in your apartment, nervously smoothing down your outfit, when a knock sounded at the door. You opened it to find Jimin standing there, a shy smile on her face—and a small bouquet of tulips in her hands.

“These are for you,” she said, her voice a little sheepish as she held them out.

Your eyes widened in surprise. “You brought me flowers?”

Jimin shrugged, her cheeks flushing. “I figured... I don’t know, I thought you might like them.”

A soft laugh escaped you as you took the bouquet, the vibrant petals a burst of color against the duller tones of your thoughts. “I do. Thank you, Jimin. They’re beautiful.”

Jimin’s smile grew, and she glanced down at her shoes. “I’m glad you like them.”

You invited her in, setting the flowers in a vase with water before grabbing your coat. “So, what’s the plan for this date?”

Jimin’s grin turned playful as she said, “You’ll see.”

The surprise didn’t last long, though. Instead of a bustling restaurant or a noisy café, Jimin led you to her apartment. The choice made your heart settle—it was thoughtful, quiet, and personal, exactly what you needed.

Her place was cozy and inviting, with soft lighting and a faint scent of vanilla. The living room was small but thoughtfully decorated, filled with plants and little knick-knacks that spoke to Jimin’s personality. A blanket was draped over the couch, and the coffee table was set with snacks, two glasses, and a bottle of wine.

“I figured we could keep it simple,” Jimin said as she slipped off her shoes. “Movies, snacks, maybe a little wine? No pressure, though—just whatever feels comfortable.”

“Perfect,” you said, meaning it. After the emotional turmoil of the past week, this kind of quiet, personal setting was exactly what you needed.

You settled on the couch, and Jimin joined you, a movie queued up but forgotten as the two of you started talking. Jimin had a way of making you feel at ease, her energy infectious and her laughter like a warm hug.

Hours passed without you even realizing it, the two of you sharing stories, teasing each other, and laughing until your sides hurt. But as the evening wore on, the warmth of the moment began to stir something deeper within you—a longing to share the parts of yourself you usually kept hidden.

Jimin must have sensed the shift because she turned to you, her smile softening. “You okay? You’ve gone quiet.”

You hesitated, your fingers picking at the edge of the blanket draped over your lap. “I’m okay... I think.”

Jimin didn’t push. She just waited, her presence steady and reassuring, giving you the space to find your words.

Taking a deep breath, you began. “I haven’t told you much about my past... about why I moved here.”

Jimin’s expression grew serious, her gaze never leaving yours. “You don’t have to if you’re not ready,” she said gently.

“I want to,” you said, surprising yourself with how certain you felt. “I think... I need to.”

Jimin nodded, her body angled toward you as if to shield you from the rest of the world.

“It’s my mom,” you started, your voice barely above a whisper. “She’s... she’s always been hard on me. Critical, demanding, never satisfied. Nothing I ever did was enough for her. And when I told her I was leaving, that I needed space, she made me feel like I was the worst person in the world for even thinking about it.”

Your hands trembled as you spoke, and Jimin reached out, her hand warm and steady on yours.

“She’d call me selfish, ungrateful,” you continued, your voice breaking. “She’d guilt me, make me feel like I owed her everything. And even now, when I’m here, she still calls and texts constantly, like she can’t let me go. And I...” You paused, swallowing hard. “I know I did the right thing by leaving, but I can’t stop feeling guilty. Like I failed her.”

Tears welled in your eyes, and you blinked them away, but they fell anyway. “And it’s not just her. It’s... it’s everything. She’s in my head, telling me I’m not good enough, that I’ll never be good enough. And no matter how much I try to drown it out, it’s always there.”

Jimin’s thumb brushed over your knuckles, her touch grounding you. “Y/N,” she said softly, her voice filled with emotion. “I’m so sorry you’ve been carrying this. You didn’t deserve it—not then, not now.”

Her words broke something in you, and the tears came harder, spilling down your cheeks in a torrent of emotion you couldn’t hold back. Jimin didn’t say anything more; she just pulled you into her arms, holding you tightly as you cried into her shoulder.

For the first time in a long time, you felt safe.

When the tears subsided, you pulled back, your face warm with embarrassment. “Sorry,” you mumbled, wiping at your cheeks.

“Don’t be,” Jimin said, her voice firm. “Never apologize for feeling what you feel.”

You nodded, your throat tight. “I just... I want to feel loved, Jimin. Really loved. Not judged or criticized or made to feel small. I want to feel... safe. And cared for. Is that too much to ask?”

Jimin’s hands cupped your face, her eyes shining with unshed tears. “Y/N, you deserve all of that and more. You deserve to be loved, to feel safe, to be cared for in every way. And I want to be the one to give that to you.”

Your breath hitched, your heart pounding in your chest. “Jimin...”

“I mean it,” she said, her voice trembling with sincerity. “I know it won’t be easy, and I know you’ve been hurt. But I promise you, I’ll be patient. I’ll prove to you every day that you’re worth loving, that you’re more than enough just as you are. You don’t have to do anything or be anything for me—you just have to be you. That’s all I need.”

Tears filled your eyes again, but this time they weren’t from pain. They were from the overwhelming warmth of her words, the kindness and love she poured into them.

“Why would you want to do that for me?” you asked, your voice barely audible.

Jimin smiled, her thumbs brushing away your tears. “Because you’re worth it. Because you’ve already made my world brighter just by being in it. And because... I think I’m falling for you.”

Her confession took your breath away, the weight of it settling in your chest like a warm glow.

Jimin took a deep breath, her hands still holding your face. “Y/N, will you be my girlfriend?”

Your heart swelled, a mix of fear and joy swirling inside you. But as you looked into her eyes, you saw nothing but sincerity and warmth.

“Yes,” you whispered, your voice trembling. “Yes, I will.”

A radiant smile spread across Jimin’s face, and before you could process what was happening, she leaned in, her lips brushing against yours.

The kiss was soft and gentle, a promise in itself. It felt like the walls you’d built around yourself were finally crumbling, replaced by the warmth and safety of Jimin’s embrace.

When she pulled back, her forehead rested against yours, her eyes closed as she whispered, “You’re safe with me, Y/N. Always.”

And for the first time in a long time, you believed it.

⋆｡ ﾟ☁︎｡ ⋆｡ ﾟ☾ ﾟ｡ ⋆

Life with Jimin was a series of small, joyful steps forward.

In the weeks following your first official date, the two of you settled into a rhythm. Weekends became sacred—a time for just the two of you. One weekend, you introduced Jimin to your favorite books, curling up on her couch as you read aloud together. Another, she taught you to make her grandmother’s favorite dumpling recipe, both of you laughing as you fumbled with the dough.

“You’re better at this than I thought,” Jimin teased, nudging you with her elbow as you successfully folded another dumpling.

“Natural talent,” you joked, feeling lighter than you had in years.

It wasn’t just weekends, though. Jimin had a way of weaving herself into your daily life in the most unexpected ways—sending you silly selfies in the middle of her workday, texting you goodnight every evening without fail, and making you laugh with her ridiculous dad jokes.

And you found yourself wanting to do the same for her. You started surprising her with little things—a playlist of songs you thought she’d like, a sketch of her dog that made her beam with delight, or simply a thoughtful text to brighten her day.

It was new, unfamiliar, but also wonderful. For the first time in a long time, you felt loved, cared for, and seen.

But as you were beginning to build something beautiful with Jimin, the shadows of your past refused to stay quiet.

It was a quiet Tuesday evening when your phone rang, the name on the screen freezing the smile on your face.

Mom.

You hesitated, your thumb hovering over the screen. But the part of you that still craved her approval won out, and you answered.

“Hi, Mom,” you said softly, your voice tinged with trepidation.

Her tone was sharp from the start. “So, you’re too busy to call your mother these days?”

You closed your eyes, the weight of her words settling on your chest. “I’ve been busy with work and... things. I’m sorry.”

“Sorry doesn’t cut it,” she snapped. “Do you even care about how I feel? Or is this just about you, as always?”

The accusations came quickly, each one sharper than the last. No matter how much you tried to defend yourself, to explain, she wouldn’t hear it.

“I gave you everything,” she said, her voice breaking into a sob. “And this is how you repay me? By running away, by abandoning me? You’re worthless. Selfish and worthless.”

Her words sliced through you, reopening old wounds you thought were healing. You managed to stammer out a weak “I have to go,” before hanging up, your hands trembling as you dropped the phone onto the table.

You tried to breathe, but your chest felt tight, each inhale jagged and shallow. The room seemed to close in around you, the weight of her words pressing down until you couldn’t think, couldn’t move.

Your phone buzzed on the table, but you didn’t look at it. You couldn’t.

--

Jimin frowned as she stared at her phone, her latest message to you still unread. She’d been texting you for over an hour with no response, and something about it didn’t sit right.

Normally, you’d at least send a quick reply, even if you were busy. But tonight... nothing.

She grabbed her coat, worry gnawing at her as she headed to your apartment.

When she arrived, she knocked on the door, but there was no answer. Her worry deepened.

“Y/N? It’s me,” she called out, her voice gentle but firm. “I’m coming in, okay?”

Using the spare key you’d given her just last week, she unlocked the door and stepped inside.

The sight that greeted her broke her heart.

You were sitting on the floor, your back against the couch, your knees drawn up to your chest. Your hands were clutching your head, and your breaths came in shallow, rapid gasps. Tears streaked your face, and your whole body trembled.

“Y/N,” Jimin said softly, dropping to her knees beside you.

Your eyes darted to her, wide and filled with panic, but you didn’t speak.

“It’s okay,” she said, her voice calm and soothing. “I’m here. You’re safe.”

She sat down beside you, close but not crowding, her presence steady and grounding. “Can you try to breathe with me?” she asked gently, demonstrating slow, deep breaths. “In for four, out for four. Just like that.”

You tried to match her breaths, but your chest felt too tight, the panic refusing to release its grip.

“It’s okay if it’s hard,” Jimin said, her voice unwavering. “Just keep trying. I’m not going anywhere.”

Her words were a lifeline, pulling you back, little by little, from the edge. After what felt like an eternity, your breaths began to slow, the tightness in your chest easing.

Jimin reached out, her hand hovering uncertainly before settling on your arm. “You’re doing so well,” she said softly.

The warmth of her touch grounded you further, and the tears started again, but this time they weren’t from panic. They were from exhaustion, from relief, from the overwhelming mix of emotions you couldn’t untangle.

Jimin didn’t speak; she just held you, her arms around you like a shield against the world.

When the tears subsided, you finally found your voice, though it was barely a whisper. “She called me worthless.”

Jimin stiffened slightly, but her embrace didn’t falter. “She’s wrong,” she said firmly, her voice filled with conviction. “You are not worthless, Y/N. Not even close.”

You shook your head, the weight of her words still pressing down on you. “It feels like I am. Like no matter what I do, it’s never enough.”

Jimin pulled back just enough to look at you, her hands cupping your face. “Listen to me,” she said, her tone steady and unyielding. “You are enough. More than enough. Your mom... she doesn’t see it, but that doesn’t mean it’s true. You are kind, thoughtful, strong, and resilient. And anyone who can’t see that doesn’t deserve to have a say in how you see yourself.”

Her words pierced through the fog of doubt and pain, reaching a part of you that still believed in the possibility of hope.

“I don’t know how to stop feeling like this,” you admitted, your voice trembling.

“You don’t have to figure it out alone,” Jimin said. “We’ll figure it out together. One step at a time, okay? You’re not alone in this, Y/N. I’m here, and I’m not going anywhere.”

Her unwavering support, her presence, it was more than you’d ever dared to hope for.

For the first time that night, you allowed yourself to lean into her, to let her hold you, to let yourself believe that maybe, just maybe, you weren’t as broken as you felt.

And as Jimin whispered words of comfort and love, you felt a glimmer of something you hadn’t felt in years.

Hope.

⋆｡ ﾟ☁︎｡ ⋆｡ ﾟ☾ ﾟ｡ ⋆

For the first time in what felt like forever, you stood at the edge of your past, ready to confront it.

The past few weeks with Jimin had been a revelation. She had shown you love and care in ways you hadn’t thought possible. With her, you felt safe enough to begin unraveling the tangled mess of your emotions and experiences.

But there was one thing you hadn’t yet faced: your mother.

Every time she called, you felt the same pull—the ache of wanting her approval mixed with the dread of her inevitable criticism. But you couldn’t live like this anymore. You couldn’t move forward with the weight of her words dragging you down.

And so, on a crisp Saturday afternoon, you decided it was time.

Jimin was by your side as always, sitting with you on the couch. Her presence was steady and reassuring, her hand warm in yours.

“Are you ready?” she asked softly, her dark eyes searching yours for any sign of doubt.

“No,” you admitted, your voice barely above a whisper. “But I need to do this.”

Jimin squeezed your hand. “You’re stronger than you think, Y/N. I’m right here, okay?”

You nodded, drawing strength from her unwavering support. With a deep breath, you picked up your phone and dialed.

It didn’t take long for your mom to answer. “Finally,” she said, her tone sharp. “I was starting to think you’d forgotten you had a mother.”

You closed your eyes, steadying yourself. “Hi, Mom. I wanted to talk.”

The words came out calmer than you expected, but your heart was racing.

“Oh? You have time for me now?” she said, her voice dripping with bitterness. “How kind of you.”

You fought the urge to apologize, knowing it would only validate her behavior. “I need to say some things,” you said instead, your voice firmer now.

“Say what?” she demanded. “How ungrateful you’ve been? How you’ve abandoned me?”

Jimin’s hand tightened around yours, grounding you as you pressed on. “No, Mom. I want to talk about how I feel. About how your words have affected me.”

Your mom scoffed. “Oh, here we go. Playing the victim now, are we?”

You clenched your free hand into a fist, forcing yourself to stay calm. “I’m not trying to play the victim. I just need you to understand that the way you’ve treated me—calling me worthless, criticizing everything I do—it’s hurt me. It’s made me feel like I’ll never be good enough.”

There was a beat of silence, and for a moment, you thought she might actually listen. But then she spoke, her voice trembling with indignation. “After everything I’ve done for you? I sacrificed so much, and this is the thanks I get? You’re so ungrateful.”

The guilt hit you like a wave, but Jimin’s gentle touch on your hand kept you steady. She leaned closer, pressing a soft kiss to your knuckles, her silent reminder that you weren’t alone.

“I’m not ungrateful,” you said, your voice breaking slightly. “I know you’ve done a lot for me. And I love you, Mom. I always will. But I don’t like the way you treat me. I don’t like how I feel when we talk.”

“How you feel?” she snapped. “What about how I feel? Do you even care?”

Tears pricked your eyes, but you refused to back down. “I do care, Mom. That’s why I’m saying this. But I can’t keep sacrificing my happiness just to make you feel better. I need space. I need time to heal.”

“Space?” she repeated, her voice rising. “You’re abandoning me again. Just like you always do.”

“I’m not abandoning you,” you said firmly, though your hands trembled. “I’m asking for space. I’m asking you to respect my boundaries. I can’t keep living like this. It’s not fair to me.”

Her voice cracked. “You don’t know what you’re saying. You’ll regret this.”

Maybe you would, but you also knew you couldn’t go back to how things were. “I’m sorry if this hurts you, Mom. But I have to put myself first for once.”

There was a long silence on the other end of the line. Finally, she spoke, her tone cold and distant. “Fine. Do whatever you want. Just don’t come crying to me when it all falls apart.”

The call ended abruptly, and for a moment, you stared at the phone in your hand, the silence ringing louder than her words.

Tears blurred your vision, but Jimin’s arms were around you before you could fall apart completely.

“You did it,” she murmured, her voice soft and full of pride.

“It doesn’t feel like it,” you said, your voice trembling. “It feels like I’ve just lost everything.”

“You haven’t lost everything,” she said gently, pulling back to look at you. “You’ve just taken the first step toward finding yourself again. And I’m so proud of you.”

Her words broke the dam inside you, and you leaned into her, crying into her shoulder as she held you. She didn’t try to fix it, didn’t tell you to stop crying. She just held you, letting you feel everything you needed to feel.

When the tears finally subsided, you sat together in silence, Jimin’s fingers tracing soothing patterns on your back.

“I feel so... empty,” you admitted.

“That’s okay,” she said. “Sometimes you have to let go of what’s hurting you to make room for something better. And I promise, Y/N, there’s so much better waiting for you.”

Her words stayed with you as the days passed. Slowly but surely, you began to feel lighter. The guilt and pain didn’t disappear overnight, but they began to fade, replaced by something new.

Hope.

--

One sunny afternoon, you and Jimin took Cooper for a walk in the park. The greyhound trotted happily ahead, his tail wagging as he sniffed every blade of grass.

The park was alive with the sounds of laughter and birdsong, the crisp autumn air filled with the scent of fallen leaves.

Jimin reached for your hand, lacing her fingers with yours as you walked. Her touch was warm, grounding, and you felt a quiet sense of peace settle over you.

As you rounded a bend in the path, you spotted three familiar faces waiting by a bench.

Minjeong waved excitedly, her grin as bright as the sun. Aeri and Yizhuo were beside her, both of them holding drinks from the nearby café.

“About time you showed up!” Yizhuo called out, her voice teasing.

“Cooper needed to inspect every tree,” Jimin said with a laugh, giving the leash a gentle tug.

You couldn’t help but smile as you approached them, the warmth of their welcome washing over you.

As you sat down with them, Cooper flopped onto the grass, content and happy. Jimin’s hand never left yours, her thumb brushing softly against your knuckles.

For the first time in years, you felt like you were exactly where you were meant to be.

Loved. Supported. Happy.

And as you laughed with your friends, Jimin’s hand in yours, you knew that this was just the beginning of something beautiful. a/n: this one was easier to write, probably because it hits a bit to close to home lol

[venussaidso]

Nodal Dominant Themes — 𝐍𝐚𝐤𝐬𝐡𝐚𝐭𝐫𝐚 𝐎𝐛𝐬𝐞𝐫𝐯𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧 𝐒𝐞𝐫𝐢𝐞𝐬 (part 1) 𝐨𝐟 𝐩𝐚𝐫𝐭 𝟓

Ardra, Swati, Shatabhisha embody Rahu qualities to the fullest. Breaking boundaries, whether they mean to or not, refining or rebuilding themselves by the way they absorb Maya (illusion), being thrown into foreign lands to create, explore and challenge existing paradigms. The ultimate mastery of Rahu nakshatras lies in recognizing that Maya is not the goal, but the process of refinement. This is shown in the natives' urge to learn, apply and cultivate something for themselves. This means that their initial stages have a lot of lack, and that's where that hunger to achieve and receive comes from. They'll take on challenges if it means there's an opportunity to fulfill themselves. In these following examples, the Rahuvian character is often given an opportunity to enter higher societies, usually through a job, a scholarship or from meeting the right person in the right time.

Swati Sun Julia Roberts, in Pretty Woman, plays a poor, sex worker who enters the high society through a billionaire and becomes 'refined'. Despite her glow up, her authenticity still contrasts with the pretentiousness of the high class social circle she finds herself in, challenging their perceptions of worth and class.

Much like Pretty Woman, in the film My Fair Lady, the Rahuvian meets a snobbish phonetics professor who wages that he can make her presentable in high society.

In the film Khoobsurat, Shatabhisha Moon Sonam Kapoor Ahuja plays a quirky physiotherapist who is ill-mannered and boundless. She is given a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity to work for a royal family. There, she meets a handsome young Rajput prince who is her complete opposite (given that he is portrayed by a Mula Moon native, Fawad Khan, who adheres to the customs of his background, bound by his roots).

Despite their different social classes, the royal family learns a lot from her authenticity.

This theme of outer duality in which the native crosses over to a whole new world different from where they originally came from centers a lot around the 'poor vs rich' dynamic in these modern examples — exploring classism, elitism and other societal divisions which make outsiders.

As I briefly gave examples in this post, Shatabhisha can be linked to Cinderella. Which means that trine nakshatras can also inherit this theme of person from poor background falls in love with person from wealthy background. As shown in that post, the union is often with a Mula native. It was expected to find these Rahu-Ketu connections, as the nodes are always one with each other. Their themes can overlap, which I'll be going more into further down this post.

The Mula CEO also comes from old money.

Rahu thrives on venturing the unknown and embracing the unconventional, often shown in the trope of one falling in love with someone alien.

This otherworldly love is seen in Pirates of the Caribbean: On Stranger Tides, where a Rahuvian sailor falls in love with the mermaid, Syrena. Mermaids are captured and exploited by humans — immediately we see this theme of division. And unlike the other humans, he treats Syrena with respect and equality.

Syrena is portrayed by Mula Moon Astrid Berges-Frisbey, while the sailor is portrayed by Ardra Sun Sam Claflin. In the end, Philip becomes a merman and lives with Syrena underwater. This transformation that the Rahuvian goes through in order to unite with a lover of another species is also seen in the film Lisa Frankenstein, starring Shatabhisha Moon Kathryn Newton — although it's more in a Romeo-&-Juliet style.

The Rahuvian character, Lisa, falls in love with Creature, who is a living corpse portrayed by Magha ASC Cole Sprouse. Lisa kills herself in a tanning bed to join the Creature in death. Their union shows her alive, but mummified.

This theme of one overcoming the obstacle between them and the person they desire is seen yet again in the film Casper (1995). A girl, played by Magha ASC Christina Ricci, meets a ghost named Casper, who falls in love with her. Casper is voiced by Malachi Pearson who has potential Swati Moon. Casper's one wish is to be human again so that he can win her heart.

His wish is fulfilled but he can only be human up until midnight. His human form is portrayed by Swati Moon Devon Sawa.

In the Korean drama, Are You Human?, Shatabhisha Sun Gong Seung-yeon plays a bodyguard who is given an opportunity to protect an advanced humanoid whom she falls in love with. Another abnormal, interspecies relationship.

The humanoid is the clone of an heir of a rich conglomerate. The heir is portrayed by Magha Moon native Seo Kang-joon – him being born into wealth contrasts with her being brought up from a poorer background; we see this theme again of a cross over between two opposite worlds as she gets romantically entangled with him.

A lot of these pairings show Rahu's need to break taboos and seek authenticity over conformity, as these unions tend to be abnormal in a discriminatory society. As illusory as Rahu is by nature, it highlights the illusions within society and the challenges that come with it.

Rahu seeks to challenge conventions, forcing individuals to confront their biases, embrace diversity, and explore love in its most expansive ways; while Ketu can be detached from society in general, already transcending or dissociating from it altogether.

Now extending the old money archetype into this, we can see Rahuvians embodying this shabby, nonconforming, rough-around-the-edges, transformative archetype who'll be on the opposite end. As Ketu symbolizes the past, ancestral roots, tradition, the old way of doing things; Rahu symbolizes the future, foreignness, pursuit, a new way of doing things.

Old money often means adhering to strict family rituals, customs, and expectations. There's an expectation for the wealthy to marry their own, maintaining a cultural practice that has existed for centuries, a theme of Ketu as it means to preserve the past. But Rahu comes in as a disruptor, changing rules that seemed absolute, causing more confusion and tension. Rahu often seeks unity, even with our all differences.

Rahu and Ketu are always 180 degrees apart in a chart. This gives an understanding to how they're always on opposite sides of the same coin. So their union in these media examples often come with resistance and chaos.

The story of Romeo and Juliet is about a star-crossed love stuck in this push-&-pull between tradition and breaking free from tradition.

Rahu is symbolized as the head of a dragon, while Ketu is the tail. Together they remain in this endless chase, their nature defined by longing and separation. Maria and Tony from A West Side Story mirrors this nodal dynamic, as it's based on the classic Romeo and Juliet. Just as the nodes themselves are forever trapped in opposition and in an eternal chase, these lovers remain trapped by their differences. Their love and lives are destined to be cut short, signifying the impossible union between the opposing nodes in these forbidden love stories.

The tragic ending of Maria and Tony’s story reflects the inevitable nature of the nodes. In both Romeo and Juliet and A West Side Story, we see the power of love transcending societal barriers, yet this love is doomed by the very forces it seeks to overcome.

Ashwini nakshatra literally has the strongest ties in Romeo & Juliet (list).

Another pair of this nodal influence (Ketu-Ketu), with this exact theme, is Mavis and Johnny from the animation Hotel Transylvania. Mavis is voiced by Ashwini Moon Selena Gomez, and Johnny is voiced by Magha Sun Andy Samberg. Mavis is a vampire and Johnny is a human. Their worlds should never have had a crossover to begin with. But Johnny, being Magha, feels a sense of belonging with these monsters and Mavis instead of fearing them (a nod to the Mula archetype and Beauty-&-the-Beast trope, which, as I've stated before, can also manifest itself as Ketu-Ketu instead of Ketu-Jupiter... much like Belle and Rumpelstiltskin from Once Upon A Time, Belle being played by Mula Sun Emilie de Ravin and Rumpelstiltskin portrayed by Ashwini Sun Robert Carlyle — the show's own Beauty & the Beast).

Though light-hearted and comedic, their union was forbidden as monsters and humans should be kept apart to their own worlds due to past conflicts. Mavis' father, Dracula, goes to great lengths to separate the two, but then he realizes that their love is genuine and overcomes his prejudices.

The theme of letting go touches on Ketu's tendency to sever ties, signifying the lesson of how temporary things are, including love. The film Untamed Heart is a great example, perfectly encapsulating this theme between two Ketu natives.

And as Mars also rules Ashwini nakshatra, this can be a major focus.

Connecting Orpheus to Ashwini, so much of this nakshatra's themes are highlighted in this Greek myth. Ketu is associated with nature, animal caretaking, and taming wild beasts. This is seen in Orpheus's ability to charm animals, move trees and rocks, and even change the course of rivers, through his music. Music has been known as a form of comfort and healing, and Orpheus' music is so powerful that it hypnotizes wild beasts, even influencing Hades, the ruler of the underworld.

The mythological character loses the love of this life, Eurydice, and he is unable to accept her death. He becomes so desperate, filled with grief and fear, that he descends into the underworld to get Eurydice back. As Ashwini can be driven by selfishness, severance becomes a major lesson in their journey.

The musical film Black Orpheus (1959) is directed by Ashwini Sun, Magha ASC Marcel Camus, a black Brazilian retelling of the tale.

In Jason & the Argonauts (2000), Ashwini Moon Adrian Lester portrays Orpheus. In the animation Hell and Back, *Ashwini Moon Danny McBride voices Orpheus. In 1960s The Giants of Thessaly, Massimo Girotti portrays Orpheus and he has Moon in Magha (trine nakshatra to Ashwini). This obvious connection of Ashwini to Orpheus takes me back to the ruling deities, the Ashwini Kumaras. Ashwini can be related to partnership, soulmates, connected minds. Here, there's a theme of inseparability yet the nature of the nakshatra forces severance. Back to the tale — With just the charm of his music, Orpheus is able to convince Hades to bring Eurydice back to life, only under the condition that Orpheus never looks back at her when they leave the underworld. Overwhelmed with so much love, he's unable to help himself, as he fails and looks back at her as they neared the exit. This is how Orpheus loses Eurydice forever.

Similar to Orpheus, the Twelfth Doctor from Doctor Who spirals into madness and desperation after the death of his close companion, Clara Oswald. The Twelfth Doctor is played by Ashwini Sun native Peter Capaldi. His Aries relentlessness and selfishness has him breaking the laws of time to bring her back, just like Orpheus breaks the natural order of life to get Eurydice back.

Clara Oswald is interestingly nodal herself, being played by Ashwini native Jenna Coleman.

YouTube video link

His journey through grief and his refusal to let her go mirrors Orpheus's determination to challenge the natural order of life for love. In the end, Twelve's memories of Clara get wiped out when he is forced to sever ties with her. Clara remains dead and so does Eurydice. This makes these pairs star-crossed, as Ketu reminds us of the inevitability of loss and separation. With Mars there, it makes it an obvious theme with Ashwini nakshatra.

Orpheus tried to get Eurydice back after her death by seeking the realm of the dead as a mortal being. He finds the cave that led to Hades and slowly descended into the Underworld. He sang to Cerberus, a terrifying, three-headed monstrous watchdog, able to tame and charm the beast so that he enters. This theme of entering portals to other worlds and dimensions tends to be associated with Ketu, and I find it interesting that I am particularly seeing the magic within Ashwini nakshatra.

In the 2008 film Jumper, Ashwini Sun Hayden Christensen plays a young man who can teleport himself anywhere and everywhere due to a genetic anomaly. Regarding Doctor Who, the first female Doctor has indeed been played by an Ashwini native as well. And Ashwini Sun native Russell T Davies is the original showrunner & head writer of the 2005 revival of Doctor Who, starring Ashwini Sun David Tennant.

It is interesting that Ketu nakshatras also have this otherworldliness quality to them which is seen in having access to portals or dissociating into other realms. Although I have already explored this theme within the context of Anuradha nakshatra, there is still an undeniable nodal influence to it as I see these nakshatras frequently pop up in this genre of film.

Magha Sun Amy Adams' character in Enchanted falls into a well which is a portal to another world. In Alice in Wonderland (2010), Magha Moon and Swati Sun native Mia Wasikowska's character also falls into a portal to another world.

In the animation Caroline, Ashwini ASC and Shatabhisha Sun native Dakota Fanning voices a girl who finds a portal to another world. In 1953's Peter Pan, Ardra Sun Kathryn Beaumont voices Wendy who is taken to another magical world called Neverland by a boy named Peter Pan who's voiced by Shatabhisha Sun Bobby Driscoll. In 2003's Peter Pan live-action movie, Wendy is played by Ardra Moon Rachel Hurd-Wood, taken into this whole other reality of magic and wonder. In Hook (1991), adult Peter Pan is portrayed by Shatabhisha Moon and Swati ASC Robert Williams, the character a middle-aged lawyer from the modern world who returns to his magical origins. In the Korean drama Spice Up Our Love, Ashwini Moon Han Ji-hyun's character wakes up as the protagonist of the web novel she wrote. In the Korean drama W: Two Worlds Apart, Shatabhisha Sun Han Hyo-Joo gets sucked into a webtoon written by her father. There she falls in love with the protagonist who is played by Shatabhisha Moon Lee Jong-Suk, who gets gets sucked into her reality as well. In the Chinese drama Love Game in Eastern Fantasy, Mula Sun Esther Yu gets sucked into a video game novel as a supporting character. In The Wizard of Oz, Mula Moon and Ardra ASC Judy Garland plays a Kansas farm girl who is taken away in a tornado and ends up in the magical Land of Oz. In the series Emerald City, Ashwini Sun Adria Arjona is a Kansas nurse who is transported by a tornado to the Land of Oz. In the film Oz: The Great & Powerful, Ashwini Sun James Franco is a magician who is hurled away from Kansas into the wonderful land of Oz. In the 2013 animation Epic, Magha Moon Amanda Seyfried voices a young girl who finds herself transported into an alternate world and even falls in love with Ashwini Moon Josh Hutcherson's character (I highly recommend this film).

As Rahu is associated with illusions and exploring the foreign, we see this theme of escaping into simulations and dreamy worlds which one becomes absorbed in. This has been explored deeper within Swati nakshatra, which combines the arts and illusory tendencies of Rahu together.

The influence of the nodes often transcends the physical realm, embodying forces of spirituality, illusion and transformation together. But they both manifest differently in this theme. Rahu becomes absorbed in illusions (in form of the arts, simulations, imagination (ex. Peter Pan being the boy who is attached to Neverland because he never grows up — Neverland is an illusory place only found in the minds of children, this highlighting his attachment to illusions)); while Ketu tends to escape the material plane altogether, yearning transcendence and passing by realms to seek meaning and lessons.

In the film Meet Joe Black, Mula Sun Brad Pitt plays an otherworldly being who takes over the body of a man to experience Earth and be guided in the teachings & meaning of life. His very existence quite literally transcends time and space, which I relate to Ketu, as he is a mystery himself.

He is innately detached from human concerns like time, societal expectations, and permanence. But he falls in love with a human named Susan, who is also nodal-ruled, and his nature makes their connection doomed from the start. Susan is played by Mula Sun, Mula Moon native Claire Forlani. This making for another star-crossed pair because he can never fully participate in human life.

Going into the body-swapping trope, this calls to Rahu's desire to navigate a foreign perspective while Ketu seeks to transcend its rigid reality.

In the film Hot Chick (2002), Swati ASC Rachel McAdams plays a teenage girl who wakes up in the body of a 30-year-old male criminal played by Swati Sun and Ashwini Moon native Rob Schneider. In 1989's film Dream a Little Dream, an accident puts the consciousness of an elderly dream researcher played by Magha Moon Jason Robards into the body of a bratty teenager who is played by Mula Sun and Shatabhisha Moon native Corey Haim. Many more examples often include a Saturn nakshatra native as well, which I found very interesting. Hopefully I'll be circling back to that one day!

Rahu is thriving on the chaos of this trope since an entirely new identity is being explored (and lessons are learned as the social difference in one's gender, class, and even age tends to be highlighted for the ignorant one (Rahu essentially refining the native through this experience)).

The interaction of the nodes drive each other to a deeper understanding of life's illusions as it signifies letting go and refining oneself. In this little exploration, I got to understand that Ashwini is a romantic nakshatra which deals with loss and forced detachment due to Ketu. While Rahu nakshatras tend to be more romantic and igniting conflict in their pursuit of a love that's not right according to societal standards. This solidifies the image of the eternal chase of the dragon representing desire and detachment.

[nightingale-prompts]

Introducing Kitten- Batboy AU-DCXDP

First | Previous | Next

Every great hero needs a sidekick but every amazing cat burglar should have a kitten.

Batman was ready for another chase with Catwoman. A Gotham bigwig was hosting a gallery opening with the Amazonian pink diamond as the centerpiece.

Just as expected Catwoman couldn't resist.

"Surrender the jewel Catwoman." Batman ordered as the cat burglar held the pink crystal up in the lowlight.

"But its so pretty~ I thought it would be the perfect gift for my little kitten." She purred.

"I don't think your cats would care. They would probably prefer a can of tuna to a priceless gem." Batman responded preparing to lounge for the diamond.

"Why don't you ask her?"

A shadow jumped out of the darkness grabbed the diamond and landed on the other side of the bat.

"Oh you shouldn't have~ I love it!~" The cheery voice of the shadow said.

Batman turned to see a young girl with twitching cat ears and a long tail waving behind her. She was dressed in a black leotard with a pair of black cargo pants and a cropped leather jacket. Around her neck a jewled collar rested with a little dog tag attached with a bell. Her green eyes glowed with mischief.

"Anything for you." Catwoman smiled.

Just like that Batman's attention was split as Kitten(?) bolted. The girl was fast but stepped carefully not to trigger the sensors. When he looked back Catwoman was gone and Kitten skittered to a stop only for-

*BRRRRIINNNGGG!*

The alarm went off.

He had stepped on a sensor.

"Good game old man! Let's play again sometime!" The girl said before disappearing around a corner.

*1 week ago*

Selina had actually gotten a bit of baby fever after little Nightwing had taken a little bat under his wing. The bat sidekick had been plastered all across the city from Bloodhaven to Gotham, even Metropolis had a few of the advertisements. Batburger even has a batboy meal now. All the candids on Instagram of Batboy's antics were absolutely adorable. Selina made the picture of Batboy shielding a bunch of stay cats under his wings in the rain her screensaver. Bless everyone working together to get as many pictures as possible.

Let's not even mention the time she saw the newest little Robin being carried from across the city by Batboy as they glided.

She would be fine of course after she found an adorable black kitten. She cleaned her up and put her in the warming box for the night. She planned to quarantine her from the other cats in her room. What Selina didn't expect was for the kitten to turn into a girl.

*Present*

Danny felt it again. There was something here. It felt foreign but familiar.

The energy felt reminiscent of...Nocturne? That's not right. No, it felt like primordial energy. Something isn't right.

Someone was here. Someone like him.

[amourcheol]

ave, general

❝The Eagle of Rome has returned to you at last.❞

historical! au | fluff, smut, crack | 16.1k words

s u m m a r y : after your husband returns from the wars in foreign lands, you could not be more proud to see him be the shining pride of rome. however, even among the celebrations and your own personal news, lee jihoon only wanted one thing—some time alone with you.

c o n t e n t : roman! au, roman general! jihoon, husband! jihoon, father! jihoon, mother! mc, a lot of historical background and roman terms to add historical accuracy, soldiers! bss + wonwoo and chan, this is bss and friends, all of them are so annoying it's a wonder they aren't executed, seungcheol is, in a literal sense, a baby, this is a bullying chan campaign, the soldiers do NOT know how to talk to a baby, domesticity <333 mature content ↠ mentions of loss of loved ones, descriptions of war and death, dirty talk, petnames (my love, my sweet, darling, mea vita), fingering, oral sex (f. receiving), slight exhibitionism, unprotected sex (roman contraceptives are dookie), multiple orgasming, slight aftercare

t a g l i s t : @hyuckworld @gyuswhore @lexyraeworld @moonlightwonu @spooky-goose1003 @dvalitaes @cookiearmy @lllucere @syluslittlecrows @mrsjohnnysuh @fancypeacepersona @thepoopdokyeomtouched @monstacheol @xabsolutelynothingx @kyeomiis @icecream-sundaes @peachytokki @jihanniecheol @ourkivee

a u t h o r ' s n o t e : she is here!! i promised myself i would release this once i've watched gladiator II and she is back...changed woman...i guess this is a belated bday present to jihoon? thank u for inventing music king </3 enjoy reading loves !!

back to masterlist

“WHERE IN JUPITER IS HE?”

The maid whined as she focused on the crowd once more—thousands of citizens gathered across in the Capitol, the road cleared for the procession about to occur. Giddy conversations of every man, woman and child flourished for a mile, and you had to hold onto the girl accompanying you to not be trodden over.

“Careful, mistress!” Myrtia, your servant, warned as you dared take a step at the edge of the hill. “They will be here any minute now!”

You did not listen, holding onto your heavy shawl tighter as you waited in earnest of what was to happen. Rome was a city of chaos, but you did not hear the noise—despite the crowds, the instruments, the chanting, every single voice seemed irrelevant as you stood over the Capitolium. The little houses underneath you swirled around the hill, all evolving the temple behind you, the destination of the people about to be welcomed. Columned buildings made of stone and marble surrounded the crowds, speckled with garlands, its bright colours of vermillion shining in the summer sun. 

A small sigh left your lips. Today was the day he would come back home to you.

“By the gods!” Myrtia let out an excited screech, grabbing onto your arm and pointing towards the empty street, barricaded by the people. “They’re here, they’re here!”

Following her finger, you stared at the scene.

That was when the parade entered. 

Screams of elation spanned across the crowd as thousands of soldiers flooded in tight ranks, accepting the cheers with pride as they marched along, prisoners of war being dragged along by their chains. There must have been hundreds, spanning back beyond your vision, dirtied and haggard, but that was the consequence of challenging the Empire. The soldiers all adorned their red and silver uniform, smiling at the city which welcomed them.

Your eyes scanned the front of the parade, lips curving at the five men on decorated horseback. Each and every one of them had their distinguishable responses towards the people who sang praises to them, and you longed to see them ride up to the Hill where you could greet them.

When your gaze hovered to what rode in front of the men, it widened.

Four horses, adorned in the finest metals and blood-coloured clothing, led the chariot of the same colour, fully festooned in laurels. Gold swirls cemented on its front, making itself heard with its screeching wheels.

It was not the chariot you cared about.

No, it was the man who stood in it.

The man who was clothed in royal purple and gold, holding a laurel branch in one hand and a sceptre in the other. The man, whose wild black hair perfectly settled the golden crown that another beside him held. The man, whose ghost of a smile sent the crowd in absolute frenzy, beginning up a chant to his name.

“Hurrah for the Triumph!”

“Hurrah for the Triumph!”

“Hurrah for the Eagle!”

Your heart stopped to a standstill.

At last. At long last, the Eagle of Rome had come back to its nest.

“Mistress, look!” Myrtia exclaimed, pointing towards the star of the show, the lead victor in this parade. “Your husband achieved the Triumph!”

You glanced at her with unadulterated pride before focusing on the man in front, coming closer in your vision as he began the ride up the hill. The Triumph. A public celebration of a certain general who managed to lead Rome to a special, foreign victory. It meant the destruction of the enemy, complete desolation, which a mere centurion could not simply achieve. To receive the Triumph was to be respected by the highest of the Roman officials. 

You smiled at the notion. The destination for the parade was the Temple of Jupiter behind you, its columns holding up the huge, faded roof, towering over the few beloved relatives of the generals that led the soldiers. “I never doubted he would.”

The crowds grew wilder as the generals journeyed closer, halfway up the rocky hill—everyone opened their doors, leaving their houses to witness the rare spectacle. “Do you think they would let us speak to them?” your maid wondered out loud, following your steps as you turned your back, walking to the Temple. Standing right beside the steps, upstaged till they reached your height. “Gods, I forgot how big the temple is sometimes!”

“Wait here,” you said, holding onto the polished stone as you climbed up the steps. The thundering sounds of hooves on cobblestone entered your ears, and the few other relatives which accompanied you silenced, joy in their faces as the parade ascended. You turned before the show, the entire building shading you with its presence.

There he was.

With his four white horses slowing, neighing wildly at the company that arrived at the hill. With his red and golden chariot inciting excited Latin from the crowd, there he was, swiping past in front of his friends. The horses finally stopped, just before the steps, and the generals behind him followed suit, halting their own as they waited for their commander.

Their commander let go of the reins—stepped down from the chariot, purple robe flowing after the steps. The head that wore the crown turned to the Temple, laurel and sceptre still in his hands.

His calculating eyes skimmed the crowd, face exposing a little pride at the turnout.

He then faced his destination—right on you his stare settled, standing alone at the entrance.

You swore you saw his entire body still.

You were not wrong. The commander parted his mouth, eyes widening with who welcomed him past the steps. Gods, he nearly dropped the possessions in his hands, staring and staring at the woman.

No, not just a mere woman.

But you, his wife.

One of the generals, instantly noticing their leader’s change, got off his horse, same black hair glinting in the sun. He walked over, taking the objects from his hands, smiling knowingly. 

When the leader’s hands were free of the spoils, he willed his feet across the sanded street, first step atop the stairs. His gaze never wavered, unable to stray from the woman who haunted his nights. 

You, however, could not wait at all.

A choked sob escaped you as your own feet dashed forward, barely able to control themselves as you ran to him. His arms began to raise as you collided against him, wrapping your hands around his neck and crying into his purple-clad chest.

“Missed you...Jihoon…” your muffled murmurs slipped into his attire. “Missed you...so much.”

You felt strong arms envelop you, a rough-hewn face burying into your shoulder. “I thought of you everyday, mea vita.”

Mea vita. My life. A smile caught onto your tears as you hugged him tighter. “And I thought of you every night.”

He returned it, feeling his lips curve upon your skin. Placing a small kiss, he pulled away slightly, only to take your face with one of his hands and lean in closer. Enveloping your lips with yours, he kissed you with the longing of a thousand lost souls, finally returned to their other half. 

A soft groan threatened to leave your captured mouth, but then you felt your husband pull away, hands upon your waist. “I must stop here, my love, or I would not be able to stop afterwards.”

Cheeks burning, you did not let go of him. “Are you not finished?”

Shaking his head, he looked beyond you, to inside of the Temple. “I have to pay respects. It is the final part of the ceremony.” He turned to you again, aching to take you before the sacred grounds. “I cannot have you waiting for me that long.”

You were to object until the raven-haired boy behind him spoke up, waving his hand about. “We can escort her home, Jihoon,” he suggested, patting his general on the shoulder. “We do not need to go inside.”

“Are you sure, Wonwoo?” your husband asked, looking towards the other four. 

One of the centurions, with straight, cropped black locks framing his face, grinned smugly, holding onto his reins. “Oh, just let her leave with us!” he exclaimed. “We all know she missed us more than your stone-cold arse!”

You chuckled as Jihoon knifed the man with a glare. “A few hours in Rome, and Soonyoung is already a pain in my backside.”

The younger centurion beside Soonyoung scoffed, brown locks being caressed by the wind. “As if he is not a bother for us all.”

Soonyoung mocked a gasp. “Seungkwan!”

“Everyone, quiet down!” Another man declared, eyes closed and head raised in pride. “We all know our Captain’s wife wishes to ride with me.”

Soonyoung began to chortle at the claim. “_____, you might as well walk home than take Seokmin’s offer,” he mused, earning a near-death experience with a dagger thrown at him. 

Raising a brow at the bickering group, you raised a finger. “You know what? I think I shall ride with Chan.”

The said-boy perked up, eyes widening. “Me?” He asked, dumbfounded. “Well, of course, I just—”

“He would fall asleep mid-journey!” Seungkwan complained, crossing his arms. “It is already past his bedtime!”

“Hey!” Chan chimed in, but it did not help that he looked away, trying to stifle a yawn. Seungkwan pointed and laughed, proving his stupid point. 

“Enough!” Jihoon shouted, silencing them all instantly. “If _____ says she wants to go with Chan, then that is final.”

All of them began to complain, but one warning glare from their commander had them quieting like scolded children. Chan, being the one chosen, began to smile in innocent satisfaction, earning the evil wrath of Seokmin and Seungkwan. Soonyoung merely shrugged, whereas Wonwoo put a hand on his chest, heartily agreeing with his commander.

You glanced at the man in charge, looking as ever the victor in his royal robes. “Come home soon.”

Stealing another kiss from you, he squeezed your sides in comfort, smiling in reassurance. “I already am home, vita.”

THE LEGACY COMMANDERS ALWAYS KNEW HOW TO MAKE THE MOST NOISE.

Throughout the half-hour journey, the five men talked of their lives for the near-two years they were away—the battles they had won, and the siege they had laid over Alexandria, where Mark Antony and Cleopatra were finally defeated.

Chan glanced back every five minutes to check you were stable on horseback, urging you to hold tight whenever a rockier road was being taken. You patted him softly where you rested your hands upon him, showing him you were well. “Do not fret over me, dearest,” you assured him, earning an uneasy chuckle from him.

Unfortunately, the few centurions, riding right beside you two, heard your reassurance, and instantly resorted to striking fear. “Hanging onto Chan for dear life will not help you!” Seungkwan remarked loudly. “One wrong bounce of the horse and he is flying off!”

The youngest of the men, on instinct, tightened his hold on the horse, now fearing he would drive his commander’s wife to her death. Soonyoung laughed at the scene, but set his sights on the next youngest down. “Seungkwan should not be talking,” he crowed, galloping further ahead. “Pray tell us, how much denarii did you borrow off Wonwoo to heal your broken leg? You know, after you tripped over a tent rope?”

“Careful, Soon,” Seokmin exclaimed over the horses’ hooves. “Or Seungkwan will not hesitate to call on all the escorts you went bankrupt over in Egypt!”

Soonyoung immediately whirled his head to you, who eyed him incredulously. “_____, it is an exaggeration!” he deflected. “It was only one visit, merely to see what the women were like—!” 

“Is it true, Wonwoo?” you asked, who was fighting back a grimace at his friend’s endeavours. “Is our dear centurion as scandalous as he’s accused to be?”

The answer was swift. “Soonyoung’s cock is as clean as the city sewers.” 

As everyone cackled, the guilty flushing with embarrassment, he quickly switched the conversation to everyone’s adventures while on the road to Alexandria. Soonyoung did most of the storytelling, with Seokmin chipping in with great pride—Seungkwan had to tell the two of them off when they exaggerated their military prowess, while Wonwoo only laughed, narrating the truth of their adventures. Whatever they told you, though, you knew that they came out victorious.

The Legacy Legion was destined for greatness—especially if Jihoon Park commanded it.

By the time they were done, you had arrived at your villa, almost on the outskirts of Rome. The huge estate had been gifted to your husband by his superior, Octavian, who was thankful for the continuous loyalty he had seen from the Legion. Its exterior towered over the five horses, guards opening the gates to let you and your friends inside.

The estate was basked in whites and greys, roof the colour of baked bricks adding vibrancy to the faded walls. When entering, you were met with your bustling courtyard, servants hard at work with preparations for Jihoon's return. Within the four walls were different rooms which served different purposes—you could smell the different breads and meat being cooked on a slow heat, taking their time to be fully made. The boys began to salivate at the aroma, and when you felt Chan’s stomach grumble beneath your fingers you reined in a laugh, waiting for him to heave off before helping you down as well. 

“Take the horses to the stables,” you ordered one of the servants walking past you, who nodded, shouting for other men to come and help him. 

Seokmin groaned as he sniffed the air again, holding his armour-clad stomach. “I cannot take this any longer!” He whined, stomping to where the smell took him. “____, I must have cena now or so help me Ceres!”

“Stop complaining about lunch!” Seungkwan crowed. “I gave you half of my breakfast, and you pinched Chan’s bread too!” 

“Here we go again,” Wonwoo mumbled. He then heard grumbling in his abdomen, and knew he could not argue against his body. 

You watched the absolute creatures in tenderness, and waved them all over. “Come,” you began, walking inside the first door. “I wish to show you something.”

“This better be some roasted boar!” Soonyoung grumbled, earning a jab in the arm from Wonwoo.

The destination was not far, and with one further turn, you ended up in a smaller, yet spacious room, golden sunlight streaming through the windows. You ushered the boys in, taking up the entire space, and they were all about to complain when you showed them.

Every single man in the room melted at the sight.

“By the gods!”

“Tell me it is not an illusion!”

“This is a better sight than roasted boar!”

Laughing, you put a hand to your lips. “Not so loud now! Jihoon is not aware of this yet, and I wish to tell him myself.”

“Of course!” Wonwoo agreed, eyes dancing. “By Jupiter, he would be overjoyed!”

“I hope so,” you voiced out your wishes, glancing at the surprise. 

The boys were about to say more when they heard the distant sounds of thundering hooves near the villa, and everyone stilled. 

“Quick!”

“Everyone get out of here!”

“Seungkwan, move—”

The five greatest centurions of Rome scrambled to get out of the tiny bedroom, rushing into the courtyard where Jihoon now made his entrance, crown still upon his head. He saw the rather guilty exit of his men, and raised a brow at their strange behaviour.

“What are you all—” he was about to ask, but then the boys dashed towards him, each grabbing his arm and pushing him to their last destination. “Wait, hold on—!”

“This is of extreme importance, we assure you!” Wonwoo simpered, knowing his end was near with the behaviour he and his friends upkept. 

“Even more important than lunch!” Soonyoung added.

“Even more important than roast boar!” Seokmin chimed in.

Jihoon was about to throw them off when they pushed him into the small room, waving excitedly at you. “We will be looking for food!” Seungkwan called from the door, and Chan looked at you apologetically before following after his friends. 

Watching them busy themselves, he turned to you, cocking his head. “What was all that for?” 

“They are terrible actors, but they had good intentions.” You then bit your lip, glancing beside you. “Actually, they brought you here for a reason.”

“Oh?” He took a step forward. 

Nodding your head, you put your hand upon the stone. “Jihoon, while you were gone, I had a life-changing experience.”

Furrowing his brows, he put his hands on his hips. “And that was?”

Exposing a little smile, you ushered him closer, gazing down at the said-experience.

“My love, I gave birth to our son.”

You felt Jihoon’s world still for a moment.

Within seconds after, he closed the distance to the cot, following your gaze.

There, wrapped in blankets, lay a small baby, lost in sleep.

The general did not know what to say.

He could only watch the little bundle of life as he dreamed of things which he could not understand, tiny lips brushing against his tiny thumb. The man’s heart began to race at the sight of his closed eyes, the flutter of his lashes as he stirred in slumber. 

So innocent the baby was—so vulnerable that he wondered whether people of his time even knew what innocence meant.

He thought all good had withered from the world till his eyes beheld this child. His son.

“It was he that helped me cope with your absence Jihoon,” you continued, and you did not know why it began to hurt to talk. “You see, the boy looks so much like you.”

Your husband’s eyes flickered to you, catching the melancholy in your stare. He knew—of course he knew how you felt about him hardly being here.

You could not blame him, though. With a position of such esteem came great responsibility, which he would risk his life to fulfil. It was his honour, his undeterred loyalty in what he believed in, that made you fall so deeply in love with him. Still, you admitted that life was barely liveable without his magnetic presence near you.

He propped his hands on the edge of the cot. “May I...may I hold him?” 

“Of course,” you replied, slowly pulling the boy in your arms, cooing softly so he stayed asleep. When you were sure he was peaceful, you held him out to your husband, who took a deep, shuddering breath.

With shaking hands, he raised them towards his son, feeling the soft cotton of his blanket beneath his fingertips. Staring at Jihoon, you made sure that he would not let go—satisfied, you gave him the stirring bundle.

Another hard sigh escaped him.

The child, on instinct, nuzzled further into his hold, right into his chest, and he knew his answer straight away. His heart fluttered nervously, holding his breath to not wake him. It was so bizarre that his nerves heightened with every second, fearing he would let go—his sword was heavier than this child, yet his hold on him was shaky, uncertain. 

He wondered if he could ever get used to this feeling.

There were sensations he had experienced which brought him immense joy. His victories, his commandeering of the Roman legions, the subsequent victories that were guaranteed under his leadership. His centurions, who, despite their incessant complaining, shouting, general presences, were the catalyst to his success. You, who was behind the man that he was, and became—the reason he breathed. 

A small murmur escaped the little boy, and all the love Jihoon had lost these years had come back.

He was never the one to expose such extreme emotions, but gazing at the baby brought him such…peace. In truth, he had not felt peace in a long, long time, yet the feeling washed over him, like small waves upon the shores of a beach. Each twitch of his fingers, every kick of his feet brought his soul to a standstill, then revived it once more. 

He contributed to this creation. He was half the reason for the slumbering life in his hands.

His stare did not leave his son. “What did you name him, vita?”

Your gaze was rooted to him as you answered.

“Seungcheol.”

Jihoon’s rocking froze. 

His eyes darted towards you, and the pure shock which emitted had your heart breaking. His mouth parted, only for silence to welcome his tongue. 

It was now your hands which held onto the cot.

Seungcheol was not some ordinary name you thought up on the hour of the birth.

No, this name was originally held by the previous leader of the Legacy Legion.

Most importantly, the name was held by yours and Jihoon’s dearest friend.

Choi Seungcheol was a sweet, charismatic boy who had grown up in the same neighbourhood as you and Jihoon. He was the nail in your house of the trio, and the mastermind of the romance which weaved between the two of you. 

He had an incredibly bright future ahead of him. Under Octavian’s army he had achieved the title of primus pilus—the leadership of an entire legion—with all of the boys, including Jihoon, under his command. He was an advocate of justice, and had risked his friends many times for defending the rights of Rome and her citizens against tyrants.

It was these very tyrants that brought about his downfall.

Jihoon was never meant to leave your side these past two years. He was meant to stay in Rome under Octavian, but the rivalry against Mark Antony had crossed lines, and war was about to be waged. Seungcheol, forever the hero, vowed his undeterred loyalty to the former, and promised to shed Mark Antony’s blood.

That very night, the commanders of the Legacy Legion were celebrating the war when a group of assassins launched an ambush—the five of them managed to cut out and leave, but Jihoon was on the verge of death fighting. Your husband was to die that night.

That was when Seungcheol made a sacrifice. 

He hollered at the assassins to fight him, giving Jihoon the chance to escape. Your husband begged him to run, but he knew his friend would not listen. 

When Jihoon saw the dozen daggers slash into Seungcheol’s chest, he could not let the sacrifice go to waste.

It was this act that brought him the rage to accept command of the Legacy Legion. It was this dire need of vengeance that helped him cope with the months of stalemates across Egypt, when he thought Mark Antony was to escape.

It was Choi Seungcheol’s sacrifice that made Lee Jihoon the Eagle of Rome. 

Thinking of this particular past had your vision stinging.

Jihoon scoffed, stroking his baby’s brow. “Imagine how smug he would be now,” he mused, “If he knew we named our son after him.”

The thought had you rasping out a laugh. “Gods, we would never hear the end of it.”

He cracked a smile, gaze never straying from his bundle. He grew silent once again, clamping his lips together. Scared to wake him if he rocked him further, Jihoon settled the boy back into the pillowed cot, blinking back the stinging in his eyes. 

He turned to you, and seeing his change of expression had you stepping closer. “Darling?” you got out, your hands raising to touch his face. “What troubles you?”

Shaking his head, he wrapped his fingers around your wrist. Leaning into your palm, he replied, “Nothing troubles me, vita.”

Then, he pressed a small kiss upon your skin. “I have no more troubles now that I have seen him…and I have him because of you.”

His gaze settled upon you, eyes glossed with teary gratitude. “Thank you, my love, for bringing me peace.”

The words nearly made you cry.

Jihoon did not let you, though, when, with his other hand sliding around your waist, he pulled you to him. He enveloped his lips with yours, and with a whine you accepted him, closing your eyes. The kiss you shared was achingly soft, seething with months upon months of longing—he turned your head slightly, and his lips delved deeper, taking you fully with the strength of a waking beast. 

His hands dug deeper into your sides, feeling the desperation seep into his lips as he slowly pushed you back, your arms closing about his neck, needing him all over you. Sliding your hands within his locks, you revelled in its velvety softness, knowing you could live forever in him. 

The action had your husband humming into your mouth, a perfect incentive as he backed you against the wall, pressing himself fully against you, extinguishing any last atom of space between you two. You could not get enough of him, trying to make up months of his absence in this kiss alone, but you wanted more, needed more, or you would collapse in his arms.

It was fortunate for you that he understood you perfectly.

However, your dear friends did not understand at all, bursting into the nursery in utmost hurry.

Five pairs of eyes rooted to the passionate scene before them.

Chan let out a shrill scream.

You and Jihoon repelled from each other, breathless gasps emitting as both of you whirled your heads to the door. The five centurions gathered at the doorway, stunned at the show that went on before they interrupted.

Seokmin let out a groan, clutching his stomach. “I regret eating that entire boar now,” he rasped out, turning away from the panting couple. Seungkwan elbowed him harshly in the gut, making the former double over.

Soonyoung sauntered in, stepping past you two in mighty fashion. “You both are insufferable!” he yelled, bringing out baby Seungcheol and rocking him in his arms. “Carrying out such atrocities with a child nearby?”

“I apologise for the disturbance, general,” Wonwoo said, glaring at the man who now cooed comically at the baby. “We were just...um, we were to ask ____ of the plans tonight.”

“But y-you seem to be very preoccupied!” Chan added, pulling the men near him away from the door. “So we shall not disturb you again!”

“You should have thought about that before,” your husband hissed. “And what do you mean by plans?”

“For your return,” you answered, smiling a little as you regained your composure. “It has been too long since you stepped foot at home. Of course I am to celebrate.”

“And do we not exist to you?” Seungkwan demanded, armoured hands at his hips. “You include Jihoon only as if we were here in Rome partying this entire time!”

“I wished that were the case,” Soonyoung drawled, stepping beside you, swaying the baby the entire time. “I would rather the company of wine than you foul-smelling bastards anyday.”

Seokmin, recovering, scoffed, pointing a finger at his fellow centurion. “Oh, do let us know then, Soonyoung, who was calling us his dearest friends on the march to Alexandria?”

“That does not count!” he countered, waving off the claims. “I was beyond gone from wine, and everyone spews rubbish when drunk.”

“You spew rubbish anyway,” Wonwoo muttered.

“You are lucky I am holding Jihoon’s child right now, or I would have knocked you out.”

“Just Jihoon’s child?” you crossed your arms. “And what if you were holding someone else’s baby?”

There was a pause at that. “I shall not comment further.”

“Enough!” the general ordered, silencing the bickering group. “Out, the lot of you! Go back to your own homes and leave us alone!”

“But _____ said we can stay here and help with preparations!” Wonwoo voiced out, stepping forward in haste. 

“I never said that!”

“Please, Jihoon,” he continued anyway, “I have no wish to dump all responsibility on her.”

The said-man pursed his lips in thought, clearly in no hurry to keep his friends when he could be using this precious time to continue what he left off with you. Already his hands ached to linger further over your body, but if he was disturbed once again, then he would kill his subordinates without hesitance.

Seokmin stopped his train of thought. “Personally, I have no wish to do housework,” he jeered. 

Your husband then smiled, which was more a flash of teeth. “Brilliant. You can piss off back home, then.” He then directed his threatening stare towards the others. “All of you.”

Five pairs of eyes turned to you, hoping for your objection on the matter. However, you only shrugged, holding out your hands to the man beside you. “General’s orders, I fear.” When a series of groans followed at your verdict, you took Seungcheol from Soonyoung’s hands. “Do not whine like that, friends! I am giving you the chance to have more fun before tonight’s celebrations!”

“Whatever,” Seungkwan grumbled, turning his cloak as he stepped out of the room. “I am off to get more drinks! Anyone but Jihoon may join me.”

“Hey!” the commander shouted, but the men were already leaving, save for Chan, scratching the back of his head. 

Seokmin cocked his head in question at his friend’s stillness. “What are you standing here for, fool?”

“Well, um,” Chan started, his shy gaze levelling with yours. “I am not inclined to wine as of now, so I was hoping if I could...err, linger here and help around…” His eyes widened, raising his hands. “But if it is bothersome I will accompany the others!”

Your heart melted at his timidity. “What are you so nervous for? Of course you can stay. Those four idiots will only be causing trouble the entire afternoon.” 

“And we intend to continue such troubles at night as well!” Soonyoung declared, almost skipping to the entrance. “Honey wine, here I come!”

“Chan, are you sure?” Jihoon asked, gesturing towards the exiting group. “You should rest a little after months of fighting.”

“I am alright, I insist,” his soldier assured him, raising his arms. “Let me take care of the child.” When you obliged, handing him the stirring bundle, he slowed his movements, ever so careful not to disturb him. He darted his gaze over you. “You, uh,” he said, and he chuckled sheepishly, a blush rising upon his cheeks. “You both carry on with whatever you were doing before!”

Before you could say further, the man was hurrying out, forgetting to close the door as he took Seungcheol with him.

You and Jihoon watched him go, stunned at the sudden entrance of the centurions, and then the sudden exit within minutes. You could not help the huff of laughter that escaped you at their antics, catching his attention. “What is the laugh for?”

“Your commanders, darling,” you mused, wrapping an arm around your husband. “They are more bizarre than usual.”

Exhaling through his nose, he returned your embrace twice over, engulfing you within his hold. “My half-witted commanders,” he reminisced, running his fingers across your back. “They are delighted to be back.”

“I can tell,” you giggled out, leaning into him. “I missed them greatly.”

His face ghosted a little smugness. “But you missed me more.”

“You keep convincing yourself of the notion.”

Feeling his laughter reverberating off him, you felt yourself being pulled at arm’s length, looking up at him once more. Your husband leaned in then, gently pressing his forehead against yours. “No one is at home anymore, vita.”

A raise of your eyebrow. “Chan just asked me to stay here.”

“Oh, you know what I mean,” he insisted, brushing his nose with yours. “We are alone...with no one to bother us again…”

Much as you would like to follow his intentions, you feared the state of the pending party. It had been two years since the Eagle and his centurions’ return—their triumph will be celebrated without fault.

“Jihoon,” you murmured, taking great pains in retracting from his kisses. “I must go.”

His lips trailed down to your chin, making your willpower all the more weak. “Can you not spare me even an hour?”

If you could spare him half that hour, you would have gladly indulged him, but the party arrangements awaited. The soldiers, and your general, deserved the best of welcomes.

So you made yourself separate from his tempting hold, taking a few steps away from him. “I cannot offer even a second, my love.”

The man pretended to be beyond upset at your resistance. He waited till your feet landed on the entryway when he spoke.

“Perhaps it was better you did not give me a mere hour, vita.”

You looked back. Leaning against the stone cot, he let his lips curl upwards. “It simply would not suffice.”

The curiosity in your eyes had him further smirking. “I need an entire day to make up for the two years of absence from you.”

It was sheer luck you were holding onto the doorframe. 

“Careful, love,” he cooed, which only had you stumbling further out of the door in shock. His laughter followed you faintly as you left the room, blood rushing to your cheeks in drastic speed.

You hoped ardently, without shame, that he would carry out his intentions.

Then, you aggressively shook your head, heading straight to the kitchens. Not these thoughts at the moment, _____.

You have a party to prepare for.

THE NIGHT OF THE WELCOMING ARRIVED AS QUICKLY AS YOU HAD HOPED.

The guests began to enter your estate as soon as the sun descended on the empire, bringing words of praise and gifts to your husband and his soldiers. Your pride swelled exceedingly at hearing the positive messages, encouraging everyone to drink to their health. The smiles did not cease, widening further when the men and women fawned over your child. They wished for your baby to grow up just like the man he was named after, and you smiled, scared that one word from you would have your tears gushing.

You had everyone lay on their seated beds, surrounding tables filled with nourishment. Orders spilled from your lips to never stop the plates of beef and veal and fish and infinite other meats—tonight, your guests would feast like emperors. 

Eventually, the stars of the legion arrived, howling in celebration at seeing you adorned in indigo-coloured finery. You reckoned that they had drunk a fountain’s worth before showing up here, but you only hauled them inside, showing them to their place—cushioned couches all set up around low, circular tables, food nearly toppling off the edges. 

Seokmin drooled at the sight. “Out of the way, bastards!” He declared, running straight for the bedding in the middle part of the cushioned arc, settling himself nicely before digging in instantly. “Tell your slave Chan to bring us some wine!”

As if on cue, the soldier came rushing in with huge jugs of the featured drink, looking at you. “Is this alright?”

“Of course, Chan,” you said, taking the jugs from him. “Now you lay beside your friends! You have helped me enough.”

“Where is that man of yours, my lady?” Soonyoung drawled, snatching a cup of honey wine from the servants. “He did not accompany us this afternoon.”

“He had to go meet Octavian,” you answered, the rest of the centurions lodging themselves on the cushions. “There were honours he had to receive from him before he could officially celebrate here.”

“As long as he gets drunk with us, I do not mind,” Wonwoo voiced, raising his cup in toast. 

Seokmin, seeing Chan looking around in embarrassment, poured a cup full of alcohol and pushed it in his hand. “Drink up, boy! I am not having you shy away from your victories!”

The latter seemed much inclined to throw away the wine, but his friends began to groan. “Fine, fine, but only a sip!”

Seungkwan downed his cup, sighing into it. “He will never grow up.”

Wonwoo eyed you with concern as he plucked a grape from its pack. “Will you not have a rest with us?”

“You men have your fun,” you insisted. “I will settle when Jihoon comes home.”

Fortunately, that did not take more than ten minutes, you catching the sound of hooves outside the estate. Footsteps sounded from the entrance, and you whirled to see your new arrival.

The primus pilus of the Legacy Legion looked every bit his title—regal, powerful, magical in his purple robes, hemmed with gold as it draped over his loose white shirt, exposed on his right arm. His locks, longer than his hair months ago, curled slightly along his neck, roughening his usual soldierly demeanour.

Squealing, you rushed to him, greeting him with a kiss. “Come, come!” You exclaimed, ushering him inside.

“The general’s arrived!” Seokmin before you with the others following, albeit with more difficulty.

Jihoon directed a soft smile at you before sneering at his friends. “At least finish chewing on your food, you babies.”

“Care about your own baby before calling us such, you prick!”

“You are very lucky you are drunk, Wonwoo!” 

“Sit with them,” you said, tugging him to a free space between subordinates. 

As your husband obliged, he let his curiosity wander. “And where are you off to?”

Your gaze went beyond the dining hall, into the leeways that brought you to the kitchens. “I am a host, dear, and that means making sure all my guests are accommodated for.”

His grip on you was strong. “When will you come back?” He asked, thumb brushing over your hand.

You let your lips slip into a small smile. “Soon.”

And you were off, letting Jihoon’s eyes brush over you instead of his touch.

A few hours into the party and the chaos began.

You knew it was bound to happen eventually, with the amount of wine being consumed—your friends alone downed half the deposits, the consequences of such reckless drinking being exposed by their behaviour.

The centurions’ area was by far the loudest: Seokmin drank to the point he pissed in the jug that stored his wine, Seungkwan then threatening to topple that very jug atop his head. Soonyoung resorted to self-praise in his stupor, with Wonwoo shaking his head, yet laughing uncontrollably at every unfunny quip the former slipped out. Chan giggled as he sipped his alcohol, Jihoon watching all his friends with a full cup in his own hand. 

It was around midnight when you heard the voice of your beloved calling for you. 

“Vita!”

Excusing yourself from your tipsy guests, you walked to your dear men, who were creating a ruckus in your home. You felt soft fingers caress your shin within your dress, and you looked down to see your general smiling at you.

“Sit, my love,” he said, tugging you down to him. “You have made me wait a while.”

“Fine!” You exclaimed with mock exasperation, laying down next to him. 

He wrapped his arm around you, pulling you to him, your entire back pressed against his front. “There,” he whispered, and the proximity of his breath had chills running down your spine.

You hoped he could feel the warmth radiating off you.

“_____!” Seokmin exclaimed, pointing his cup at you in accusation, wine sloshing out and spilling. “I have a bone to pick with you!”

“Oh, gods,” Jihoon cursed quietly.

“So I found out from our esteemed general that you named your son Seungcheol.” The man scoffed. “How could you commit such an action?”

When you raised your eyebrows, he smirked in disbelief, gesturing towards himself. “My lady, I am offended you did not name him after me.”

Wonwoo spit out his drink, unable to control his laughter. Seungkwan poured himself some more, clicking his tongue in amusement. “Gods forbid we have another Seokmin in our circle.”

“Now what is that supposed to mean?” the man demanded, bunching his robes from his arms. 

“I know you are not that stupid,” was his sly answer. 

“Boys,” Jihoon seethed, glaring at the two about to send the estate down with their fists. “Lay off the anger or lay off the wine.”

Grumbling as they broke off their spat, you looked up at the mediator, swirling his cup. “You know you do not have to be a general here.”

Your husband hummed absent-mindedly, lazily running his hand along you. “I know, vita. Can I ever rest, though, when I have such rowdy dogs barking around me all the time?”

Chuckling, you leaned into him, his honey-like scent engulfing you. “Have you drank?”

“Only a little.” You felt a lilt to his voice as he continued. “Sober enough to see clearly how divine you look. Especially in this dress.”

You stilled as his hands began to wander downwards. 

Your voice barely came out as you said, “Jihoon, what…what are you doing?” 

He did not respond, instead adorning a small smile on his face as his fingers ghosted down your body, to your stomach. On instinct you stopped his trail with your own hand, gripping his wrist. “Jihoon!” you hissed. “There are people right beside us!”

“People who do not know what is going on around them,” he added, gesturing to his friends. Sure enough, each and every one of the centurions were out of their minds, save for Chan, who was too preoccupied trying to take away their drinks. 

Jihoon turned to you once more, eyes inviting. “I mean, I will stop if you wish.” His movements turned slower, your hand still on his. “If you have other…pressing matters.”

Your mind could only think of damning whatever ‘pressing matters’ there well to the underworld. Perhaps he could see it too. “If roaming eyes are what you fear,” he whispered, “Then let me solve that problem.”

In a flash, he brought one long slit of his toga, resting the huge sheet of fabric upon you so your entire body was cloaked, along with his wandering fingers. So casually he began his journey once more, widening your eyes with each finger spiralling downwards.

When he reached the spot, shielded only with your silk, his head rested softly against your neck. “There we go.”

He barely grazed the slit, but the very sensation had you squeezing your own hand upon his. “Easy, darling,” he whispered, as if he was not the reason for your change. “I haven’t even done anything and yet you falter.”

“Not my fault you went away for two years,” you hissed. It was a terrible thing to say, really, but your desire was bubbling. Your rationality, in turn, simply had to depart.

The comment only made your husband chuckle. “I was saving the Empire, vita.” His other hand, completely free, occupied itself, his solitary finger ghosting along your skin. “Would you rather I damn the world to the gods and serve at your feet instead?”

“As if you do not already,” you murmured, your hand loosening on his wrist. 

Earning another soft laugh from him, his new freedom had him sliding down further. “And where did this…newfound confidence come from?” he asked, one finger delving into your slit and eliciting a shuddered breath. “I’d only hear gasps from you before.”

His slow endeavours found your clit beneath the silk, and the seething gasp that tore from your mouth had the bastard sighing in satisfaction. “Ah, see?” He continued, his hand upon your shoulder now sliding beneath his cloak. It found refuge upon your breasts, perked from the sheer desire burning inside. “Fuck, I missed, I–” His fingers circled your clit, and you closed your eyes, heart beating rapidly underneath his other hand. 

Your breathing turned harsh, eyes darting to the members of your husband’s legion—completely unaware of the shuddering mess of nerves you had become. “Look at you,” Jihoon sighed out, fastening his fingers. “Acting out with our loved ones under this roof.” Your soft whines were music to his ears. “Whatever shall I do with you?”

“Maybe you should—fuck,” you cut off, your legs tensing, a dull, delicious ache growing at the small of your back. “Jihoon, I—”

Your line of speech was interrupted by another voice. You had hoped it would be your husband, taunting you further into oblivion, but it was a voice of pure concern.

“By the gods, _____, are you alright?”

You blinked back to see Chan, holding two glasses of wine, shaking off Soonyoung’s hands. Your eyes then widened, acutely aware of Jihoon’s fingers slowing, your release fading. 

Sly as an asp, your husband retracted his hands, still under his cloak. “What is the matter, dear friend?”

The centurion had his gaze fixed on you, confused at your state. “Is _____ okay, general? Her breathing, she…it sounds uneven. Even her eyes are dazed.”

Soonyoung, taking the lucky chance of his friend’s engrossment, snatched the wine from his hand, downing the bowl. “She is drunk, you fool!” he exclaimed, loud enough for Wonwoo to double over, cursing his rowdy mouth. “And you should be as well, instead of ruining our fun!”

“My lady, allow me to indulge you with wine,” Wonwoo sang out, trying to catch a jug of alcohol from thin air. 

Seungkwan snorted at his attempts, successfully stealing Seokmin’s drinks and chugging the lot. “Oi, you prick!” The latter yelled, nearly bringing the estate down. His friend merely laughed, calling him names and finishing the rest of the wine.

Chan, glancing for a moment away, focused on you once more. “Jihoon, I fear for _____.”

You feared for yourself too, but not in the manner the soldier spoke of—more your sanity at the pulsing, the near undoing now far from being reached. 

Jihoon pressed a kiss to your temple, smiling at Chan’s words, despite differing intentions. “You worry too much, Chan,” he said, beginning to get up from his cushions, taking you gently into his arms. “It is as Soonyoung says. Mea Vita here has had a drink too much.”

The centurion seemed a little unconvinced, but his trust for his commander outgrew any suspicions. Seokmin scoffed at the couple attempting to leave, shaking his bowl at you both. “And where are the lovebirds off to?” he demanded.

“Lady _____ is tired from the honey wine,” Chan explained. “Jihoon is helping her sleep.”

“Ha!” was the boy’s reply. 

“Are you really that dim-witted?” Seungkwan asked, laughing darkly at the youngest’s naivety. 

“Huh?” Chan glanced at his general.

The general declared to his guests, “I will be retiring with my wife, but enjoy until dawn, friends!”

Cheers arose from every corner of the estate, no doubt eager to live up to his request. Jihoon then rested his eyes on his soldier, who looked up at him with great bewilderment.

He only offered a sly wink before slipping into the hallways. 

Chan’s confusion only deepened. 

Soonyoung spluttered into laughter. “You poor fool!” 

Seungkwan’s smirk was prevalent as, taking the bowl filled with fresh honey wine from the tables, he sat beside Chan, offering him his first drink. “Let us educate you, dear man, on what exactly is about to happen between our general and his wife.”

IT TOOK APPROXIMATELY TEN SECONDS BEFORE YOUR PATIENCE SNAPPED IN YOUR DARKENED HALLWAYS. 

You slapped your hands against Jihoon’s purple-clad chest, and tried to push him back into the stone wall. Of course, when one had the strongest general in the Roman Empire as a husband, physically overtaking them is an impossible action.

Which was why he began to laugh at your efforts before casually taking your wrists, whirling you about.  Suddenly your back was against the wall, with his face near inches from you. 

“Cannot control yourself for even a minute?” He purred, bringing your hands above your head. “Has the journey to our bedroom become too difficult?”

“Stop fucking about with me” you got out, aching to have your hands freed, touch his face, his lips, but he was too strong. 

The man leaned further. “No, vita…it has been too long.” 

He brushed his nose along with yours. “Don’t think I’ll be satisfied with simply fucking you against the wall.”

His words alone had your heart beating faster, eager to see how he would play the night out. It had been far too long since you had felt such promise of pleasure in these years.

“I won’t be either, general,” you mused, and the fire that sparked in Jihoon’s eyes could have very well brought you your undoing then. 

That was enough for him to swoop in, damning all sweetness to the underworld as he collided his lips with yours. 

You swore you could never tire of Jihoon’s lips as he moved hungrily, grip on your wrists tightening. A small noise lodged in the back of your throat, aching to be released but to no avail. His mouth refused to pull away, miss even a moment of how you felt against him. 

The years away made you realise how much you missed his touch—lips in sync, bodies snuffing out any distance left—you had no choice but to whine into his mouth, opening yourself up fully to him. You wanted him all, without a single drop of hesitation.

Feeling the exact same, he happily delved further, an eon-old kernel of fire singeing his lips and searing you with his desire. His tongue, catching onto his lust, slithered past your teeth, swirling your tongue with his and increased the volume of your moans. 

Gods, your moans, your little voices of passion were like victory trumpets to his ears, every single ah! or fuck! riling him further into a frenzy. He had not forgotten these glorious sounds when he was thousands of miles away, but it had been so fucking long since he had heard them in person, and not just his dreams.

So he relished in your moans. Completely engulfed himself in your bubble of desire as his one hand strayed from your wrists, skirting downwards along your body. Grabbing hold of your skirts, he raised them to your hips. He caught sight of your cunt, and he swore his mouth watered. 

“Stop it…stop stalling, Jihoon,” you seethed, soul almost withering in wait for your husband to ruin you already.

Fortunately for you, he was the most accommodating man.

His hand freeing yours, it journeyed downwards to the real treasure. Your eyes widened at his finger sliding inside you, and the pure, ethereal sensation of his touch finally attaining your cunt had you dazing off completely. Your mouth forgot all words, as if forgetting how to speak the languages which Jihoon whispered now on your skin.

With your hands gaining newfound freedom, they carded through his hair, finding refuge in the soft, growing locks, tidied for the party. You would have done more had Jihoon not circled your clit, and the delirious sensation was back—your legs nearly gave way, and you let out a whimper as you held onto him tightly, lest you fell at his feet. 

His sharp eyes caught onto your weakening state, slowing his ministrations. “How about I take this somewhere else?” He rasped in your ear. 

Not waiting for your answer, he slid his hands underneath your thighs and picked you up, you instinctively wrapping your legs around him. He did not cease his kisses, his tongue dancing inside your mouth while finding the door to the bedroom. 

He did not waste a single moment—kicking the door open with his foot, he settled you on the table right beside, throwing the objects to the floor. Giving you a small peck, he journeyed downwards, slowly kneeling before you while opening your legs.

His husky chuckling rang in your ears. “Gods, after so long…” he could not even finish, pressing airlight kisses upon your inner thigh, each phantom touch nearing the kernel of arousal. “So…fucking long…”

The minute he reached his destination his tongue slipped free of his mouth. Holding onto your thighs, he let himself take the last step.

His tongue sliding along your cunt had you melting on the table. 

You were certain the table had crumbled beneath you, the ground fading as your husband explored you, lapping up the arousal dripping since the moment he graced you with his touch. A satisfied noise left his occupied mouth, you tasting like the honey wine you poured for him not an hour ago.

This. This made fighting relentlessly for two years worth it. This made every single drop of blood, buckets of sweat and floods of tears worth it. Life was hard, torturous even away from Rome, from you, but all that dark anguish in the time lost between you two was worth it if this was his reward.

And Jihoon would make sure this, too, would be worth it for you.

His tongue found your clit, and if you were not a mess before, the tendrils of pleasure that came with reduced you to cinders. He circled the bud like a slow march, growing faster with each passing beat. You moaned his name, a mantra on your lips which only rang louder. 

“J-Jihoon,” you kept whimpering, and his tongue would circle faster. You begin to thrash against him, unable to sit still while he brought you such unadulterated thrill. You would have happily grinded against his face had his hands on your thighs not tightened, indicating to stop fidgeting.

In honesty you tried—you endeavoured to be composed, but the bastard made the task impossible. The writhing continued, and would have kept going had Jihoon not halted his actions.

You let out an agitated yelp. 

“I’m sorry, vita, but you have to stay still,” he replied, fingers running along your thighs. “Do you not want to enjoy this?”

His lips glistened as he spoke, courtesy of your cunt. With his head in between your thighs, he was a feast for your eyes. “Fuck, Jihoon, I…I already am.” 

Maybe he agreed that he was a fine feast, for he curved his shining mouth in a dark smirk, eyes not leaving yours as he slowly slung a leg over his shoulder. “Well then,” he began, repeating with the other leg, fingers skimming the naked skin. “Let me add to your pleasure.”

This time, when he dove in, he was relentless.

You gripped onto the edge of the table, fingers digging into the wood as he quickened the rhythm of his tongue, working on your bundle of nerves so deliciously you wondered how your soul still survived inside your body. 

The wondering stopped, your questions answered when his finger joined in on the ravishing, sliding inside you and knocking the breath out of you. He was so undeniably good, knowing you liked the insertion slow, almost testing the waters before completely undoing you.

And gods bless him, for that is all he intended to do. The Eagle of Rome only knelt for the gods, but you, your whines, your writhing pleasure he drank like a man parched…

You had become a deity in his eyes; and a celestial figure deserved the best of service — hours upon hours of honing your desire because he was the only one who was capable of ruining you.

Another finger found itself inside you, and your cunt began to pulsate at the fullness it achieved, inching along the growing tension bubbling deep within your gut. Beads of sweat dripped down, your willpower to not thrash against his face about to snap, and when he fastened his pace an obscenely loud moan ripped through your mouth. 

You were much too close to the final high.

“Fuck, Jihoon—!” you nearly cried, hands unable to stray from his hair, his wonderful, lustrous hair. “Jihoon, please, I’m so clo—”

His free hand on your thigh squeezed you ever so slightly, as if aware of your near absolution. He only sped up his work, his fingers gliding in and out so quickly you could not keep up. If that was not enough, his mouth sucking on your clit was ready to bring the sky down on your head.

But Jihoon was ready to risk the destruction of all the world. Ready to face the gods in his last hour as he swirled your swollen bud with his tongue one last time.

That was enough to come undone.

Your release came crashing, curls of pleasure riding all through your body as your mind misted into fog, no thought or idea save for the slow assistance of your husband, easing your throbbing. A lust-struck sigh came out of you, hand falling from his hair onto his tensed shoulder. Sensing your high washing over, he slowed his tongue, fingers withdrawn from your cunt.

He caught your gaze in his, two slick fingers hanging between you two. He dared you to look away as he brought them to his lips, slipping them inside and tasting the residue.

That sight alone could have made you come for the second time. 

The bastard knew it too, for a ghost of a smirk exposed itself on his face, once his fingers were clean of your arousal. “Could not let it go to waste,” he murmured, as if your wetness was liquid gold. 

Hands back on your thighs once more, he lifted himself up gently, toga in disarray over his service. With you sat upon the table, his fingers found home upon your chin, lifting your line of sight on him.

Pure hunger lay dormant in his eyes. 

Not just his eyes, but his mouth still, when he leaned in and kissed you. You returned it without question, desire coiling around your soul as if it had not been released mere minutes ago.

You did not care. Not when you had waited so fucking long.

The man smiled between the burning kisses, humming at your lusted agony as he slid an arm around your waist. “My love—” a kiss upon the corner of your mouth —”What more shall I do—” another kiss, to the other corner—”For you?”

If he kept at it like this, you were going to forget your mother tongue. “Inside me…” you mustered between his lips on you, on your skin. A pathetic attempt, but your mind was still recovering from your release.

He paused, a malicious grin curving. “Pray, mea vita, my sweet, was I not just inside you?” Tugging you off the table, he held on tight as your knees buckled. “See? Even your body speaks for me.”

Your leg brushed against the weakness of his argument, almost tenting his toga. “Does yours?” you managed to remark, catching the defeated furrow of his brow. 

His stare had you silent once again, butterflies forming in your stomach. Leaning in, his lips brushed against the shell of your ear. 

“I’ll have your body screaming for me when I’m done, vita.”

Your body, in his response, shuddered against him.

Jihoon did not wait for more as he slotted his mouth along yours, igniting the flame again, unable to have enough of you as he whirled you around, eliciting the same little whines he adored so ardently.

He swooped you up in his arms, knowing your legs could not take the walk to the bed. Never stopping his kisses, he knew where to go by memory, hands skirting along your skin as he neared the final haven of tonight. Despite his words, he laid you gently upon the bed, continuing his trail upon your cheeks, your jaw, anywhere where you would allow him. 

Your heart sang at what was to come. Memories flooded you, passionate nights of years ago reminding you of what had been, and what distance had snatched from you. You had never forgotten the last time you both had made love, the very last night you both had been offered before he was to sail away to satiate his need for vengeance. He had asked nothing from you, not a single request, even though he knew you would have given it to him in a heartbeat. 

No, that night, he had explored every inch, every crevice of your body—burned his presence onto your skin till the entirety of Rome knew that Lee Jihoon had left a piece of himself in you. That piece morphed into the child you bore, but Jihoon had never really left your soul, despite the thousands of miles stretching between you two.

“Never again,” you let yourself whisper as he broke away, your hands fisting themselves in his toga, tugging off the fabric which was another form of distance. You needed him once again. Yes, you had withstood miles upon miles away from him. But now, you could not handle even inches apart.

He understood. He always understood, slipping off the clothing till it reached his hips. Climbing over you, his abdomen exposed, you could not believe your cheeks burned at the sight of him half-naked before you. A small chuckle escaped him, and he stole a quick kiss before burying himself into your neck.

His fingers reached for the loose straps of your dress, barely of use. “Take these off for me, darling,” he whispered, and the order vibrated along your skin, ready to be followed. While you desperately tried to pry your dress off, he pressed open-mouthed kisses along the base of your throat, making your simple task an impossible mission.

One strap fell, and Jihoon’s teeth slowly sank into your skin, sucking at the spot with such passion a soft groan trambles out of you, unsure whether you could get the other half of your dress off. Thankfully, with someone as accommodating as him, he pressed an unironically chaste kiss before finding the last straps himself. 

The pure smugness in his eyes had you in near tears. “One little kiss, and you’ve ceased working,” he drawled breathily. “Must I do all the work, my sweet?”

You would have cursed his ancestors had he not brought your dress down, tossing the clothing to the side and drinking in your bare figure. 

A breath shuddered out of him, certain that you could inhale the pure lust oozing from him. “I can’t…I cannot believe I went two years without…without this—”

The words were left unfinished as he wasted no time, indulging your mouth for moments before pouncing downwards, taking your left breast in his mouth and skimming his teeth softly against the nipple. The man was riling you up now, you taking his hair in your hands, certain you were trying to tear his locks out with the way you held onto him. Jihoon did not seem to mind, too occupied with your breasts to pay heed to your damage.

“Jihoon, please, I need you to—fuck!” cut off with his tongue encircling your breasts, you nearly had had enough. Your cunt ached for the final descent, your patience growing thin. “Please, I-I need you inside me!”

His answer was allowing one last lick to your right nipple, cold striking your breasts as he looked down at you, eyes glossed over with carnal delight. With his hand he ripped away the toga pooling at his hips, and his cock was freed, almost enraged to be cloaked away in silk. 

You looked like a fool staring at it, but you could not help it—you did not remember it being so huge, even though it has been inside you countless times. Another piece of evidence that he had been away from you long enough.

“Ogled enough, darling?” his voice snapped you back, and you were almost embarrassed at the shit-eating grin that lit up his face. 

“Shut up,” you mumbled, but you could not say more, you being silenced with his searing kiss. 

Pulling away, his forehead rested against yours, black locks tickling your cheeks as he held your one side in one hand, and his cock in another.

Nudging your legs apart, the tip brushed against your folds, and your soul nearly departed from the ghost of a touch. “Careful,” he warned, thumb stroking your hip, and he stole a glance at you.

“I love you, vita,” he whispered.

And began the final descent.

His cock slid inside, slowly, ever so slowly, but with every inch you felt each layer of your spirit stop to a standstill. Jihoon never stopped watching—catching your parted mouth, the shallow, uneven breaths you took, the knitted brows, your fingers holding onto him for dear life. He could not help it, see—these few seconds, these few, transitory moments, where both souls are on the edge of the world, and none know whether they’d hang on, or fall to their doom.

This moment encompassed such an image within the features of your face.

And he relished it. Captured the image, and used it as fuel to his carnal fire as he buried himself into you, releasing a breath he kept inside the entire time. Maybe it was after so long, but the two of you stayed still, your husband fearing you might snap. A frivolous thought, of course, but one can believe anything when one is so vulnerable.

One look from you, though, had his doubts disappearing in an instant. You let a small smile escape, and it was all he needed before he slowly withdrew, the mere action so gratifying you wondered whether it was another one of your dreams, a vision granted by the mercy of the gods.

Maybe the gods were extra pleased, for Jihoon was no dream—only a very pleasing reality, waiting for your whimpers to fill the room before thrusting back into you again. The rhythm was beginning to strike, and you were its follower; the shy hesitations started to fade, and you could feel his desire burning with every slide out, and every slide in of his cock into you, holding onto your hips to keep you steady. 

With each thrust you felt the stakes of your pleasure reach higher and higher. Tendrils of delight rippled through you with his movements, quickening yet keeping his fluidity, like an elegant dancer in a warfield, somehow managing to emerge victorious with his body alone. Of course, you could never doubt your husband. He was the favourite of the Empire for a reason.

“By the gods, you—” he plunged into you once more, and he grazed a certain spot inside you that had you seeing the universes. “You’re so fucking good to me, you—”

Never finishing his sentences, never even finishing his line of thought, the sole thing in his mind being your delicious fucking folds, your cunt which felt so perfect around his cock. He leaned in further, teething sweet love bites onto your neck, revelling in your pleasured groaning, growing louder and louder with each quickened thrust. “Yes, vita, just like that!” he exclaimed, never stopping. “For all of Rome to hear!”

He did not care a bit if the world heard them now. All that mattered to him was you, you and only you.

More so when that familiar, growing ache of nerves was back, warning you of your impending release. Jihoon was ruthless to you, relentless with his cock, unforgiving with his tongue and teeth which managed to devour your every inch. There was no escaping it—the ache was like a tightened knot, with his actions well on its way to unravel it.

“I-I’m close, Jihoon,” you breathed out, pressing your lips on his chest, his shoulder, anything you could grasp. “Please, love, I need to—”

“I know, vita,” he guttered, as if he, too, was close. He did not care much for that, though, when all he could focus on was you, all broken words and teary gazes beneath him. “I know.”

To add even more to your doom, he brought back an older prospect, fingers circling your clit and heightening the delight swirling within your gut ten times over. The nerves were pumping, faster and faster, and you were deathly aware that it was now or never.

Your eyes, seeing stars throughout, found your husband within the mist of desire. “J-Jihoon…”

Everything was forgotten. Not a word remembered in the fog of your mind but your vita’s name, your lover’s name, bright as the summer sun, as bold as the royal colours he adorned in his triumph.

As true as the love never lost between the two of you.

It was enough for the Eagle of Rome to capture your lips, holding you in a heart-wrenching kiss.

It was enough for you to completely ruin yourself.

Your cries drowned onto his mouth as release came crashing, legs shaking as you died and resurrected all at once, came undone within his hold. The world slipped away in that moment, with him as your anchor, saving you from being eternally lost.

While you lay breathless, Jihoon slipped himself out of you, breaking away from your kiss to cry out himself, spilling himself onto you and the sheets. A haggard fuck escaped him, arcing over you before throwing himself beside you. 

Silence welcomed you after that.

The din of the party remained, and both of you gasping, but a silence followed, like a warm winter blanket. Both of you stared at the ceiling, the moonlit parts of the surfaces, trying to catch your breaths after what you both just experienced.

Turning your head, you caught Jihoon already stealing glances. They were heavy-lidded, unsurprisingly, yet you found it endearing, despite the circumstances.

“What?” you got out, cocking your head at his soft staring.

He shook his head, smiling tiredly. He stretched his arm out towards you, murmuring, “Come here.”

Obliging, you followed under his arm, resting your head against his chest. Despite the granite-hardness of his body, no other surface would suffice. Your head rose and fell along to his uneven breathing, a small comfort. 

As the general gazed down at you, the softness returned; his thumb stroked along your cheeks. “I…” he began, voice huskier than usual, you humming in satisfaction. 

“Yes?” you got out, hanging onto his every word. 

Glancing away for a second, he looked to the window, and the view it offered of the world beyond.

He then glanced back at you, a better world he had found of his own.

“I am…so happy…” he whispered. Whispered because he had to tell his world what he felt. “So happy to come back to you.”

Your heart but into a thousand butterflies.

A smile as wide as you could muster was your response.

And as he continued stroking your hair, and you leaning into his hold, you too, knew that you felt the exact same.

For the Eagle of Rome had returned to you at last.

CENTURION LEE CHAN HAD WITNESSED HORRORS.

He had seen thousands of dead men, scattered across the sands of Egypt. He had seen ships sink before his very eyes—by the gods, he had even seen the beginnings of death, when he nearly drowned at the final naval battle that secured Legacy Legion its victory.

None of these events, however, made him more queasy as realising that you, while you were laid beside your husband, were not experiencing intoxication from honey wine. It was an exhilaration of a completely unusual kind, a feeling that had the tips of his ears reddening. 

His fellow men’s reactions only made it worse. “What did you think they were going to do?” Seungkwan only demanded. “Sleep it off on their first night together?”

“Well, how was I to know?” the youngest visibly shivered. “I do not know how married people work.”

“Poor soul,” Soonyoung tutted out, no plans for pausing his drink. “I fear for when he is to wed.”

“I still do not understand,” Seokmin voiced out. “They have a whole child together. How did you not…”

“My apologies for not pondering over our general’s intimate life,” Chan grumbled. “How idiotic of me.”

“Do not mind these deviants,” Wonwoo assured him, handing him a fresh cup of wine. “You just drink their awful comments away.”

He spared a fearful glance at the cup, filled with honey wine. “I should not,” he meant to declare in a confident stance. His voice, already weakened from a previous revelation of his commander’s, had rendered his declaration as a childish mumble. “The baby would need my attention sooner or later.”

“Fuck the baby!” was Seokmin’s great exclamation, clicking his tongue. “He is already the star guest of this damned celebration. We—!” he patted his chest repeatedly—”We were supposed to be the ones our people fawn over!”

“Your need for attention never fails to astound me,” Wonwoo remarked, circling his drink. “The boy was named after our murdered friend.”

“It happens to men like Seokmin,” Seungkwan drawled, slinging an arm around him, “To those men who received no attention at home.”

“Fuck off!” Seokmin jeered, rasped out from the alcohol buzzing in his system. “At least our Roman women fawned over me this afternoon. Where were your girls?”

“My, my, our dear Seokmin’s imagination runs so wild!” The second-youngest cooed condescendingly, grabbing Wonwoo’s cup, which had the latter furrowing his brows. “He dreams of female attention when we have seen no evidence of it!”

Soonyoung wished to join in on the bullying, chiming in, “And now he envies a child that cannot control its own piss!”

As everyone laughed at the poor, drunk soul, who genuinely looked as if he might cry, Wonwoo waved his large hands around, as if attempting to calm everyone down. “No more harassing the unloved virgin.”

“We were not talking about Chan though,” Soonyoung instantly piped up, his next said-target narrowing his eyes. 

“Just because I choose to save myself for someone I love,” he grumbled, which had chuckling resonating around the group.

“Gods help her when she turns up, then,” Seungkwan sighed out, drinking Wonwoo’s wine. 

Perhaps Chan might have said something in retort—might have even garnered the strength to punch the honey wine out of his friend’s insides when one of the servants came hurrying. 

He identified her as Myrtia, your personal maid, who looked incredibly distressed. “Centurion Lee,” she immediately began, “Seungcheol keeps crying!”

“Oh, gods,” Soonyoung crowed, “Wet-nurse first, soldier second, is it?”

“At least he is not a whore first, Soonyoung,” Seokmin muttered.

“Both of you, shut up!” Chan finally snapped, turning to Myrtia once more. “Where is he right now? Will _____ not tend to him?”

“Our dear _____ is a little occupied being tended to herself, remember?” Seungkwan reminded him, his smirk malicious. 

The youngest flushed scarlet, shaking his head. “Right, of course…” He heaved himself off the cushions, to much of his friends’ agitation. “I will see what to do.”

“What?” Soonyoung sat up, but the alcoholic daze had him swaying slightly. “Wait, wait, wait, don’t just leave!” 

“Take me to Cheol,” Chan said to Myrtia, but before she could even agree, four rounds of disapproving voices hurled towards the poor boy.

“No!” Seungkwan exclaimed first, taking great pains to hoist himself off the long tables. “No, no, you cannot go on your own!”

“Exactly!” Seokmin joined in, using Seungkwan’s toga to try hauling himself up. “You will die in there!” 

Wonwoo clicked his tongue, even though he, too, was beginning to follow after his friends. “Chan is not going to die with a mere child.”

Chan watched his superiors rise carelessly from their furnishings, already feeling a little frantic. “What are you all doing?”

“Why, coming with you, of course!” 

“Myrtia, my sweet,” Soonyoung purred, patting a hand on her shoulder, “You lead us straight to the baby!” 

Hurriedly nodding, she turned and headed towards the destination, five centurions hot on her heels as they were led down the familiar hallways. Chan muttered to himself, but did not have time to self-ponder when he was constantly being distracted.

“How much longer is this going to take?” Seokmin whined, holding onto the walls for support. “And since when did the lamps on _____’s walls start shaking?”

“It has not been a minute and you’re complaining!” Seungkwan snarked out. “It’s a wonder you managed to walk forty miles everyday, lazy git.” 

“Not lazy enough to slice your mouth right off!” 

“Just this door here,” Myrtia said, turning into the empty doorway, dipping her head in respect as she stepped out of the way, allowing Chan to enter first, the rest stumbling behind him. 

Sure enough, the first noise heard in everyone’s ears was the wailing—a screechy, whiny sound which reverberated off the stone walls, striking discomfort, irritation, turmoil in the hearts of whoever heard them. The man who felt it the most dashed to the cot, brows joining together in agitation over the sight of the baby. 

“You would think Chan was the father,” Seungkwan retorted. “Do something about this crying, boy!” 

“You really are heartless,” Wonwoo scolded, following after the youngest. Observing the crying child, he pursed his mouth into a thin line. “How does one…stop a baby from crying?”

“Only a mother can take care of her child,” Seokmin voiced out, as if he thought of a ground-breaking notion akin to Plato’s wisdom. 

“We are not disturbing _____,” Seungkwan rebuked, shaking his head vigorously. “Those two have waited nearly two years to fuck each other again.”

“Let them have their fun!” Soonyoung roared, which had the baby crying louder. “Gods, Chan, you are the youngest after Cheol. Handle this sobbing mess!”

“I have seen twenty summers,” Chan muttered.

“Yes, so a baby in my eyes!” 

“Of course you are going to consider Chan as a baby, you geriatric. It’s a wonder you did not collapse on the battlefield.” 

I will kill you in the next war, Seungkwan.”

As the rest started grumbling amongst themselves, the youngest gently picked up the bundle, slowly rocking him in hopes to calm the crying. Seungcheol’s face was reddened with the constant sorrow, and it broke Chan’s heart a little, hoping that he would gain some newfound power and solve whatever problem ailed him. 

A sigh escaping him, he began to mumble sweet nothings to him, morphing those whispers in a quaint song he heard from his own childhood. His melody was like honey wine, words so soft, his voice so sweet, that the men that accompanied him began to quieten, turning their heads to the origin.

Wonwoo watched the scene, smiling lop-sidedly. “You are a natural!”

“It is quite embarrassing,” Seokmin admitted, scratching the back of his head, “That the youngest of us is the only one able to calm a child.”

“None of us claimed to be good with children,” Seungkwan thought out loud, observing the younger soldier tend to the sobbing, which had quietened to mere whimpers. 

Soonyoung tried to raise a brow—strong on tried, but he was too drunk to carry out such a simple action. “You always boasted of your relationships with your nieces and nephews.”

“That is different. I could care less about random urchins.”

“Seungkwan!” Seokmin exclaimed. “Seungcheol is no urchin.”

“He was though, was he not?” The man scoffed, albeit a bit tenderly as he began to reminisce. “Gods, did you forget how insufferable he was?”

“Always on our arses, too,” Soonyoung agreed, snickering. “Do you remember when he got us in shit with Octavian?”

“Talking back to Caesar’s successor during our first military session.” Wonwoo visibly shivered. “The punishment still haunts me.”

But the distant memory only made the rest chuckle, as if the centurions had not received verbal lashings from the leader of Rome at that time. Silence bathed the room, only Seungcheol’s voice sputtering through the surface of calm. It had only been a meagre two-and-half years since the inspiration behind his name had passed, but with the hardships of the Alexandria campaign, it had felt like decades. Even Chan felt the age of this campaign, although he was young when he suffered the loss. 

He sensed the loss a little more that night as, walking away from the cot, he leaned against the wall. As if unable to stand, he let his legs buckle a little, sliding down and settling on the floor, feet spreading out before him. “I sometimes see him in my dreams,” he admitted. 

There was a heavy pause. 

Then, “He visited me more a year back.”

Everyone focused on Soonyoung. Travelling to where his youngest friend sat, he copied his position, continuing, “I told Jihoon about it, actually, right before Actium…I deemed it a sign of the gods.” A small laugh huffed out of him. “He then corrected me, saying it was all Cheol.”

“Typical,” Seungkwan said, smiling. “Take all the might of the gods and reward himself for it.”

“I cannot blame him, though,” Wonwoo countered, wandering over to the seated duo, looking down at their general’s son. “A loss of faith can come with a loss of a loved one.”

“Yes, but look at us now!” Seokmin reasoned, gesturing to them all. “Victors of the coming generation!” 

“But these so-called ‘Victors’ cannot stop a baby from crying,” Wonwoo murmured, sitting beside Chan. “I doubt we deserve that title.”

“Hey, at least Chan deserves it.” Seokmin hurried to sit beside the former, watching tenderly over at the baby. “Look, he is silent now!” 

“No way!” Seungkwan exclaimed, sauntering to the group and settling beside Soonyoung, reaching over to inspect the claim.

Sure enough—at the centre of the most powerful soldiers in Rome, almost slumbering in complete peace, was a silent Seungcheol, happy Seungcheol as he stirred only if Chan moved his hand, or shifted his legs. It was not as if they had not seen a mere child before, but, once again, this bundle, so full of life, was different. This was their commander’s legacy. Their leader’s soul extended from his own life-force, his evidence that he loved. 

This Seungcheol that the five men stared at was the new beginning. 

It was a long time before anyone spoke. “Do you think he looks more like one over the other?” Wonwoo asked.

“All babies look the same to me,” Seokmin offered his opinion. 

By Seungkwan’s incredulous glance, it seemed it was not appreciated. “No one let this idiot have a child of his own.”

The accused frowned, genuinely hurt. “Hey! I should like to have a family one day. Give you all opportunity to become uncles again.”

“I would recognise your baby anywhere,” Soonyoung crowed, “Because it shall be the ugliest out of ours.”

The gasp that escaped Seokmin had Chan choking out a laugh. Seungcheol stirred at the action, which had the latter immediately stilling. “You guys need to insult each other’s future children a little quieter,” he whispered. 

The former had other plans, though. “Wait, can I hold him?” 

Chan shot a concerned glance. “Fine, but be careful!” he insisted, slowly handing over the bundle to Wonwoo, who, after smiling at him, passed him over at the end. 

Seokmin began rocking the child, who glanced up at him, languidly blinking up at the soldier. He was ecstatic, softly touching the tiny nose, and feeling his mouth widen into a grin. “See? He likes me already!”

“Yeah, after Chan has done all the hard labour,” Wonwoo commented, beaming at the baby’s expression. 

“I want Cheol after you,” Soonyoung demanded, crossing his arms, “So he can see what a real man is like.”

“Real jester, more like,” Seungkwan muttered, earning himself a hard elbow in the side. 

What Seokmin wanted to do was tell the eldest to wait his turn. He did not have the opportunity when he smelt the air around him, and found it most foul.

Chan noticed it immediately as well, and within the next few seconds, the others caught on. Five pairs of eyes whirled to the baby, who had the audacity to giggle.

Seokmin let out a scream. 

“BY THE FUCKING GODS—!”

Everyone scrambled to their feat, the rest struggling to hold back their amusement. “Not so loud!” Chan hissed, though he was restraining a laugh, only successful by the finger on his lips. 

“Stupid damned baby!” Seokmin screeched, holding the bundle at arms length. 

Wonwoo could not help his laugh, which spluttered out of him. “You cannot blame a baby for acting like one! It is like scolding a dog for running after a bone.”

The comparison had Soonyoung bellowing out, holding his stomach. “I always knew Seungcheol was annoying, but shitting on us is another low!”

Seokmin visibly shivered, patience running thin. “I hope he is rotting in the underworld,” he cursed, completely merciless. 

“I hope he is laughing at you,” Seungkwan prayed instead, wiping a few tears from his eyes. 

Chan only shook his head, walking to the doorway and stretching his head out. “Myrtia!” he called out, catching her tending to the guests in the dining areas. 

Quickly she arrived at the scene, understanding immediately what had occurred, judging by the men’s reactions. “Hand him over, Centurion,” she ordered, he obliging her instantly. 

“Sorry?” Seokmin offered, as if he was the one who soiled his toga. That had the others laughing even more, which had him furrowing his brows. “You men are the worst!”

“After ruining Chan’s night with all our complaints, it is only fair that we turn to you!” Soonyong explained, as if that was perfectly reasonable. 

Seungkwan cackled darkly. “We really are each other’s worst enemy.”

Wonwoo somehow found that incredibly sentimental. “I would not have it any other way,” he said, slinging his arm around Chan, ushering the other three to join in. “After all, who knows us better?”

“You make a stellar point!” The eldest clasped onto Chan’s free side, poking him in the cheek. “I would not wish to befriend any other wretched bastard.”

“You do not possess the ability to make friends, Soonyoung,” Seungkwan pointed out. 

“Then what are we?” Seokmin demanded, offended, the last to join the group. 

“Comrades?”

“Colleagues?”

“People who have seen me naked?”

But it was Chan, who was quiet all this time, observing his older—usually irritating, sometimes diabolical, yet always beloved—superiors, there formed an answer which had been settled in his heart the moment he had found their company nearly a decade back.

“Brothers.”

The men surrounding him stilled, gawking at the centre of their group—the centre that was always the core of their brotherhood. Although there was ample opportunity to poke fun at the situation, they found no ground for such humiliation. They only watched as, in an almost comical image, four pairs of eyes softened at the boy who had grown right in front of them. 

Wonwoo ruffled the youngest’s mop of waves. “And you are the dearest out of us all.”

“And do not forget it,” Seungkwan said. “Even if we make you seem otherwise.”

Chan smiled at them all, face flushing at the amount of attention received. A comfortable silence fell over them, everyone pondering over different notions, reminiscing of their times together. 

Soonyoung, however, possibly still a little intoxicated, thought of a completely different opportunity—thoughts of the very near future. 

“Men,” he began, “I have a proposition.”

The soldiers perked up, about to brace themselves for a revolutionary idea.

“Who wants to spy on Jihoon and _____?”

There was a momentary pause. Chan, visibly horrified, whirled his head left and right, praying to the gods that his fellow brothers felt the same. 

“Go on, then.” 

And as the four eldest centurions shuffled to the nursery’s entrance, Chan scrambled for a solution, because he would have rather been Mark Antony’s prisoner than listen to his commander and his wife…solidify their reunion.

He sucked in a sharp breath. 

“Wait!” 

The men paused, looking over their shoulders. “What is it?”

That intake of breath was released in complete devastation. So much for calling these utter shits brothers. 

“How about we all drink? I shall…” A hard gulp. “I shall join you properly all this time.”

They could not believe it at first. Chan, however, trudged over to them, grabbing onto whatever shoulder was nearest. “I mean it.”

He swore his brothers seemed happier in that moment than they had been cradling Jihoon’s child. 

“Well, what are we waiting for?!” Soonyoung roared, already leaving the entrance. “Let us empty the coffers!” 

And as the five most powerful men in Rome ran to be utterly gone with alcohol, Chan could not help but huff out a laugh, and hoped he had done his primus pilus a favour. 

YOU HAD ALWAYS ADORED THE WAY YOUR HUSBAND SLEPT.

As one of the most esteemed, strongest generals ever walked on Roman soil, Lee Jihoon looked as vulnerable as your baby son as he lay next to you. His body rose and fell with every breath, his arm a strong comfort around you. 

You could not help the smile that slipped past your mouth, watching him rest so peacefully after two years. You loved every single inch of your husband, but these little pieces of him, offered to you on rare occasions—with the sun bleeding through the bedroom windows, cool air drifting inside, kissing your skin—were a treasure rarer than all the wealths of the empire. 

You dared not wake him, lest the moment ended, only allowing your fingers to stretch a little forward. Your fingertips caressed the small cuts, scars on his skin, wishing you could fill every crevice of his battle-worn face with your liquid love. 

How beautiful he was, with or without what his experiences added onto him. 

Perhaps he could feel the adoration radiating off of you, for he began to stir faintly, humming to your caresses. His arm around you pulled you closer, and you were mere inches from face. 

What fortune to be so close to him, because you witnessed his eyes flutter open. Dark, chocolate irises welcomed you, and you wished with your heart that you could dive into them, and be forever lost in their haze.

“Morning,” you uttered, smiling.

He offered a lazy one in return. “Morning, my love.”

You almost beamed. “I love it when you say that.” 

His brow raised absentmindedly. “What? Morning?”

You tutted. “I think you need to sleep some more.”

“Hmmm…” he nuzzled into your neck, closing his eyes. “I will if you sleep with me.”

“But I already am.”

He craned his head back, nestled in your chest. “I think you know what I mean, vita.”

Involuntarily, you caught your lower lip between your teeth, and by the look on Jihoon’s face, he had half a mind to copy your actions.

Perhaps you would have let him too, if you did not hear a suspicious sound.

You perked up, head turning towards the door, where the origins of the voice—voices, as you listened in—lay. Your husband, catching onto your change of countenance, stretched himself before sitting up straighter, eyes squinting at the door.

Grabbing onto your clothes, which lay unceremoniously on the floor, you half-dressed yourselves before you reached just before the entrance of the room. The voices were much louder, a sense of agitation filling each one.

The loudest of the noise, amongst all the bickering, was a soft wail.

“—you stupid prick, I told you not to feed it that!”

“Well how was I supposed to know what it likes?”

“I hope you and Seokmin never have children—”

“Gods, Jihoon is going to be raging mad—!”

“What it deserves for being called Cheol—!”

You did not get to hear the end of the discussion, for Jihoon grabbed onto the doorknob and burst open the door.

Shrieks were heard on the entrance, five centurions stumbling into your bedroom, one with a special, wailing package in his hand.

“By the gods!” your husband exclaimed, shaking his head at his subordinates, scrambling to stand straight. “What are you all doing, muttering about behind our door?”

“Uhh…general!” Wonwoo declared, earning a sharp hiss from his friends. “We actually…uhhh…” He looked at the others, confused. “What were we here for?”

Soonyoung, rubbing his temples, seethed, “Seungcheol, you idiot!”

“Ah, yes!” Wonwoo straightened, deepening his voice to pretend sobriety. “Seungcheol!” 

Seokmin’s eyes widened. “But Seungcheol died years ago!”

Seungkwan then smacked him around the head. “Not that Seungcheol, you fucking idiot!”

You are the fucking idiot, you ugly bastard!”

You glanced at Chan, whose focus only lay on the crying child. The one who held him looked as if he might burst into tears too, but you spoke up before you had any more crying children in the house. “Here, let me tend to him.”

The boy handed you your son, but you noticed he dared not look you in the eye. “Is something the matter?” you asked him softly.

Soonyoung scoffed at your question. “Silly little virgin has been shitting his toga ever since he heard you two fucking like rabid dogs.”

“Watch your filthy mouth,” your husband guttered, which had the scolded-man shrinking back behind Wonwoo.

Seokmin snickered, Seungkwan smirking as you glanced at the youngest. “Chan…” you trailed off, not really sure on what to say.

Thankfully, your husband seemed to have a solution. “Chan, please grow up,” he remarked, crossing his arms over his tousled clothing. “You were holding my child mere seconds ago.”

“He just needs to stick his cock into someone,” Seungkwan said, a bit too matter-of-factly.

“Or something,” added Seokmin, the honey wine clearly still talking.

You saw Chan physically recoil from the statement. “What did you even have in mind?” Wonwoo asked, nose scrunching in distaste. “Actually, I do not want to know.” 

“Sober up, the lot of you,” you said, unable to stay serious, despite the death glares Jihoon offered them. “I need you all to help me clean the place up today.”

Everyone unanimously groaned, causing the latter to get irritated. “If I hear a sound from you pathetic drunkards, then it’s 40 miles around the city.”

Soonyoung turned his head to you, clearly exasperated. “_____, did you bite his cock or something?”

“Soonyoung!” You gasped. 

“I need to lie down,” Wonwoo groaned, turning towards the door. “I shall be dunking myself in a well nearby.”

“Take Seokmin with you,” Seungkwan drawled, fixing his hair. “Maybe this time he will actually drown.”

“If I drown little man, I’m taking you with me,” the man snapped. 

“Chan, dear, please sort them out,” you requested, hearing him sigh.

“I shall try my best, my lady,” he mumbled, knowing that his best efforts will be in vain. 

As he began to leave, you called out his name. He looked back, and you smiled as you rocked Seungcheol in your arms. “You are his favourite, Chan.”

The revelation had his frown morphing into a small smile, bowing his head ever so slightly before turning to his centurions. “Let us give our general some privacy.”

Seokmin grumbled underneath his breath, following after Chan. “As if they had not had enough privacy…could have made another baby for all we know…”

Jihoon focused his gaze on Soonyoung and Seungkwan. “Remember. No fucking about or it’s 40 miles.”

The latter waved his hand, opening the door. “Yes, yes, we are aware.”

Soonyoung mocked a salute, adorning a most dramatic drawl. “Of course, your excellency, no doubt at all, your royal highness, please, do give us further idiotic orders to taunt us with, your magnanimous majesty!”

Jihoon’s glare did not waver. “Get out.”

“…right on, general.”

And so the last of the centurions were out, you standing at the door as they made to leave. Before they exited, though, they all simultaneously waved at you, some a bit too enthusiastically, others a soft gesture. 

“Ave, _____! Ave, general!”

And they left, laughing already with plans to bring more merriment into their lives.

Your husband joined you, leaning against the opposite door frame. “I have a feeling they’re going to drag poor Chan into some brothel.”

“I think the boy would pass out before that would take place,” you said, chuckling as you glanced down at your child. “At least he takes care of Cheol well.”

“Does he?“

“…better than the average soldier, then.”

“At least they had fun yesterday.” Jihoon took a step closer, observing his son giggling at his mother’s entertainment. “Though they test my patience everyday, they deserve all the reward.”

“Do not exclude yourself, my love,” you reminded him. “You did not enslave yourself to your armies to disregard yourself like that.”

“I do not exclude myself.” His hand reached out, holding Seungcheol’s little head. How strange, that his entire head could fit in his palm. “I am simply happy with what I have right now.”

He offered you a smile. “I am more than happy with you and my son beside me. I ask for nothing more.”

You returned his smile, heart bursting at the seams as he leaned in, enveloping your lips with his in a sweet kiss.

And as the two of you played with your son in the morning light of the Roman sun, you snuck glances at your husband, the light of the Empire. The Eagle of Rome.

Finally, your home was now complete.

[bunniestial]

MILKSHAKES & HEARTACHES

L.F x ChildhoodBestFriend!reader

Summary: You hated Felix. You hated how he was successful and how you weren't. You hated how is voice echoed on every radio. You hated how he forgot about you when he got a taste of fame. When Stray Kids rents out the American themed diner you work at for a music video, repressed feelings bubble back up.

CHAPTER 3: BITTER

Prev • Series Masterlist • Next

word count: 1.7k

You and Felix came from vastly different lives, despite growing up in the same place. Even before wealth and fame touched him, you had always felt the divide... subtle, but ever-present.

His family was everything yours wasn’t. He had sisters who braided his hair while they watched cartoons, parents who danced in the kitchen with the radio turned up too loud, and a home that sat peacefully at the end of a cul-de-sac with the perfect view of Bondi Beach. It smelled like cinnamon and fresh laundry. Laughter echoed off its sunlit walls.

You met in primary school. He’d noticed you sitting alone, picking at a bruised apple and out-of-date yogurt your mum had hastily packed that morning. Without a word, he’d sat beside you and slid his pack of gummy bears across the table with that soft, sunbeam smile of his. That was the first time anyone had shared something with you without expecting anything in return.

From then on, Felix became your safe haven. His home, your sanctuary. You’d go over for dinner when your mum was working late again—pulling double shifts to keep the lights on—and your dad was passed out drunk on the couch. Felix’s parents welcomed you like one of their own. They never pitied you. They just… made room.

But sanctuaries have a way of fading with time.

Felix switched schools around Year 7. Not far, just far enough. His new school had glossy brochures, language programs, music rooms, and overseas excursions. Yours had broken lockers and teachers too tired to care. You stayed behind, walking the same cracked sidewalks, catching the same bus home. He promised you’d still see each other- and you did. Weekends became sacred. You showed up to every taekwondo tournament, cheered louder than anyone else at his recitals, held his phone steady while he practiced choreography in your backyard under the yellow porch light.

Then came the night everything changed.

You were fifteen. A blurry selfie of you and Felix, faces squished, mid-laugh, cheeks pink from the cold- somehow made its way onto Facebook. Just a silly post, meant for your small circle of friends. You never expected it to reach anyone else.

But it did.

A message landed in Felix’s inbox first. Then yours. From a JYP scout. Asking if you’d consider auditioning. Together.

You stared at the screen in disbelief, hearts thudding, breath tangled in your lungs. The room was quiet except for the hum of your old laptop and the sound of your hands gripping each other’s tightly.

Then you clicked.

One word blinked back at you from the screen, in bold black letters:

ACCEPTED.

It was surreal. A dream neither of you dared to believe in, suddenly unfolding right in front of you. And yet, even as your fingers trembled and your heart soared, a whisper of fear curled at the edges of your excitement.

Because dreams like this don’t always make room for two.

The flight to Korea was paid for by JYP, and for a while, it felt like something out of a movie.

You and Felix sat side by side, knees bumping, nerves buzzing under your skin. You kept stealing glances at him mid-flight—his head tilted back against the seat, earbuds in, mouthing the lyrics to some song you couldn't hear. He looked calm, excited. Like this was the start of something beautiful.

And it was. But not for both of you, not in the same way.

Training started fast. Grueling days packed with dancing, vocal drills, Korean classes, and evaluations that made your stomach twist with anxiety. You were both rookies in a foreign country, trying to prove you deserved to be there. But right from the beginning, your realities began to split.

Felix received weekly money transfers from his parents- just enough to keep him afloat, but more than enough to keep him comfortable. His mum sent care packages too-vitamin supplements, little notes in perfect cursive, homemade biscuits sealed in Tupperware.

You, on the other hand, had nothing waiting in your mailbox.

Your mum called when she could, her voice static-filled and tired. You didn’t blame her, she was working two jobs and barely scraping by. There was no extra money to send, no parcels wrapped in love. You lived off of discounted triangle kimbap from convenience stores and plain ramen cups that you slurped in the corner of the trainee lounge after everyone else had gone. Sometimes you skipped meals entirely to make your monthly stipend stretch just a little longer.

You didn't tell Felix at first. You didn’t want him to look at you with pity.

But he noticed eventually.

He noticed when you always turned down offers to go out with the others after practice. When you ate slowly like you were rationing. When you showed up to vocal training with shadows under your eyes and a voice that cracked halfway through the scales.

“Are you eating properly?” he asked one night, his voice soft, cautious.

You lied.

“Of course. Just tired.”

But he didn’t believe you. He never said anything more about it, but from that night on, he started showing up at your dorm with an extra drink or a bag of dumplings, pretending he bought too much by accident. You always acted surprised. You always thanked him. And he always smiled like it wasn’t a big deal.

But it was.

Because even in Korea, even as trainees surrounded by mirrors and dreams and brutal expectations, Felix was still your sanctuary.

And that terrified you.

Despite everything, when Chan, your honorary older brother who reminded you of home, told Felix that he wanted him to compete on the new trainee show to possibly get the opportunity to debut. You were undoubtedly ecstatic for him.

You accompanied him everyday, helping him late at night with choreos and singing practices.

When he debuted, you felt like you had debuted. He was blossoming into the star you knew he could be, through blood sweat and tears he prevailed.

Texts that bounced back and forth daily slowed down. Less communication happened between you as Felix became busier with his group work. You still sent daily messages, although they went unreplied. You sent him picture's of your favourite boba place, telling him that you saw one of the groups albums in a store, you bought it and pulled his photo card.

So the day you were pulled into a separate room by one of JYP's managers, you had showed up early to practice, already in your workout gear and with take out coffee cups for all of the other girls in the practice room (which was way out of your suitable price range), and they told you to pack your things.

You were broken.

And of course, you tried to find Felix.

You were bitter... Even now.

You had been his shoulder to cry on for years. When he missed home, felt he wasn't good enough or was exhausted from working overtime. You were always there.

Surely he should've been there for you? Were you not good enough of a friend? Where was he when you were trying to scrape money to buy a ticket back to Australia? When you couldn't find enough and had to move into a shitty broken down apartment and get a minimum wage job working for pennies.

Yeah. Fuck him.

••••••••••

Felix stepped out into the humid air, hoping for a moment to breathe. The lights inside the diner were already too hot, the makeup too thick, the noise pressing in like a vice. He tugged the black mask down under his chin, sunglasses pushed up onto his head, and let the breeze hit his face.

That’s when he saw you.

Leaning against the rusted dumpster, half-hidden behind an old delivery cart. Cigarette smoke curled lazily around you, clinging to the fabric of your sweater, the same way your scent used to cling to the blankets in his old dorm room.

His feet froze on the pavement.

He thought he might be hallucinating at first. Seoul played tricks on him sometimes. Too little sleep, too many rehearsals, too much everything- but no, it was you. Real. Tangible. The same way you looked in his dreams and on the rare nights he let himself search for you online.

His chest squeezed so tightly it hurt.

“…Y/N?” he said, barely louder than a breath.

You flinched. The cigarette slipped from your fingers and landed near your shoe, burning itself out in silence. You looked up, and your eyes met his.

And then-

You bolted.

No words. No hesitation. Just a sharp intake of breath and then you turned, ducked behind the alley, and vanished out of sight.

“Wait-!” he called after you, already moving without thinking.

He rounded the corner, but all he found was an empty sidewalk, a few sets of fading footprints in a puddle, and the echo of his own name still ringing in the alley walls.

Gone.

He stood there, heart pounding in his throat, hand still outstretched like an idiot in a drama scene. His fingers curled into a fist, slowly lowering to his side.

It was you. It was really you.

He leaned against the wall, head back, eyes shut tight.

You ran. He didn’t blame you.

After everything- the silence, the cowardice, the way he’d vanished the moment things got hard... he would’ve run from him, too.

Still, it hurt in a way he wasn’t prepared for.

Footsteps behind him.

“Felix!” Chan’s voice, low but urgent. “Where’d you go? They need you inside for lighting- ” He stopped when he saw Felix’s face. “You saw her.”

Felix didn’t answer at first. Just stared down the alley like you might come back if he waited long enough.

“I said her name,” he finally whispered. “And she ran.”

Chan winced. “I figured she might.”

Felix glanced at him. “You knew she was here?”

"Yeah... Didn't know how to tell you."

“She works here, doesn’t she?”

“Yeah.”

Felix swallowed, his throat thick.

“God,” he muttered. “I fucked everything up.”

Chan didn’t argue. Just laid a hand on his shoulder, firm and grounding.

“Go finish getting ready,” Chan said quietly. “If she’s here… she’ll be around. Maybe next time, don’t freeze.”

Felix nodded slowly, eyes flicking back to the empty sidewalk one last time.

He’d waited years for a moment like this.

He just hadn’t realized it would feel like watching a train leave the station... while you stood on the tracks and disappeared into the fog

(30) Felix tags: @thatcuntblog @hyunjinsfavwif3 @0335tiny @plus-ultra0 @starrylixq @chasinghxran @iambangchanswife @chaeone1 @peskybirdysya @wilmalovegood @mafiulaputaama @technicallyimportantsweets @beal-o @sweatynightnight @Robinnotgood24 @16lotonhermind @pegassus-101 @afararraaaa @jennibahng @jaemdonut @strsforjsb @strwbrryzhra @channiesbighugs @I-am-not-dal @starssfall @hyunjinslongasslegs @Starssfall @luvbangchan @realrintaro @Shinygubbins

a/n I wrote this low-key delirious but I tried LOL. Not proofread.