#also these are both from like. two days ago

[readwritealldayallnight]

Part five of ‘Bird Watching’ aka hot construction worker Simon x single mom reader

Some moments were simply indescribable, certain feelings too large to be named, emotions so grand they couldn’t adequately be put into words, lest their true value be lost in translation from lip to ear

Some things just couldn’t be said, but rather needed to be shown, to be felt

A chaste little thing, a short peck, the smallest, faintest of touches as you brushed your lips against his, more of a quick exchange of breaths rather than a proper first kiss, it had been the most honest response you could think of to express your growing feelings for the man who’d so easily closed his eyes and leaned in to you without hesitation

Nearly a week later and it’s still the only thing you can think of

His lips are at the forefront of your mind as you rock a tired Rosie back to sleep in the middle of the night, his terrible jokes popping into your head whenever you hear the sound of laughter coming from the telly in the background, his deep voice is rattling through your mind as you lie awake in bed, wondering what it would be like to have his strong, steady arms wrapped around you instead of cold, empty sheets

Hope

That was what he said the last time you saw him

He said you gave him hope

You and Rosie

The longer you know Simon, the more you realize you’re starting to hope for things too

You hope that he goes about his day with you on his mind as well, perhaps running into the most mundane things that now remind him of you, the sight of yellow flowers perhaps bringing a smile to his face

You hope he doesn’t work himself too hard during the day, a true ‘dad’ to his projects as he complains of achy knees and a back that sounds like milk being poured into Rice Krispies cereal each morning, the snap, crackle, and pops that come with such physical work

You hope he isn’t too tired to chat with you on the phone after work, something he says is impossible, though you can hear him stifling his yawns on the other end of the line as he tells you otherwise, asking you to keep telling him about yours and Rosie’s day

You hope that you give him butterflies, having seen that you can make him at least blush the most beautiful shade of crimson you’ve ever seen a man wear

You hope the butterflies swarming your own stomach each time you think of him aren’t going to end up eating you alive from the inside out

You hope he’s as sincere, as true, as real as he seems to be, as he continues to convince you he is

You hope this whole thing isn’t too good to be true like the nagging voice at the back of your mind keeps trying to convince you of

You hope you won’t regret letting him in

Right now however?

What you’re really hoping for, is for your sitter to show up already, so that you and Simon can go on what you hope is the first of many dates to come

He’d sent you a text not too long ago, letting you know that he’d just gotten finished with the job for the day, that he was going to head home to shower and change, and that he would come swing by to pick you up within the hour

You’d been looking forward to tonight all week long, ever since he’d asked to take you out on a proper date following the quick kiss in the kitchen, your heart rate feeling as though it’s been waiting to come back down to earth since then

You weren’t entirely certain what Simon had planned for the night, though he had mentioned you’d be grabbing dinner together at some point in the evening, the anticipation of both seeing him and the idea of this being the start of something new, had your stomach in knots

Not only that, but you couldn’t deny your nerves were also all aflutter thinking about leaving a now two and a half month old Rosie alone for the first time since she’d been born

It was a concept you were going to have to grow used to sooner than later, seeing as she’d be starting nursery up in not too long, but this was still uncharted territory for you, motherhood was something you were growing accustomed to, and the idea of leaving your baby alone for just a few hours was an even more foreign sentiment

Your best friend, someone who at least knew Rosie and her routine better than most, had graciously agreed to be the first person you entrusted your baby with alone, and though she wasn’t technically late yet, you were nonetheless surprised that she hadn’t shown up quite yet, knowing that she was always keen on extra time with the tiny baby who has finally starting to fatten up, her pudgy arms and legs getting softer and squishier each day

The little lady in question was currently hanging out in her bouncer, watching you flit and flounce around your room as you got ready yourself, listening as intently as a baby can as you spoke to her, doing your best to involve her in the process

“What do you think, babe? Red or pink for my lips?” You ask, holding up both lipstick tubes in front of her, smiling at the way she seems wholly engaged in the conversation, eyes flitting between your hands. “I think you’re eyeing the pink one. Is that your pick, hon? You want mama to wear pink tonight? Mhmm, I think you’re right. Maybe I should wear something pink too then, huh?”

Glancing down at her own little outfit of the day, an idea pops into your head, quickly out your phone and snapping a photo of Rosie, the onesie being one that your friend had gotten for her while you were still pregnant

You : ‘someone’s excited to show off her outfit to you’

You : ‘as long as she doesn’t spit up again lol’

You shoot off the texts along with the photo of Rosie wearing her corny ‘I love my godmom’ onesie before turning towards your closet, though it’s not long before you get a reply back from her

Sarah : ‘look at those cheeeeeeeeeeeks!!!’

Sarah : ‘i promise i’ll try not to eat your baby but like cmon look at her’

Sarah : ‘maybe just one bite’

Sarah : ‘love it! but you’re hoping to keep her in that til tomorrow? lol good luck with that’

Unsure if you’re reading her last message correctly or not, you quickly send her another few texts, hoping to clarify

You : ‘ikr and she still smells so good too’

You : ‘this is the first time the onesie finally fit her’

You : ‘but i have her jammies and her diaper all laid out for you on her dresser, she can wear that for bed tonight’

You’ve barely had the chance to shoot Rosie a glance that says ‘your godmom’s losing her marbles’ before the phone still in your hand starts to ring

“Uh, hello?”

“What day is it today?!” Your friend asks animatedly over the line

“It’s Friday…? Aren’t you on your way here already? Simon’s meant to be here soon.”

“You’re kidding me.” You hear her whisper to herself before she’s groaning in apparent defeat. “Oh my gosh girl, I- I’m so sorry, I could’ve sworn we were Thursday today! I’m literally in my parents kitchen across town right now. I am so sorry, I- I could leave now and try to make it-”

“Oh, no that’s okay. I know you don’t see them that often anymore, it’s okay. I’ll explain to Simon and we’ll reschedule or something.”

“Are you sure? I feel so bad. You were so excited for this date.” She says, and you know she means it. You don’t want to make her feel any worse than she probably already does, though you can’t deny that you’re disappointed, you were really looking forward to tonight

“Mhmm, I’m positive. You enjoy dinner with your parents, tell them I say hey.”

“Alright, only if you’re sure. But let me know if he wants to just push the date to tomorrow, I promise I’ll be there!”

“I’ll let you know. Bye.” You say before quickly hanging up, tossing your phone onto your bed along with a frustrated sigh. “Oh Rosie, what are we gonna do now?”

Rosie offers up her solution in the form of coos and whines aimed your way, her volume increasing with every second she deems a second too long not being held

You’ve just scooped her up into your arms when you hear a steady knock at the front door, your heart skipping a beat for a moment knowing that he’s here early, that maybe he’s been just as excited for tonight as you’ve been and that he couldn’t wait a moment longer to see you, but then your shoulders can’t help but to sag slightly, knowing that you’ve got to break the news to him

Making your way across the small flat, you cradle Rosie in one arm as you lean against the door, peering into the peephole just to be sure, when the sight on the other side forces you to clamp your mouth shut, god forbid you actually let out the ‘holy shit’ your brain is thinking right now

It’s Simon stood out there, that’s for certain

But you’ve never seen the man look so fucking good before

You’ve grown used to seeing him in his work attire, his dirty, sweaty t-shirts, old jeans caked in paint and plaster, plaid button ups so used and abused they’re practically see-through, hell he was even wearing the stereotypical white wife beater when you first met him across the fence, his defined biceps on full display that day (not that you were complaining), along with his muddy boots, you’ve only ever seen Simon wearing a hard working man’s clothes

Now however?

Well, he obviously must have been planning on taking you somewhere fancier than you expected tonight, seeing as the man is wearing proper dress shoes, dark slacks that hug his enormous thighs just right, and a goddamn button-up shirt that accentuates just how wide his shoulders are, how huge he is to begin with, a man who has very evidently worked hard for years upon years and has the build to show for it

Wanting to lay your eyes on the real thing, you try your best not to look too excited when you all but rip the door open for him

“Hi Simon.” You murmur to him as you lean against the doorway, glancing down at Rosie with a smile as she coos at him too, readjusting your hold on her so that she can see him better. “You- you look really nice tonight.”

You can’t help the way your cheeks heat up getting the full picture now rather than distorted through the lens of a peep hole, god how can someone actually be so tall? You can’t help but lean closer towards him when you catch a whiff of what you think is an enticing cologne or aftershave, your eyes taking in his clean shaven appearance, scars standing out more prominently without the stubble only adding to his already rugged charm

You see his own eyes go wide, gaze scanning you from top to bottom more than once, his lips falling open ever so slightly as he stands there, taking in the sight before him

“Simon?” You ask with a small smile tugging at the corner of your lips when he still hasn’t said anything after a moment, laughing softly when your words seem to snap him out a daydream, his eyes focusing more intently on your own now

“Sorry. I jus’-” He begins before clearing his throat, taking half a step closer to you as he speaks. “You’re so beautiful. Caught me off guard for a beat there.”

Your first instinct is to believe he’s exaggerating, just pulling your leg, because sure your makeup might be more done up than usual, and your hair styled a little nicer than it’s been recently, but you’re still just clad in simple lounge wear, never having had a chance to change properly before your friend called and you didn’t have a reason to dress up anymore

But looking at him now, seeing the way he’s looking at you, you can’t find a trace of insincerity in his gaze, can’t pinpoint any reason why he would be anything but sincere with you, the blush on your cheeks only deepening as you decide he means what he says

“Yeah well, you clean up pretty nicely yourself.” You mumble to him, pleased at the small smile he offers in return. “Though, this wasn’t what I’d been hoping on wearing tonight, obviously.”

“I think you’re perfect.” He answers instantly, tacking your name onto the end. “But there’s no rush, if ye wanted a minute to change? I can hold her, if y’need.”

“No, actually I- I’ve got some bad news.” You add solemnly, absentmindedly shuffling your feet, a nervous tic from your younger years that you never grew out of

“Y’alrigh’?” Simon asks, taking the last few steps closer until you’re within reaching distance, his hand coming up to land on your arm out of pure instinct, though he seems to catch himself at the last second as his palm hovers just above your skin

“Yeah, no, everything’s fine. It’s just that the sitter can’t make it tonight. She got the dates confused, thought I’d asked her for tomorrow.” You regretfully explain to him, unable to meet his eyes, as though this were somehow your fault, rather than a simple mixup that had you feeling just as disappointed. “I’m sorry Simon, I’d really been looking forward to-”

“D’you wanna bring her?”

“W-what?” You ask, momentarily befuddled by the question, unable to understand what he means

“D’you wanna bring Rosie wit’ us? Is tha’ alrigh’? Or if she’s still too little to go out we can stay ‘ere, order takeaway. Or I could cook for ye. Though the takeaway migh’ be less likely to come back and haunt ye tomorrow.” He replies casually, as though the answer were always so evident, the solution truly that simple, a problem easily solved at a moment’s notice

“I- she- wait, are you serious?” You question, only slightly bewildered by how nonchalant he is with the change of plans. “You- you don’t mind? You’d really be alright just staying in tonight?”

“‘Course.”

“But you- I mean you obviously had something nice planned for tonight- just look at you! I don’t want to ruin-”

“You’re not ruining a damn thing, love.” He cuts off your rambling, his heavy palm now landing on your shoulder with confidence. “Wearin’ my nice civvies, fancy food, s’all jus’ to impress ya. I don’ need none o’ it. Just want to spend time with ye, right ‘ere or anywhere else. Alrigh’?”

You can only bring yourself to nod in agreement with him, fearing that words might fail you if you dared to open your mouth now, a flood of emotions threatening to rise to the surface if you spend too long taking in what Simon’s just said

“Why don’t we go in then, and you start thinkin’ ��bout where you wanna order from.”

Before you can even realize it, nearly two hours have trickled away, the brilliant hues of pink and orange and yellow shining against your windows as the sun sets cast a warm reflection throughout your flat, a sight that can only pale in comparison to the glow that’s emanating from inside

Because that really is how you’re feeling isn’t it?

As you and Simon lounge together on your couch with full bellies, contrasted by the empty takeaway containers and utensils scattered across the coffee table, some radio station or another softly playing music in the background, you feel as though the only way to describe this feeling growing in your chest is glowing, you feel like you’re glowing when Simon’s around

And based of the way he’s sunken comfortably into the cushions of the couch, an arm resting casually across the back with careful fingertips caressing your shoulder every so often, any and all traces of stress and work and life outside this bubble you’re caught up in have lifted off his shoulders, leaving him looking lighter than you’ve seen before, you’re inclined to assume he’s just as content as you are in this moment

“Hmm, dunno ‘bout that.”

“No, I swear to you, Simon! You’ll see, next time we’ll have to go in person, or we’ll just order dessert first.” You insist through your laughter, watching as he shakes his head in playful disbelief. The food you’d ordered was delicious, but as good as your dinner had been, you told him that it was really their sweets that had you coming back for more

“Well, if ye swear, s’pose I’m inclined to believe ye.” He teases with a knowing look in his eyes, ghost of a smirk painted across his lips. “Next time then.”

“Next time.” You agree easily,

“Like the sound o’ that. Next time.”

“Me too. That is, assuming you’d want to do this again, of course. Maybe a proper date?”

“This is a proper date, love. S’like I said, just like spendin’ time with ye. Look, we’ve even got a chaperone an’ everythin’. Proper date in my books.” Simon jokes, jutting his chin towards Rosie in your arms, her chubby little fists tugging at your shirt relentlessly

“Oh yeah, real proper.” You laugh, readjusting your hold on her, smoothing a hand down her back. “Speaking of which, I probably should try to lay her down soon.”

You’ve managed to avoid putting her to bed for as long as you could, the three of you hanging out contently together, bouncing her between your arms and her swing, but you also know your baby, and you don’t want to keep her up any longer, disrupt her routine any more. You weren’t expecting to juggle both Rosie and your fist date with Simon simultaneously, and while she’d been an angel for you two tonight, you knew better than to push your luck

“Ah right. Needs her shuteye, that one. I can head out, if ye’d like.” He offers, almost as though he doesn’t necessarily agree with the words he’s speaking, doesn’t want the night to end yet, but knows that they need to be said nonetheless

“No! I mean- it shouldn’t take me too long to get her down, I can tell she’s already pretty sleepy. If you don’t mind waiting, we could watch a movie together, or just keep talking. I- I’d really like you to stay, if you want to.” You extend the invitation to him, putting the ball in his court now

The idea of parting ways already leaves a bitter taste in your mouth, knowing how incredibly busy with work he is to the point that he told he he’d been working straight through the weekend to get this newest nursery finished, and because of that you’re left unsure when he’ll be able to see you next, your own days dragging longer as you’re left only with Rosie to occupy your hours, in addition to the very man who occupied your thoughts

“I’d like that. I’ll stay.” He answers simply, though his eyes tell you much more than his words ever could, the relief clear in his features

“Great.” You say with a genuine smile. “I might just run to the washroom quickly, before I put her down. Are- are you okay if I just- leave her here with you for a bit? It should only take me a secon-”

“You’re fine love. We’re fine. You go ‘head. We’ll be right here waitin’ for ye.” He tells you, gesturing down the hall towards your bathroom.

You can’t help but to search his face quickly for any chance he might change his mind, but Rosie’s safe in her swing, her whines and grumbles at a minimum for the time being, and so you nod to him before standing and turning the corner

But of course, your girl’s got some sort of sixth sense for knowing when her mum’s left the room, her cries reaching your ears through the closed bathroom door

You try to be a quick as you can, though at least a minute or two has passed by the time you’re jogging back towards the living room, apology already on the tip of your tongue for having left Simon with her, how you should’ve known she’d get upset, but the words die in your mouth as you spot the scene playing out on the couch

Still sat comfortably on your couch, Simon appears as though he hasn’t moved from his spot at all, which you’d be inclined to believe, were it not for the tiny bundle laying across his chest, his large hand rubbing small circles against your baby’s back

Her whines are already quieting down before you can process it, her coos softening the more Simon shushes her, soothes her, speaks to her in that low timbre of his, as if this were second nature to him, something he’d done a thousand times before and had mastered the art of

“Shh, you’re alright now. Your mum’s comin’ back, Rosie. No need for tears.” You hear him tell her as you step closer to the pair

“She- is she okay?” You ask, coming to sit back own next to him, your own hand instinctively coming to caress the back of her head, soft little wisps of hair tickling beneath your fingertips

“Tired. Like ye said.” He replies, his movements never faltering as he comforts your baby as if she were his own flesh and blood. “Think she’s almost out.”

And surprise surprise, he’s right

Rosie’s fighting to keep her heavy eyelids open, mouth parted in the tiniest little ‘o’ as she tries in vain to continue her protests, but in the end she can’t hold out any longer, and drifts off on Simon’s chest, fitting against him like a perfect puzzle piece, appearing all the smaller compared to his large size

“I can’t believe that just happened.” You whisper in awe, eyes locked on the sight of your baby safe and sleeping in the arms of a well-dressed Simon, his shirt sleeves rolled up to his muscular forearms, a vision that leaves you feeling warm all over

“I’m sorry, I should’ve asked before just pickin’ her up like tha’, you didn’t-” He begins to say, posture stiffening as though he’s about to stand

“Oh my gosh, Simon! Don’t even try to apologize right now. This is like, just about the hottest thing I’ve witnessed all year.” You reassure him instantly, relieved by how he softens up at your words, leaning back into the cushions once more, small chuckles being shared between the two of you. “Wasn’t expecting her to kick up a fuss so quick, and certainly never expected you to jump in and comfort her but, thank you, Simon. Really. I figured she was going to put up a fuss with the sitter tonight, she’s never had anyone but me put her to sleep before. But look at her.”

You both gaze at the sleepy little lump cuddled cozily into his dress shirt without a care in the world, her breaths coming out in soft, even little huffs

“Think she knows I’m trying to earn brownie points wit’ her mum. Helpin’ me out.” He teases his own hand coming lay atop your own, still cradling her back of Rosie’s head

“Already promised you dessert next time, didn’t I?” You say softly, returning his own cheeky smirk with a grin of your own

You hardly even recognize the way your head starts absentmindedly shaking in a mix of disbelief and awe, unable to fully believe the situation you’ve found yourself in, sitting on the very same couch you used to crash on after late nights out with friends, the same couch you’d bawled your eyes out on for hours after discovering you were pregnant, the same couch you’d fallen asleep on after one too many sleepless nights caring for a newborn by yourself, the same couch cushions you’d been digging through for loose change as money got tight

It’s the same couch that Simon Riley is sitting on now, as he holds your sleeping baby, as he looks at you as if there’s nowhere else he’d rather be right now even if this wasn’t the original plan for tonight, as he makes your heart beat faster than you’ve ever felt possible, as he challenges every notion and preconception and idea you’d built for yourself since becoming a single mum

Part of you wants to scream ‘How are you real?!’ just to see if the echo of your voice will ripple across the mirage he might have been all along, will reveal the smoke and mirrors and shed the spotlight on a stage that’s been empty this whole time

But you’re growing tired of holding up the weight of the walls you’ve had to build around yourself, you’re growing sick of making up excuses that never benefited you in the first place, you or Rosie, because a world kept at arms length might in theory be a safer one, but it’s undoubtedly a lonelier one, and while your new role as a mum means having to prioritize someone else’s well being before your own, having to take on the problems for two, you glance at Simon now and know for certain:

You’re not worried

He’s worried

It’s been too long now, almost a full week that he hasn’t heard from you

Not a text, not a call, not a goddamn carrier pigeon, nothing

He hates to admit it, loathes to acknowledge it as the truth, but he’s been so busy with work that he hadn’t even noticed the radio silence on your end until more than three days had passed

He’s been working practically inhumane hours as of late, fulfilling his guarantee to have the site finished and ready to open in exchange for a nursery spot for Rosie, and the work’s had him feeling more exhausted than he has in a long time, though the mental stress could never hold a flame to that of his time in the SAS, the physical toll is nearly comparable, especially considering his body getting any younger

Simon had been arriving at the construction site two or three hours before anyone else was scheduled, before the damn sun was even thinking of cresting the horizon, leaving him relying on an absurd number of floodlights to help get the work done

Not to mention that he wasn’t just the last man to leave the job every single time, Simon only allowed himself to head home when his body literally could not take any more for the day, the streetlights having turned on ages ago telling him to clock out

Arriving home and immediately collapsing into bed had been the routine each night, sleeps so short and restless that his brain never had the chance to conjure up a dream, not until that third night, when he finally slept well enough to dream of you

After all, he had left your flat that night last week feeling as if he was still waiting to wake up from a dream, to find out that was all just a figment of his imagination, in fact too good to be true

After having carefully transferred Rosie into her crib, the two of you had stayed up much too late into the night talking to one another, laughing together, and ultimately, as he’d been hoping he would have the chance to do again, kissing

He remembers how comfortable you were sat next to one another on the couch, how the more you spoke the more the space between your bodies slowly dwindled until he could no longer handle the look in your eyes, the one he knew had to have been reflected on his own face, and he’d taken the leap and reached for you, slotting his lips against your with a hesitancy that was quickly thrown out the window as he heard the deep hum of satisfaction reverberating through your chest into his

He remembers how soft you were, your skin, your hair, your lips, everything about you felt like something too precious for his sullied hands to touch, something too priceless for him to be stealing for himself, but your solid grip on his biceps gave him no room to question whether this was something you wanted as well, something you wanted just as badly as he did

It could have been five minutes, it could have been five hours, all Simon knew was that he was drowning in you and he never wanted to resurface again

Each little gasp you had let out as his strong hands gripped and squeezed your curves had his head spinning, every whimper and moan you didn’t mean to let slip had his own tether on the situation beginning to weaken, each press of your lips against his proved to be a test of his resolve, his willingness to do this right, to take things slow

But fuck, if you weren’t the most delectable thing he’d ever come across… your milk swollen tits pressed up against his firm chest, your soft thighs beneath his fingertips, your bodies arching into one another as though they already knew each other, had danced this dance before

Simon would have died a happy man that night, more than content with having you as his cause of death, a death certificate he could be proud of, but of course, he was only one of the two people in your flat that was vying for your precious attention

Rosie awaking from her sleep and demanding to be fed was the only indication that time was still ticking by, that your make out session had not in fact stopped time as your hearts may have otherwise had you believe

You’d walked him to the door, kissed him goodnight again just for good measure, promising to talk soon and plan another date, one where he might actually be able to take you out

But now, Simon’s left to grapple with the fact that you haven’t called him since, haven’t texted him, haven’t reached out once

He feels like a fish out of water

He’d never done this before, had never had something like this in his life before, something worth holding on to, and now he was left wondering what he was meant to do

Was this his fault? Had he been meant to call you first? Was that some unspoken understanding that he’d never gotten the memo for? Were you waiting for him to reach out first?

When his first text goes out to you the following morning, a simple message checking in on how you and Rosie are doing, he spends his entire work day eager to finish up so that he can check for your response

What he isn’t expecting however, is for his message to go unseen

Left puzzled, more than a tad confused, he decides to call you, wanting to hear your voice, to make sure everything is okay

When the call goes unanswered, your standard voicemail tone being the only thing to come through the phone, Simon has to fight against the familiar voices in his head telling him to jump to the worst case scenario, to anticipate the worst, and instead decides he’s not going to allow another day to go to waste

He’s pulling up in front of your flat and taking the stairs two at a time before he has the chance to talk himself out of it, to imaging reasons A through to Z as to why this may not be a good idea, why you might be ignoring him

Knocking on your door, Simon is steeling himself for whatever scenario he might be about to face, though what he comes face to face winds up being a situation his mind had not jumped to, a much more plausible explanation he hadn’t fathomed in all of his pessimistic worrying

It’s evident from the moment that you manage to crack the door open for him, that that alone took up more energy than you had to spare, the prominent bags under your eyes darker than ever before, the sweat seeping across your brow and upper lip contrasted by the way your body shivers involuntarily

“Love,” he says as softly as he can, though his tone is reminiscent to that of a young child being lovingly scolded, his brow furrowing in concern. “Should’ve told me you were sick.”

“D-didn’t want you t-to see me l-like t-this.” You barely manage to croak out, trying to correct the blanket that’s slipping off of your shoulders, though you barely have the strength to lift your arm and tug it back in place

“How long have you been ill?” He immediately asks, shutting the door behind him and leading you through your flat with a gentle hand between your shoulder blades, feeling the heat radiating off of you even through all your layers

“I- I don’t know. Few d- days?” You reply, glancing sideways at him as though you’re only now realizing that he’s here. “H-how - what are you d-doing here?”

“Haven’t heard from you, didn’t answer your phone. Had me worried, and apparently rightfully so.” He tells you, head on a swivel as he looks for your tiny roommate. “Where’s Rosie?”

“In her c-crib.”

“She sick as well?”

“N-no. Somehow sh-she’s been o-okay. I just- I feel awful, Simon.” You admit, frustrated tears beginning to pool in your eyes, fat drops sliding down your heated cheeks as you blink through them

“You’ve got to be runnin’ a fever, love. You’re not well.” He says with a hand pressed against your forehead, doing his best to school his features despite his displeasure with how warm you feel, your skin borderline burning up beneath his palm. “Let me help you.”

“S-Simon, I-”

“Please.” He iterates before you can even attempt to turn him down, the words quickly dying on your tongue, not a single ounce of energy left to spare for you to fight him on this. “Can we get you to bed?”

Nodding, you allow him to help lead you towards the door he can only presume hides your bedroom, pushing all other thoughts aside as he sees your intimate space for the first time

You hardly have the energy to climb into bed, allowing Simon to stack the pillows behind your head and to cover you with the blankets, exhaustion evident in every move you make, the kind of bone-deep tiredness that has him wondering as to how you’ve been able to manage these last few days by yourself, let alone caring for Rosie on top of everything

“You jus’ lay here, alrigh’? Let me handle things.” He instructs, smoothing the sheets over your legs, brushing your hair out of your eyes, fussing over you like he imagines his mother might have done for him decades and decades ago when he was too young to remember. “When was the last time you ate?”

“Uh- I um- I don’t- I don’t know.” You admit, closing your eyes as you lean back into the comfort of the pillows supporting you, the only thing keeping you upright at the moment

“Stay here, I’ll get things sorted.”

He knows you really can’t be feeling like yourself, based on how you put up no effort in telling him otherwise, hardly even acknowledging his words apart from the slightest nod of your head, your mind evidently in a fog that he’s worried has lingered too long already

Stepping out of your room, Simon peeks into Rosie’s nursery, if only to reassure his own wandering mind that she really is alright, his heartbeat calming down in the slightest when he spots her in the cot, her chest rising and falling in even, steady breaths, nothing appearing out of the ordinary as compared to her sick mum on the other side of the wall

Satisfied that Rosie is settled for the time being, he busies himself in your kitchen with preparing you something to eat, going back to the basics when he heats up some soup he managed to find in the cupboards, trying his best to straighten up the flat while your meal warms up on the stove, throwing wadded up tissues into the waste bin and tossing crumpled clothes into your washer

You appear as though you’re on the verge of sleep, if not already counting sheep, when Simon returns to you with a warm meal, a cold glass of water, and a generous amount of ibuprofen

You hardly protest when he starts feeding you the soup himself, barely blink when he drops the meds in your palm and instructs you to swallow them, only perking up when you overhear Rosie begin to grumble from across the hall

“I’ve got her.” Simon quickly reassures you before you try to move. “I’ll bring her, just wait here love.”

Despite having held her less than a week prior, Simon still can’t believe just how small she is, a true baby bird, how minuscule she feels in his hands, how light she is in his arms, how light she makes him feel when she tries to snuggle her way farther into his chest, as though she and her mum weren’t already burrowing their way directly into his heart already

Stepping back into your room, he watches the relief roll over you as your tired eyes lock on your baby, arms instinctively reaching for her as Simon transfers her over to you

“Oh Rosie g-girl, I know. I know.” You coo to her, sniffling in spite of the brave face you’re clearly trying to put on. “Thank you, Simon.”

“I should’ve come by sooner. Should’ve known.” He says, sitting next to you at the edge of your bed, arm coming up to help you hold Rosie steady should you need it. He’s beating himself up over this, in spite of all logic indicating he had no way of knowing you were feeling poorly, he still feels like he should have been here, should have been helping you sooner

“Y-you didn’t know. I didn’t s-say anything. S’my fault.” You mumble, rocking Rosie against your chest, leaning your cheek against the crown of her head. “I hate f-feeling like this. Feel like I’m useless to my own b-baby, feel like a bad mum, f-feel like a bad girlfriend f-for not talking to y-you, feel li-”

“Shh, none o’ that now.” He shushes your worries, leaning over to press a kiss to your temple, eyes closing as he lingers against you for a moment, begging the relentless beating of his heart to calm down before you’re able to literally hear it banging against his rib cage, itching to be freed and put directly into the palm of your hands where it belongs

He knows you likely didn’t mean to say it, didn’t realize you’d let the word slip, your fever and exhaustion taking precedent over your usually clever mind, but he certainly heard it

Girlfriend

He feels like a damn school boy, blushing the way he is at the prospect of you calling yourself his girlfriend, a term that feels too juvenile, too mundane for what’s been growing between the two of you

He brushes your worries aside, casts your discomfort out the window, taking your dishes to the kitchen if only to allow you a moment of privacy to feed Rosie, promising to return momentarily, though he doesn’t mind taking the time he needs for his cheeks to return to their normal shade, his body betraying the way your words affect him

He knows you likely won’t remember having said so come morning, though he’s hoping you’ll wake up faring better than you are now, that your slip of the tongue was truly nothing more than an honest revelation in your hazy state, an unintentional peek into the thoughts that have been swirling in your mind as of late, perhaps even an unspoken wish accidentally said aloud

But Simon? Well, he’s got no intention of keeping you waiting

If you’re wishing to be his, he’ll have to let you know soon enough that that’s fine by him, seeing as he’s been yours from the very start

Thank y’all so much for the patience with part five being uploaded, in true tumble fashion my first draft of this chapter got deleted right as I was preparing to upload it, and so this was my second time writing this out, tried my best to capture as much of the original draft as I could remember, so I’m really hoping it doesn’t come across as crazy as my brain feels right now

Appreciate all the suggestions people had for where to save drafts from now on, as well as the love you guys always seem to have an abundance of when it comes to my writing. Really does mean a lot

Anyways, really excited for the next few chapters as things are going to start getting messy, someone’s lies might start catching up to him, who knows

- M 🫶🏻

Tag list: @dawnnightshade666 @topaz125 @ilovetaquitosmmmm @th3on3and0nly1r1s @sirbonesly @biscgutz @cmbghost @glossy01 @slowlyshycomputer @barcelonaaababe @astrxsee @sweetpeakarolinaaa @aqua-nina @wizzdot @beautifuleaglealpaca @peachy-satan00 @drewsuncrustables @pato-spoiler-27 @lem-hhn @dravenskye @juullllssss @mxsatorisimp @merkitty49 @monssan99-blog @notkyleelol @tessakate @sahvlren @danika1994 @viennakarma @pastel-devil-06 @asoulsreverie @puppydollgstar @strawberrygato @heletsmelovehim @404creep @just-lilita @desiretolive @marigold-morelli @robinfeldt98 @sleep101 @scaleniusrm @wh0reforstars @beebeechaos @lulutheoverthinker @casterblue @amans-puer @mestrecadumaverick @loud-mouph @t3a-bag @enfppuff @kneelforloki

[clockwayswrites]

Like a damn bird of paradise Part 40

masterpost (pls no editing or concrit, I'm full of steroids)

“Well, you’re not my drafting paper,” Danny said with a little smile as he learned against the door frame of his apartment. The collar of his well worn sweater slipped down his shoulder, making him look wonderfully relaxed.

Bruce cleared his throat and help up the takeout bag. “Just a lunch offer, I’m afraid.”

“Lucky for you I’m starving, both for food and company,” Danny said. He stepped back and let Bruce enter. “I didn’t realize how much I would miss being in my office. There are dozens of little interactions I have every day that I don’t get while I’m locked away here like Rapunzel in her tower.”

“Unfortunately, I don’t think you have the hair for Rapunzel,” Bruce pointed out as he made his way to the table to set down the food.

Danny laughed and ran a hand through his hair, messing up the locks. “No? Not here to be my prince in well tailored armor then?”

Bruce stepped forward to straight them back out. His hand drifted down to Danny’s cheek and he ran his thumb across the faint scattering of freckles. “If it’s a rescue you want, you only have to say the word. Or even just a vacation. My kids are always trying to get me to take one. I could ensure complete discretion somewhere private.”

“I just got home a few days ago,” Danny pointed out.

“That’s not a no,” Bruce replied.

“It’s not a no,” Danny said with a small, amused smile. He leaned up and pressed a soft kiss to Bruce’s lips and then too quickly pulled away. “What did you bring for lunch?”

“There’s an good Algerian place near enough to work, I stopped there on the way,” Bruce said as he made himself break apart and move over to the bag of food. “I got a selection of things.”

“Oh, I’ve never had Algerian before, I don’t think, that sounds great,” Danny said. He went to his kitchen, which was small but felt bigger due to the open layout. “What would you like to drink? I’ve got ice tea, ginger ale, and milk. I’ve also teas and coffee I could make up quick enough.”

“Ice tea is fine if it’s not too sweet, otherwise a ginger ale,” Bruce answered as he methodically set out the take out containers.

“I’m not southern enough for sweet tea,” Danny said with a soft chuckle.

“Where are you from originally?” Bruce asked. He had gamely resisted looking Danny up. He was trying to do this the right way. Besides, anything concerning Lucius would have found before even starting to consider introducing Danny to the Bats as an engineer.

“Ohio. I was in Chicago for undergrad, SoCal for grad, and MIT for my doctorate, and Austin for my first job, so I’ve made the rounds,” Danny said. He set two glasses of tea down on the table, followed by two plates, some napkins, and silverware.

“And now Gotham, of all places,” Bruce said as he pulled out a chair for Danny.

Danny gave another soft laugh, but took the offered chair and let Bruce push it in for him. “Not of all places, WE was always my end game. Well, my end game as soon as I got myself back on track. High school was rough with the accident and it took me awhile to get things back together. I had to start at a community college.”

“Hardly anything wrong with that,” Bruce assured Danny. “You’ve gotten far further with your education than I ever did.”

“Do you ever regret it?” Danny asked as he poked curiously at one of the dishes.

“Sometimes,” Bruce said honestly. “But I think being a doctor would have been horrible for my mental health. I’ve never been good at accepting that I can save everyone. I still can’t, but at least leading WE I can help a lot more people at once, even if that is hugely thanks to the efforts of everyone else.”

“The mastermind rather than the master,” Danny said with a little nod, as if he really got it. He chewed on a potato, humming happily at the flavor, before he said. “That’s actually why WE was my end game. You’ve set up a really good environment there with diversity and pay equality and living wages. Also, if I could get high enough, which I have, I knew I’d be able to work on independent projects. It gives me a chance to do some real good too.”

“Your water filters are going to save lives,” Bruce agreed. “I’m not sure if Lucius has spoken to you about it, but we’re looking to make sure that every household in Gotham that wants one can get one. Not only will they be vital if a Rogue gets something in the water supply again, but until the reform of the water system is finished it will help the lower income areas that still have old pipe systems.”

“Really?” Danny asked, scoop of couscous forgotten halfway to his plate.

“Really. I’ve already started laying the seeds with the board. If nothing else, I’ll have them with how much good PR it will bring in for us.”

“You are a fiend,” Danny said with a little shake of his head. “A very benevolent fiend, but a fiend.”

“I just know how to work a board,” Bruce said, perhaps just a little smugly. “I might as well use growing up rich to do some good.”

“I think you’re just good at working people, that’s your mastery,” Danny said.

Bruce laughed, he couldn’t help it. “My children would strongly refute that. The more I care for someone, the worse I am at it. Things with logic or helping others, that’s easy for me to rally behind. Making sure that a loved one understands that the what and the why I’m doing something is because I care for them? Miserable. I’ve always struggled with showing those deeper connections, maybe because it’s always been so easy to act in public.”

Danny reached over and squeezed Bruce’s hand. “For what it’s worth, the fact that you’ve learned that and are trying to fix it? That means so much. I’m sure it does to your family too.”

“I hope so. I nearly lost some of them when I was younger and stupider, and I could never stand to again. Losing Jason for a time… he ran off because we had a fight. I was trying to protect him, make sure he didn’t make mistakes he would regret forever… I didn’t explain myself at the time and if I had…” Bruce shook his head and put on a smile. “Ah, I’m sorry, I’m making things dark. The important bit of this is that we will see your filters through out Gotham, I promise.”

Danny surprised Bruce by leaning in and giving him a soft peck on the cheek. “I don’t mind your shadows, Bruce. I’m well aware that we all have them.”

Bruce cleared his throat and squeezed Danny’s hand. His smile dropped into something smaller, but all the more real. “Thank you.”

Danny squeezed his hand back. “Now, tell me about these vacation options you’re concocting? As Lucius will tell you, it’s been too long since I’ve taken one that wasn’t for health or to see family.”

“Ah, a man after my own heart then,” Bruce said as he mentally ran through options for them. “To start with, sand or no sand?”

“With feathers? I’d be cleaning the sand out of my wings for hours,” Danny said. It was good to hear him mention his wings with more ease.

“Come now, half a hour tops, I’d gladly helped.”

“Why Mr. Wayne, I’m starting to suspect that you are fond of my wings.”

Bruce just shrugged. “When did I ever say that I wasn’t? They’re a lovely part of a lovely man.”

“Ancients,” Danny near whispered and hid his flushed face in his hands. “Okay, okay, I’m officially out flirted. Eat. Eat and convince me of this vacation.”

“If that’s what you want,” Bruce said, unable to help be proud of the reaction from Danny. He had to wonder if they did go on vacation, just how much he could make Danny blush like that.

He expected quite a bit.

[wooyoungiewritings]

A Spoonful of Trouble - Wooyoung x Reader

Summary: Three years of living with your best friend Wooyoung, and it’s all been chill… until a run-in with your old coworker, who’s dating your ex, forces you to lie. You tell her you’re in a relationship with Wooyoung, and now you both have to fake a relationship at a couples’ dinner. Wooyoung’s plan? Make your ex jealous. What starts as a harmless game soon sparks something you didn’t see coming.

Word count: 17.4K

Genre: Best-friend/Roomie Wooyoung, fake dating, comedy (it’s wooyoung, ofc its fun), friends-to-lovers, oneshot, smut

Warnings: Jealous undertones, Wooyoung with reader (fem pronouns), dom Wooyoung, he’s a tease, fingering, oral (fem receiving), choking and hair pulling, ass slaps and pussy slaps (lmao sorry) dirtytalk, unprotected sex, lmk if I missed anything!

A/N: I was requested a Wooyoung fanfic (preferably friends to lovers) and your wish is my command. Also, I haven't read this through, so I excuse if there are any mistakes!

This is all for fun and is not meant to represent Wooyoung in any way.

You didn’t know Wooyoung before you moved in with him.

It wasn’t some childhood-friends-to-roommates situation. It was a Facebook listing, a desperate rent situation, and a quick video call where he grinned and said, “I’m clean, I cook, and I only walk around shirtless on laundry days, deal?”

Your boyfriend had just cheated on you and you were too broke to be picky.

You moved in two weeks later.

That was three years ago.

When you first moved in, things were simple. Polite nods in the hallway, careful division of chores, messages like “Can I use your oat milk?” and “Trash day’s Thursday.” You were strangers learning how to coexist. He was respectful, charming, funny in a careful kind of way.

But that changed. Slowly. Naturally.

There was the night he knocked on your door with two bowls of ramen after hearing you cry through the wall. The time he fell asleep on your shoulder during a movie, and you let him stay there. The mornings where he started making two cups of coffee without asking, and the way he never forgot which mug was your favorite.

Little things, at first. But they stacked up.

Now he knows your coffee order and your worst ex’s name. He doesn’t knock anymore when your door is open. And you don’t bother pretending to be annoyed when he drapes himself across the couch you’re already sitting on, like there’s not an entire empty seat next to you. You know his favorite hoodie and the playlist he only listens to when he’s feeling off.

You don’t even remember when it happened. When “roommate” became “friend,” and “friend” slowly became “best friend”.

He’s the first person you turn to when something happens, good or bad. You’ve become so used to him and his playful, flirtatious nature, that it’s just... normal now.

This morning, you wake up to the sound of a pan sizzling.

It’s not unusual. Wooyoung does most of the cooking in the apartment, partly because he’s better at it, mostly because he refuses to eat anything bland. You’ve learned not to interfere when he’s in his element, your only job is to show up and eat.

Still, it’s early, and he’s making a bit too much noise for someone who claims to love you “platonically.”

You shuffle out of your room, hair a mess, socks mismatched. The kitchen smells like garlic and eggs, and you see him standing at the stove, completely in his zone. Hoodie sleeves pushed up, spatula in hand, flipping something with a finesse that makes it obvious he knows he looks good doing it.

“You’re showing off,” you mutter, leaning against the doorframe.

He doesn’t look away from the pan. “You’re welcome.”

You make a beeline for your favorite mug, the one he always pretends to hate but still washes carefully every time you leave it in the sink.

“I figured you’d sleep in,” he says. “You stayed up late.”

“Yea, because someone wasn’t leaving my room.” you send him a glare.

“I like hanging out with you! and don’t tell me you didn’t enjoy the story about the geek and the popular girl from my old highschool. That story is cute as hell.” he points the spatula with you like it’s a weapon.

You smirk behind the mug. “Okay, that one was kinda good.”

He grins, plating scrambled eggs and what looks like roasted vegetables. He slides the plate toward your usual spot at the counter like he’s done it a hundred times, because he has.

“How was your date?” you ask, poking your fork into a roasted tomato.

Wooyoung groans. “Disaster.”

“That bad?”

“She asked if I was in love with her halfway through the appetizer.”

“Bold of her,” you say, chewing.

“And when I said no, she looked at me like I kicked her in the face. Then she told me I ‘give off commitment issues.’”

You grin. “You do give off commitment issues.”

He glares playfully. “Okay, rude. I’m extremely loyal.”

“To me.”

“Exactly. My loyalty quota is full. Sorry to the rest of the world.” he shoots you a wink, nothing dramatic, just one of those natural, easy gestures he does without thinking. You don’t blush. Not anymore.

You're used to it. In the beginning, back when you were still adjusting to living with someone who looks like that, who flirts with the air he breathes, who walks around shirtless and steals fries from your plate and calls you “babe” just to watch your reaction, it was different.

But now? Immunity.

Mostly.

It’s easy with him, always has been. Closeness that doesn’t need explanation. No boundaries, because you don’t need them. Not when you’ve seen each other through every version of a day.

He sits beside you at the counter instead of across, thigh brushing yours like it’s second nature.

Because it is.

***

“You know,” you say, pushing the cart down the cereal aisle, “you could just admit you have the taste buds of a hyperactive child.”

Wooyoung gasps, dramatically offended as he holds up a neon box of chocolate puffs. “This is not childish. This is elite. You wouldn’t understand the depth of this flavor profile.”

Grocery shopping with Wooyoung is basically a weekly ritual at this point. Not because you can’t go alone, but because he insists on it. Claims you’d forget half the list and come back with snacks and nothing else. Which, to be fair, is kind of true.

You’re halfway through the cereal aisle, walking behind the cart as Wooyoung wanders a few feet ahead, eyes locked on the shelf like he’s making a life-or-death decision between sugary clusters or chocolate swirls.

He’s in his element, mumbling ingredients under his breath, holding one box up to the light like he’s reading ancient scrolls. You smile to yourself, letting him do his thing as you slow down, scanning your phone for the rest of your shared grocery list.

And then, just your luck, you hear it.

“Oh my god, Y/N?”

You look up too slowly.

Hana.

You turn, putting on the most polite expression you can muster as she approaches, all bright eyes and perfect hair and the same aggressive enthusiasm she used to bring to Monday morning staff meetings.

“Hana,” you say, trying to sound surprised instead of resigned. “Wow. Hi.”

“I thought that was you! Oh my god, it’s been what, like, forever? You look so… Anyways, it’s so good to see you!” She eyes you, then glances down into your cart before you can respond. “Frozen dumplings, instant rice, oh my god I love those snacks, they’re so bad but soooo addictive, right? Wait-, this kimchi brand is the worst. You should try the one from Jihyun’s Market across town. It’s organic.”

You blink. “I... like this one.”

“Sure, sure. I mean, I just think it’s better to be picky with fermented stuff, you know? Especially when you’re eating it alone.”

You don’t answer right away. She doesn’t wait.

“Gosh, how are you? I remember how you were always the chill one at work. So responsible. So put together. Like, you were always the single one! We called you "The Independent Icon" behind your back. Not in a mean way!”

You hadn’t planned on staying single forever. But a few years ago, your boyfriend cheated on you while he was on vacation, called you from the airport like it was no big deal. After that, you decided you were done. No dating for a while, no more risks. It was easier to be alone than to be blindsided again. Eventually, people stopped asking. Then they started assuming.

Your stomach twists. You glance down the aisle. Wooyoung is still several feet away, crouched in front of a lower shelf now, examining cereal boxes like he’s an art critic. Totally out of earshot.

“Oh, I didn’t know people talked about that,” you say, trying to keep your tone neutral.

Hana waves a hand. “Only in admiration, really. I mean, you’ve never brought a guy to any of our dinners. I think Minji even thought you were secretly dating a girl for a while, totally cool if you are! No judgment! But I told her, no way. Y/N is just focused. Did I tell you I got married, by the way? I don’t think you ever met my husband. We got married last year, tiny ceremony, super last minute. Here-, he’s gonna kill me for showing this, but look how ridiculous he looks in this suit.”

She pulls out her phone, swipes once, then holds it up to you.

You freeze.

You know that face.

The sharp jawline. The dimple on his left cheek. The same stupid smile he had when he came back from that trip and told you, casually, like it was weather, that he’d slept with someone else. “It didn’t mean anything,” he said, “we were just having a rough patch, right?”

Your stomach drops.

“That’s him,” Hana says proudly. “Total goofball, but he’s the best. Honestly, I didn’t think I’d find someone like him. But don’t worry, you’ll find someone too some day!”

Hana is still talking but her words blur.

You could say nothing. You could just smile, nod, and escape with your overpriced kimchi and frozen dumplings. But you nod slowly, eyes darting to the end of the aisle again. Suddenly, you hear yourself say, voice too quick and too loud:

“Actually, I’m dating someone.”

Hana’s brows lift. “Wait, really?”

“Yeah.” You point down the aisle.

She turns.

Wooyoung, still crouched, is now reading the back of a cereal box, completely oblivious to your social spiral.

“Oh?” Hana’s eyes are practically sparkling now, thrilled by this newfound information. “Look at you! I know you had it in you!” she says, nudging your arm. “You have to bring him to dinner. We’re doing a little couples night this Friday. Just a few of us from work, old and new. Minji’s coming, and Jihyun, and my husband’s inviting one of his coworkers and their girlfriend. You two should come!”

You hesitate, already internally spiraling. “Oh, I don’t know-”

“Come on! It’ll be fun. I need someone there who doesn’t talk about babies every ten seconds. Please.”

She’s already taking your nod as confirmation before you’ve fully given it. “Perfect! I’ll text you the details, I still have your number. You better show up.”

Just as she’s about to walk away, Wooyoung returns, holding two cereal boxes and strolling up casually.

Hana’s face lights up again. “See you soon!” she says brightly to him, giving you both a final little wave before disappearing around the corner.

Wooyoung blinks after her, then looks at you, eyebrows raised. “...Why do I feel like I just missed something deeply important?”

You stare at him, trying to decide where to begin.

He holds up the cereal boxes, undeterred. “Okay. Fruity Loops or Cinnamon Sugar Swirls. One has slightly fewer chemicals. I won’t say which.”

You inhale slowly, exhale even slower. “So, remember when you left me alone for two minutes?”

“Tragically, yes.”

“Well… in those two minutes, I may have… sort of… told someone we’re dating.”

There’s a beat of silence.

Wooyoung blinks. “You what?”

You gesture weakly down the aisle. “That was Hana. Old coworker. She’s always been weirdly obsessed with the fact that I’m single. She was doing her usual thing, and I panicked, and I pointed at you, and now she thinks we’re together, and- surprise! We’re going to a couples dinner on Friday.”

Wooyoung looks at you. Then at the cereal. Then back at you.

And then he grins.

Like really grins.

“Oh my God,” he says, eyes wide with delight. “This is amazing.”

“Wooyoung.”

“We’re fake dating? We’re doing the thing? Like the romcoms?”

You press a hand to your face. “It gets worse.”

His grin somehow grows. “I’m listening.”

“She’s married to my ex.”

Wooyoung blinks. “The ex?”

You nod. “She showed me a wedding photo. It’s him. The one who cheated on me while he was on vacation. The reason I swore off dating for like, three years.”

Wooyoung’s jaw drops, then slowly morphs into something almost unhinged with glee.

“Oh my God,” he breathes. “This is so much better than I thought.”

“Why are you happy?”

“Because,” he says, absolutely glowing, “I get to sit across from the guy who cheated on my best friend and pretend to be the hot, attentive boyfriend who’s so in love with her he’d die for her. I’m going to be so annoying. I’m going to feed you food.”

“Wooyoung.”

“I’m going to wipe sauce off your mouth. I’m going to put my arm around your chair. I’m going to call you baby in front of him.”

You groan. “This is going to kill me.”

“This is going to heal you,” he says. “You know what, this counts for both of the cereals. Sweet childhood nostalgia and the one that turns milk radioactive pink.” He throws the cereals into the cart with dramatic flair. “This is the best grocery trip of my life.”

***

Friday morning

He’s already in the kitchen when you shuffle in, still half-asleep, arms wrapped around yourself. The smell of eggs and butter greets you first.

“Good morning, my beautiful fake girlfriend!” he beams.

You groan. “Please don’t start.”

“Too late,” he sings, doing a dramatic spin with the spatula. “Do you want toast with your lies or just plain guilt?”

You drop your head onto the counter with a sigh. “I’m not built for this level of energy before caffeine.”

He slides a mug your way, your mug, with your preferred coffee, made just right. “I knew you’d be a flight risk this morning.”

You mutter a thank-you and take a long sip. It helps. But not enough.

“I think I’m panicking,” you say into the mug.

He sets your breakfast in front of you and leans on the counter across from where you sit. “Hey. We’ve got this. All we have to do is show up, eat some overpriced cheese cubes, pretend we’re madly in love, make your ex suffer for being the biggest asshole known to man, and leave. Easy.”

“Madly in love,” you echo flatly.

“Yes, madly.” His smile grows. “Madly, stupidly in love. To the point where your ex is going to regret every single life choice he made after cheating on you. And enough to make Hana go, ‘oh wow, they’re so cute, maybe I am a terrible friend for shaming her for being single for the entire time I’ve known her.’”

You blink. “You really hate him, don’t you?”

“I’ve never even met him and I already hope he has the biggest receding hairline I’ve ever seen.”

You can’t help but laugh.

“And besides,” he adds, stealing a bite of your toast, “we got chemistry.”

You make a face.

“We do, though. We’re best friends. We’re comfortable. We finish each other’s-”

“Don’t.”

“-sentences.”

You hurl a piece of toast crust at him. He dodges it with a smirk.

But he’s right. You are comfortable. You already know what shirt he’s going to wear tonight and that he’s going to pretend he didn’t plan it. You know he’s going to be charming and make everyone laugh and completely forget he’s pretending.

And that’s the part that begins to make your stomach twist.

The day goes faster than you anticipated, and before you know it, you’re both getting ready for the dinner.

You’re halfway through checking your bag for the fourth time when he walks out of his room, and everything in you stills.

He’s adjusting the sleeves of his black button-down, casually rolling them up past his elbows. He tucks his phone into his back pocket, grabs a bottle of wine off the counter. He’s talking, saying something about the wine in his hands, but you don’t hear a word.

Because damn. He looks good.

His black hair is styled a little messier than usual, in that perfectly undone way that probably took way too much effort. He’s tucked his shirt into dark slacks that fit just right, and he’s wearing that silver chain he only brings out for “important” nights.

Like fake dates, apparently.

And the worst part? He doesn’t even look like he’s trying. He looks like this is just how he always looks. Like he doesn’t know that he’s the kind of guy women cross sidewalks for just to sneak a better glance.

And you should be used to that. You live with him. You see him fresh out of bed, half-asleep, shirtless and in the same ratty sweats every Sunday. But this is different.

You recover fast, mutter something closer to sounds than actual words and spin on your heel toward the bathroom.

You need a second. Maybe two.

You close the door behind you and lean against it, willing your heart to calm down. It's just Wooyoung. Your best friend. Your roommate. Your fake boyfriend for the night. Nothing to get flustered over.

You run a hand down your dress, fix your lipstick, try not to think about how the curve of his smile made your stomach flutter.

Then, without a sound, the door cracks open.

He leans casually against the doorframe, watching you through the reflection. “Hey.”

Your eyes meet in the mirror, and for a second, you forget what you’re doing, because his gaze isn’t neutral.

It drops. Lingers.

Slides down the line of your black dress, the way it hugs your hips, the bare skin of your shoulders. It’s not crude, not obvious, but you can feel it. Like a slow drag of heat over your body.

You blink. “You’re not allowed to just come in here.”

“I knocked.”

You glare.

He lifts his hands, innocent. “You just didn’t hear it. Selective hearing, maybe.”

You roll your eyes, but he doesn’t move. Just stay there, eyes trailing from your hair to your lips to the way you’re fidgeting with your rings.

“What’s up?” you ask, voice soft.

He tilts his head slightly, smile tugging at one side of his mouth. “Just thinking.”

“Dangerous.”

“Funny,” he deadpans. Then after a beat, “I was wondering how much of a boyfriend I’m allowed to be tonight.”

Your stomach tightens.

He says it lightly, but there’s something in his voice, something teasing, but slower. More deliberate.

You meet his gaze in the mirror again. “What do you mean?”

“Well,” he says, stepping a little further into the room, “can I hold your hand? Whisper something in your ear if it gets boring? Pull you in when he’s watching?”

You swallow. He’s close now, not too close, but close enough that the air feels warmer.

“Or maybe,” he continues, eyes flicking to your lips just for a second, “kiss your cheek. You know. If it feels natural. Just enough to make him wonder.” There’s something electric in his voice now, light, amused, but edged with something darker. He smiles, wider this time, and it doesn’t reach his eyes. “Actually… can I make your ex jealous as fuck? Is that allowed?”

“What do you want to do?” you ask, your voice quieter than you mean it to be.

“I mean… if you give me even a little room to play…” He leans in, just slightly, not touching. “I swear I’ll ruin his whole fucking night.”

You’re still staring when he backs away, grin wide, eyes too pleased.

“No pressure," he says, putting both of his hands up, he smiles again, but this time it’s softer. “I’ll do whatever makes you feel comfortable.”

Your mouth is dry.

“Do whatever you want,” you manage. “Just… don’t be weird.”

He grins. “I make no promises”

You’re smiling, even as you turn away to grab your perfume, trying not to let him see how warm your cheeks are.

And as he walks out, he says it over his shoulder.

“You didn’t say no to the kiss.”

***

The knock sounds louder than you expect. You suddenly feel overdressed, underprepared, and painfully aware of the fact that your hand is linked with Wooyoung’s.

You didn’t mean to hold hands.

It just sort of… happened. One second you were adjusting your sleeve, the next his fingers found yours, no hesitation, like they’d done it a thousand times. And now it’s too late to pull away without it being weird.

“Y/N! Oh my god, finally! Come in!” Hana screams as she opens the door. You’re barely stepping inside when she notices the man next to you, her eyes widening. “And this is…?”

“Wooyoung,” he says smoothly, offering the wine bottle with both charm and ease. “Nice to meet you.”

Hana takes it with a delighted hum, already ushering you both inside. You barely get a foot in before her voice lifts again. “Babe, come meet my old co-worker!”

And there he is.

Standing a few steps inside the hallway, one hand curled loosely around a drink. He turns at the sound and freezes. Just for a second, quick enough to pass for nothing, but not to you. You see it. His eyes widen slightly, and something flickers across his face. Confusion. Surprise. Like he wasn’t told. Like he wasn’t ready.

But you smile, smooth and pleasant. Step forward, extend your hand like you’ve never seen him before in your life.

“Hi,” you say. “Nice to meet you.”

You smile like it’s nothing. Like you don’t know him. Like he’s just another name you’ll forget by morning. There’s the barest pause before he sets the glass down and shakes your hand. “Yeah,” he says, guarded, eyes flicking to Wooyoung. “You too.”

Before you can say anything, Wooyoung steps forward smoothly, hand outstretched, “Hi,” he says, voice warm and a little too cheerful. “I’m Wooyoung. Her boyfriend.”

There’s a pause. One breath too long. Your ex shifts, not quite hiding the way his eyes flick to your still-joined hands.

“…Right,” he says finally, taking Wooyoung’s hand. “Nice to meet you.”

Hana, being the overly-excited host that she is, smiles at the situation. “Everyone’s in the kitchen. Come on, we’re just doing drinks and snacks before dinner.”

You glance toward the kitchen, grateful for the distraction, but not before you feel Wooyoung’s hand press gently against your lower back, guiding you forward.

As if to say: I’ve got you.

But also…

Watch me work.

The house is warm and golden-lit, filled with soft music and the quiet sounds of people mingling. Laughter drifts from the back, layered over the clink of glasses and the sizzle of something on the stove.

The kitchen is full, couples leaning against counters, clustered near the island, perched on stools. Everyone looks up when you enter, and Hana claps her hands once. “Everyone, this is Y/N and her boyfriend, Wooyoung.”

You swear the word echoes for a second. Boyfriend.

Wooyoung just nods with a relaxed smile, greeting the group like he’s done this a hundred times. He’s introduced to a few of the guys first, and within a minute he’s already laughing at something, fully immersed in conversation.

You hang back, trying not to fidget, trying to ignore how good he looks tonight, sleeves rolled, watch glinting, hair pushed back perfectly like he didn’t even try. And then, as if on cue, Hana pipes up from across the room, tossing the words over her shoulder like they’re harmless.

“I still can’t believe Y/N’s in a relationship now,” she says brightly, like it’s a funny little update. “I didn’t believe it at first, Y/N in a relationship? We all thought she was allergic to commitment!”

There’s a few laughs, light, not cruel. The kind of laugh that happens when people think they’re in on something. The moment the words leave Hana’s mouth, your ex looks up. His expression flickers with a hint of surprise.

You open your mouth, unsure what to say. But before you can speak, Wooyoung cuts in. He doesn’t raise his voice, doesn’t even look particularly bothered. He just glances over at Hana with an easy, almost lazy kind of smile.

“If loving her is a commitment, then it’s the easiest type of commitment I’ve ever made.”

You blink.

Your ex doesn’t say anything. His lips press into a tight line, but his eyes narrow further, jaw clenching slightly as he watches Wooyoung.

But Wooyoung’s gaze never shifts away from you, his hand finding yours again, linking your fingers effortlessly. His smile is small, but there’s a touch of pride behind it. He’s enjoying this.

The women smile. A couple guys glance over like damn. And Hana? She laughs, charmed. “Wow, okay. You’re already winning points.”

You try to smile like your heart didn’t just skip an entire beat.

Hana insists on giving you and Wooyoung a quick tour before dinner. “It’s not huge,” she says, with a laugh that’s anything but modest. “We just really wanted something simple but tasteful. Natural light was a must. You know how it is.”

Wooyoung nods beside you like he deeply, deeply understands the weight of natural light, and you catch the subtle twitch at the corner of his mouth.

“And this-” Hana gestures grandly as she opens a set of double doors. “This is my favorite room. The light in here at golden hour? Unreal. We had the cushions custom made to match the ceiling beams. And the books are mostly for decoration, but it kind of gives the right mood, don’t you think?”

You nod along politely, half-listening, while Wooyoung leans down slightly, his voice warm and low against your ear.

“Do you think if I mention natural light three more times, we unlock a secret level of the tour?”

Your breath hitches with a soft laugh, and before you can stop yourself, you tilt your head slightly toward him, shoulder brushing his chest. His smile lingers like he’s proud of himself, but there’s something else behind it too, something quieter. The way your face lights up when you laugh, how you don’t pull away. It flickers in his chest and sits there, unexpected.

His hand lingers a little longer at the small of your back as you follow Hana to the next room.

The dinner table is lively, plates are passed around, and glasses are filled as casual conversation flows. Across the table, your ex is quiet. He hasn’t said much all night, just observed. His smile is polite, his presence steady, but you can feel his gaze on you every now and then, especially when Wooyoung leans in to refill your glass or casually touches your wrist while talking.

The group is in a comfortable rhythm, and just as you're about to take a bite of your food, one of the guests leans back in their chair with a curious smile.

“So how did you two meet each other?”

You freeze, your mind racing. And across from you, you swear you see your ex stiffen slightly, eyes narrowing just the tiniest bit.

Wooyoung notices immediately.

He smiles at you, that teasing, mischievous look in his eyes as he leans forward, taking the cue. He opens his mouth, and suddenly, his voice fills the room. Smooth, charming, and effortlessly natural.

"Oh, this one’s my favorite story," he says, his voice warm and playful, his eyes lighting up as if he's about to tell the most incredible tale.

He pauses for dramatic effect, glancing at you, making sure you’re paying attention. You give him a quick nod, still unsure of where he’s going with this.

“It was one of those nights you’re not even supposed to go out, you know? I almost canceled.” He lets out a soft laugh, glancing at you. “But then she walked in.”

Everyone leans in slightly, curious.

“She wasn’t supposed to be there either, actually. Our friend had to convince her. She was tired, had a long week,” He looks at you briefly, as if asking permission with his eyes, but his smile says he already knows you’ll let him go on.

“She came in late, a little out of breath, tucking her hair behind her ear, apologizing even though no one noticed. And I swear-” He leans back, that crooked smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. “-the second I saw her, I forgot what I was saying mid-sentence. Just totally lost it. My friend thought I was choking on my drink.”

Soft laughter bubbles around the table. Your cheeks warm.

“She sat right across from me, and I swear I didn’t hear a single thing anyone else said the whole night. I spent the night trying to make her laugh.”

It’s smooth, too smooth, but his tone is light, playful, like he’s just telling a fond memory, not spinning an elaborate lie. He continues, eyes sparkling.

“I asked for her number before we left, and she said no.”

A small gasp comes from someone at the table, and Wooyoung grins like he’s telling a bedtime story.

“She said I seemed like the kind of guy who flirts with everyone.” More laughter. Wooyoung presses a hand to his chest in mock offense. “Which-, okay, fair. But I wasn't flirting with her… or maybe I was, but I just wanted to keep talking to her. So I said, ‘If she doesn’t want to give it to me, fine, I’ll earn it.’ And I kept showing up whenever our friend invited people out. I'd always make sure to sit next to her. Always brought something small. Coffee, gum, dumb stuff, just to have an excuse to talk.”

He looks at you then. Really looks at you.

“And eventually… she let me walk her home.”

Someone lets out a little aww.

“I didn’t try anything,” he adds. “I just wanted to stretch out the moment as long as I could. I think we stood outside her door for half an hour just talking. I memorized the color of her front light. The chipped tile on her step. Her laugh.”

The table is completely silent.

“And the next time?” His smile curves wider. “She kissed me first. Which I will never let her forget.”

The table is enchanted.

For a moment after Wooyoung finishes, there’s a soft, stunned silence, like everyone’s holding their breath without realizing it. Then:

“Oh my God,” someone breathes.

The woman across from you nudges her partner. “You never chased me like that.”

“You didn’t run,” he deadpans.

“So you’re telling me you saw her once and just knew?” another friend adds, reaching for more wine.

“I told our mutual friend to introduce us, and he said ‘don’t bother.’” He stretches his arm along the back of your chair, fingers lightly brushing the bare skin of your shoulder. “So obviously I did the exact opposite.”

The table erupts with laughter. Real, full, warm.

“God, that sounds so like you,” Hana laughs, sending you a playful glance.

Laughter bubbles around the table, easy and entertained.

But not from everyone.

Across the table, your ex’s grip on his fork tightens, just for a moment. Not dramatic, not enough to draw attention from anyone else, but you see it. The twitch in his jaw. The way he shifts back in his chair like he needs space to breathe.

Wooyoung leans in slightly, hand still resting lightly behind your neck now, fingers brushing just enough to make it look natural. Intimate.

“And when she finally said yes,” he adds, voice lower now, more deliberate, “I knew I wasn’t gonna let her go.”

Your chest tightens.

The air feels heavier.

Meanwhile, you’re frozen in place, staring at your wine glass, heart racing as if you lived every second of that made-up story. You catch someone across the table watching you with a knowing smile, clearly convinced you're the luckiest girl alive.

And for a second, just one, you almost believe it too.

The rest of the dinner unfolds like a well-rehearsed play. Light laughter, wine refills, soft clinks of cutlery against porcelain. Conversation drifts easily between the couples, like they’ve all known each other forever, even if some only met tonight. And somehow, you and Wooyoung fall into it without trying.

After the dinner, the buzz of conversation in the living room fades as you step quietly down the hallway toward the bathroom. You need a second to breathe, just a minute alone after everything that’s happened tonight.

You close the bathroom door behind you and lean against it for a moment, letting out a breath you didn’t realize you were holding. Wooyoung’s charming story about how you met still lingers in your mind, and the way everyone seemed so enchanted by him... it felt like something out of a movie. It had been easy to get swept up in it all, even though it was completely fabricated.

After a few moments, you open the bathroom door and nearly jump out of your skin.

Wooyoung is standing right there in the hallway, hands in his pockets like he’s just been casually waiting. His gaze flicks up to meet yours immediately, and a slow, knowing smile pulls at his lips.

He doesn’t say anything right away, just leans his shoulder against the doorframe, arms now crossed, like he’s settling in.

You swallow hard. “You scared me.”

“Did I?” His voice is low, soft. Like a secret passed between friends. “Sorry. You just disappeared.”

“I needed a second. Too many couples,” you say, attempting a light laugh that comes out a bit thin. “Too much… love.”

“So?” he murmurs beside you. “How am I doing?”

You glance at him, eyebrows raised.

“The fake boyfriend thing,” he adds with a sly grin. “Convincing enough for you?”

You shrug, but your smile gives you away. “I’ve seen worse performances.”

“Cold,” he mutters, holding a hand over his chest like you’ve wounded him. “Here I am, carrying the entire romance on my back.”

You laugh quietly, then shake your head, your voice dropping again. “Honestly, I think everyone at the table wants to date you now.”

“Jealous?” he says, all teeth and sparkle, but his voice is soft, teasing rather than cocky.

You roll your eyes, even as your stomach flips. “Please.”

Then he tilts his head, studying you. His tone shifts, still playful, but quieter. “You know, you’re still a little pink.”

You blink. “What?”

“Your cheeks,” he says, nodding toward them. “Blushing. Again.”

You cross your arms instinctively, heart picking up pace. “I’m not.”

“You are,” he whispers. He leans a little closer. “It’s kinda cute.”

Your breath catches.

“You’re insufferable,” you whisper, smiling despite yourself.

“And you’re adorable when you’re flustered.”

The moment hangs, just a little too long. You’re standing in the dim hallway, lights soft, voices muffled behind walls, and he’s looking at you like this is his favorite part of the night.

You clear your throat, trying to reset something in the air. “We should go back.”

“Yeah,” he says, straightening slowly. “Before someone thinks we’re sneaking off to make out.”

Wooyoung straightens just a little, the moment sliding away like water off skin. He gives you one last glance, a wink for good measure, then turns and walks toward the others. That leaves you standing in the hallway, heart racing, wondering why his lazy confidence always makes it hard to tell when he’s joking and when he isn’t.

You follow behind, still feeling the blush he called out.

You offer to help Hana out in the kitchen. Wooyoung is busy winning everybody’s hearts with his charm, so you aren’t concerned about him.

You rinse off a plate, hands moving on autopilot as you stack it neatly on the drying rack. Hana leans against the counter beside you, sipping the last of her wine, her smile still painted on from dinner. “Seriously though,” she says, nudging your hip with hers, “I wasn’t expecting you to show up with someone like that.”

You huff a laugh. “Like what?”

“Like… funny. Hot. Charismatic. The way he talks about you?” She raises a brow. “Unreal.”

You smile, tight-lipped. “Yeah. He’s something.”

“I mean…” She grins. “You glow around him. It’s wild. Like, he looks at you like he’s already picking out your wedding venue.”

You laugh, quiet, awkward. “He’s just… sweet.”

Hana raises her brows. “He’s obsessed. In a good way.” She tilts her head toward the hallway. “I’m gonna go grab the wine opener. Don’t let me forget it again. Be back in a sec.”

The back door clicks shut behind her, and silence settles again. It’s nice for a moment, just you, the clink of cutlery, the steam from the sink. You keep washing dishes, grateful for the moment alone.

But it doesn’t last.

You hear movement behind you. Slow. Hesitant.

You turn your head and freeze.

It’s him.

Your ex.

He stands just past the threshold, hands in his pockets, gaze locked on you. He steps in without saying anything at first. Just lingers a little too close to the kitchen island, his eyes scanning your face like he’s trying to figure out what he’s seeing.

“I didn’t think you’d come,” he says.

You dry your hands on a towel, steadying yourself. “Clearly.”

He takes a step in. Not too close, but enough to unsettle you.

His eyes flick around the room, then land back on you. “You look good.”

You sigh quietly, turning back to the sink. “Don’t do that.”

“I’m just saying.”

Another beat.

You hear him shift again, leaning slightly against the island behind you. You can feel his eyes on your back.

“That guy,” he says finally. “The one who came with you. Wooyoung.”

You don’t look at him. “What about him?”

He hesitates. Then, carefully: “Are you two… serious?”

You pause, then shrug. “That’s none of your business.”

He lets out a low breath. “So that’s a yes.”

You turn slowly, facing him now. “Why are you here, really?”

“In my own house?”

“No,” you say. “Why are you in this kitchen, right now?”

He stares at you. Silent.

“I fucked up,” he blurts, “Okay? I know I did. I’ve been thinking about it since-”

“Don’t,” you snap, but still keeping your voice down so the rest of the party won't hear. “You don’t get to come here, pretend we’re still something, and then act surprised that I moved on. You’re married.”

His mouth opens, then closes. He looks at you like you’ve just hit him.

“You moved on?” he repeats, like the words are bitter on his tongue. “With him?”

You step back. “You don’t know him.”

He scoffs. “I might not, but I can still see how insufferable he is.”

You stare at him, lips parted in disbelief. “Jealousy doesn’t look good on you.”

He takes another step forward, eyes sharper now. “I just don’t get it. After everything-”

“No,” you say firmly, holding your hand up. “You don’t get anything. You lost the right to have an opinion the second you slept with someone else.”

There’s a beat of silence. Your heart pounds in your ears.

And then…

“Everything okay in here?” Wooyoung’s voice is cold. Threatening almost.

You don’t need to look. You feel it, the air shifting, the way the atmosphere bends around his presence. But you still turn your head. And it steadies you instantly.

He’s leaning in the doorway. One hand tucked into the pocket of his slacks, the other hanging loose at his side. His posture is relaxed. His expression? Somewhere between nonchalance and interest.

But his eyes?

They’re fixed on your ex.

And they could kill.

Your ex straightens, caught off guard. “Uh-, yeah. We were just-”

Wooyoung steps fully into the room like he’s walking through water, unconcerned by the tension that’s thick enough to drown in. He nods once, a polite gesture with razor edges, then glances at you.

His voice lowers. Smooth, velvety. Unmistakably his.

“You okay, baby?”

The pet name slips out effortlessly. Like it belongs there. Like you belong to him. Then he closes the space between you and him, his hand brushing the small of your back with casual ownership.

Your breath stutters. “I’m fine.”

His gaze lingers on your ex, sharp enough to make the air hum.

“Then I’ll ask one more time,” he murmurs, voice dipped in steel, eyes locked on your ex. “Is there a problem?”

Your ex lets out a quiet scoff, trying to play it cool. “No problem at all.”

Wooyoung breathes in once, slow.

“Then I’ll make this simple,” he says, softly now. Dangerous soft. “If you’ve got something to say, say it.” He tilts his head, the barest shift of muscle. His smile is slight, almost gentle, but it doesn’t reach his eyes. “If not…” His jaw tightens just once. “Walk away before you make me repeat myself.”

Your ex doesn’t speak again. Doesn’t look at you. Just leaves.

And Wooyoung watches every step. Tracks him with the kind of gaze that doesn’t flinch. It says everything he hasn’t:

Try it again. I dare you.

When it’s just the two of you again, Wooyoung’s fingers trace your spine once, barely there. A silent check-in.

Then, slowly, his focus shifts. Back to you.

His voice drops. Low. Controlled.

“You okay?”

You nod once, but it’s tight. Too tight. And he sees it.

His brows pinch just slightly. “Did he say something?”

“No,” you whisper, and it’s true, mostly. “He was just… being him.”

Wooyoung exhales slowly through his nose, jaw clenching. Like he’s trying not to say something that would ruin the whole night. But then he looks at you, really looks at you, and something in him softens. Just a little.

His hand slides from your back to your waist, anchoring you close. He studies your face for a moment, like he’s not fully convinced, but then he exhales and gives a small nod back.

“I didn’t want to step in too early,” he says, voice soft now. “You looked like you had it under control. You did.”

There’s something warm in your chest at that, that he trusted you to hold your own.

You meet his eyes.

He’s not angry.

He’s present.

“I know you don’t need anyone to defend you,” he says, quieter now. “But I’m here. If you ever want me to.”

That part lingers. A gentle offering.

You smile faintly. “Thanks.”

He leans just a little closer, his voice dipping like he doesn’t want to be overheard, even by the walls, and something wicked flickers at the corner of his mouth. “Guess I’ll have to make it clearer you’re taken.”

Your heart skips a beat.

His hand gives your waist the faintest squeeze, not possessive, just sure. Then he straightens up, tone lighter, a glint in his eye as he teases, “You ready to go back out there, or should we hide out in here a little longer?”

You smile. “Let’s go.”

Wooyoung laces his fingers with yours as you step out of the kitchen. He doesn’t say much. Just keeps his hand on you, sometimes at your back, sometimes curled around your fingers, like he doesn’t trust the room not to try and touch you.

The energy around him simmers low. Controlled. Patient.

But it’s there.

You feel it in the way his gaze lingers a little too long when you make eye contact The way his thumb brushes your skin when you pass your ex. Like a fuse waiting for flame.

The evening moves on. Laughter. Drinks. Music humming low in the background. But that energy never leaves him.

Then, after another drink, his palm slides against your waist as he leans in, murmuring just low enough for only you to hear. “Come outside with me for a sec?”

You glance up, surprised by the quiet invitation, but nod. “Yeah. Okay."

He takes your hand and leads you through the back door, into the cool hush of the backyard. String lights sway gently above. A few scattered chairs dot the patio, mostly empty.

He pulls you just far enough into the yard that you’re framed under the golden light, a sight impossible to miss. Then he stops just enough to pull you in close, his hands resting firmly on your waist. His breath brushes your neck as he leans in, voice low and a little teasing.

“Do you trust me?”

You meet his gaze, smiling without hesitation, but a little confused. “Of course.”

But before you can say anything more, he leans in, no warning, no hesitation, and his mouth finds your neck.

Slow. Deliberate. Unapologetically possessive.

His grip on your waist tightens, firm and grounding, like he's anchoring himself to you, or maybe keeping you exactly where he wants you.

Your fingers twitch, aching to clutch at his shirt, his shoulders, anything. But he doesn’t stop. His mouth keeps moving, tongue flicking, lips parting as he sucks softly at the spot just above your collarbone, lazy, indulgent, filthy in how intimate it feels.

You gasp, hips tilting forward instinctively, heat already pooling low and heavy in your belly. He doesn’t miss it, he hums against your throat like he felt it happen.

Wooyoung pulls back just enough to murmur, voice thick and close to your ear, “You weren’t expecting that, huh?”

His tone is teasing, pleased, like he knows exactly what he’s doing to you. Then he leans back in, grazing your neck again, his nose brushing over the same spot he just kissed.

“Fake boyfriend of the year, right?” he adds, a low smirk in his voice.

It pulls a laugh from you, too real, too soft, and he chuckles under his breath like he lives for the sound.

And then he looks up.

Over your shoulder.

Still smiling.

You don’t turn. You don’t even realize why his gaze has sharpened. But Wooyoung knows. He’s known from the moment he stepped outside.

“Oh, hey,” he says, just loud enough, like the thought only now occurred to him. “Didn’t see you there.”

You blink, startled, then turn.

And there he is.

Your ex is sitting in the far corner of the backyard, posture stiff, one hand loosely holding a glass of something amber that he’s no longer drinking. He’s been watching, long enough, clearly. His eyes flick from your face to where Wooyoung’s hand rests against your hip like it was made to be there. His mouth is drawn in a line so tight it might split.

He’d been watching.

Wooyoung's arm wraps a little tighter around your waist. Not possessive. Not aggressive. Just… secure. Like he has every right to hold you like this. Like he dares anyone to question it.

“Didn’t mean to interrupt,” Wooyoung says, cool and lazy.

Your ex stares, jaw tight.

Wooyoung doesn’t wait. His posture is casual, but there’s a glint in his eye that betrays him, too amused, too at-ease.

“Nice night, isn’t it?” he adds, like it’s nothing. “Stars out. Music inside. My girl tastes like sangria. Hard to complain.”

You stiffen slightly, but Wooyoung doesn’t flinch. He’s still smiling faintly, watching you with that unbothered, pretty-boy charm that somehow makes everything worse.

Your ex lifts his drink and mutters, “Some of us came out here to be alone.”

Wooyoung cocks his head. “Oh, totally fair. Should’ve said something.”

There’s a beat of silence, sharp enough to cut through. But he doesn’t move. He stays planted right there beside you, hand still snug on your waist like it belongs there.

Then he blinks, as if struck by a thought.

“Oh-, wait,” he says, voice still sweet. “You want us back inside?” He huffs a quiet laugh, almost apologetic. “Damn. That’s on me.”

Your ex sets his glass down with a soft clink on the stone railing. “You always this annoying?”

Wooyoung grins. “Only when I’m in a good mood.”

“Y/N! Wooyoung!”

Hana bursts out, loud and glowing, wine glass in one hand, joy practically spilling out of her. Her eyes land on you both and she lights up like the fourth of July.

“Oh my God, there you are!” she grins. “I was about to come get you, everyone keeps asking where the hot couple went!”

You see your ex stiffen. Wooyoung’s smile stretches.

“Hot couple,” he echoes, biting back a laugh.

Hana gasps dramatically. “Don’t act shy now! You two are disgusting. I love it.”

“I'm not mad about it. She’s got great taste,” Wooyoung teases with a little shrug, for a second glancing over at your ex. “Eventually.”

Your ex’s jaw tightens. He looks like he might speak.

But Wooyoung leans in one last time, whispering low into your ear, voice soft enough to make your skin spark:

"Success, baby"

He smirks before sliding his hand into yours, pulling you gently toward the house where Hana is waiting, oblivious to the tension left behind.

The night has mellowed. The lights are dim, the wine is flowing, and laughter has started to echo easier around the table. Someone’s passed around dessert, tiramisu in glass jars, and Wooyoung’s excused himself to the bathroom with that lazy, effortless vibe only he can pull off without trying. You’d felt his hand brush your shoulder as he left, and it still lingers there somehow, phantom-warm.

Hana’s had just enough wine to get bold. She sits across from you, grinning over the rim of her glass.

“Okay,” she says, loudly enough to cut across the overlapping chatter. “New question for the couples.”

The table quiets, interest piqued.

Her eyes land on you like a spotlight. “What’s your favorite physical thing about your partner?”

A few groans. Someone throws a napkin in her direction.

“Don’t roll your eyes,” she warns, laughing. “And no safe answers either. I don’t want to hear about how they ‘have a nice smile’ or ‘beautiful eyes’, everyone says that. I want the thing. The detail. The part of them that does it for you when you’re not even trying to look. The one that makes your brain short-circuit a little.”

You laugh, swallowing a little too quickly. The wine burns, and suddenly the air feels too warm.

“I’ll go last,” Hana says, clearly loving this. “Y/N, go.”

You freeze. “Me?”

“Yes, you.” Her smile is practically villainous. “He’s not even here. You can be honest.”

Everyone chuckles. The pressure thickens.

You hesitate, lips parting, unsure. Your eyes flick toward the hallway where Wooyoung disappeared. As if he might walk in just in time to save you.

But he doesn’t.

You clear your throat and say, maybe a little too honestly, “His hands.”

“Ooh,” someone says. “That’s a good one.”

You glance down at the table, fingers curling around your wine glass. “They’re just… nice,” you say, not looking up. “He moves them a lot when he talks. And they’re always doing something. Tapping, pulling at a sleeve, playing with his rings or-, whatever. Just always… moving.”

Your voice quiets as the room listens. You feel exposed, like you said something too intimate.

You don’t realize the room has fallen silent. Until it hits you that no one’s said anything back.

And then...

“I should leave more often if this is what I get to come back to.”

And Wooyoung is standing just behind you, leaning lazily against the doorway, arms crossed, one brow raised in interest.

Your breath halts.

There’s laughter again around the table, but your throat goes dry. Hana’s grinning at the perfect timing. “There he is,” she says, wiggling her brows. “Right on cue. We’re playing favorites.”

Wooyoung raises a brow. “Favorites?”

“Favorite physical thing about each other,” she explains, eyes sparkling. “And no cop-outs like smile or eyes. We’re talking the thing. The detail that ruins you. Your turn”

He chuckles under his breath, clearly amused. He doesn’t hesitate.

“Her neck.”

A beat of silence. His voice is smooth but deliberate, like the words were waiting in his mouth.

You feel your body go still.

Then he moves, slowly, stepping closer behind your chair, his hand brushing your shoulder as he comes to a stop. You’re suddenly very aware of how exposed your skin is where your top dips to your collarbone, of how warm the air feels even though he hasn’t touched you.

“She’s got this curve,” he says, quieter now, like he’s letting everyone else fade out. “Right here," His fingers trace the slope where your neck meets your shoulder, so lightly it barely counts as a touch. “Right where her hair rests.”

Then his tone shifts, warmer, quieter. Real.

“In the mornings,” he says, like he’s letting the rest of the room fall away, “when she’s still half-asleep and pulls her hair up without thinking. Stretching, yawning, no makeup, nothing, this part’s just exposed. The light hits it, and I swear to God-” He cuts himself off with a low exhale, shaking his head with a crooked smile. “It makes it really hard to be on time for anything.”

The silence that follows is a different kind of hush. Not teasing. Not performative.

It’s weighted. Personal.

Like maybe, just maybe, he wasn’t making any of that up. You don’t even realize you’re holding your breath until he pulls back, barely.

“Plus,” he adds, a lazy grin playing on his lips, ��it’s really unfair that you smell the way you do.”

“Okay, damn,” someone says from across the table, but you can’t even register who.

Wooyoung finally moves, slipping back into the seat beside you. But he doesn’t lean back, doesn’t settle into comfort like before. He sits just a little closer than he needs to. His thigh brushes yours. Warm. Steady. You don’t move.

The game rolls on, Hana gesturing to the couple across from you with a flourish, their answer met with giggles and teasing. But the background fades, soft, foggy, because you feel it. The weight of Wooyoung’s stare.

When you finally turn your head, you find him already watching you.

And everything in his face is different.

Gone is the cocky smile, the playful glint in his eye. He’s quiet now. Studying you, like he’s not sure where the line is anymore. Like maybe he doesn’t want to know.

And then, another gaze.

You catch it from the corner of your eye: your ex, sitting stiff at the far end of the table, his expression unreadable. He’s watching Wooyoung like a hawk, jaw tight, mouth set in a firm line.

Wooyoung senses it. You can feel the shift in him, the small breath he takes. The flicker of heat in his chest, like he might respond, say something, smirk just to provoke.

But he doesn’t.

Because it’s not about him anymore.

After a few more rounds of the game, you step into the hallway and let your back hit the wall with a quiet sigh. The noise from the living room still hums faintly behind you, laughter, the clink of glasses, someone shuffling a deck of cards. It’s warm in there, but your skin feels too tight. You just need a minute.

You close your eyes.

Footsteps approach, soft, familiar.

Wooyoung slips into the hallway like he’s done it a hundred times, like he always knows when you need the space. He falls in beside you, close but not crowding, his shoulder hovering just shy of yours as he leans against the wall.

“You always vanish when it gets too loud,” he says, his voice low.

You keep your eyes forward, a faint smile tugging at your lips. “I don’t vanish. I relocate.”

He hums. “Right. Into hallways. Or kitchen corners. Or that one time it was behind the couch.”

“That was one time.”

“It was still dramatic,” he teases, nudging your arm lightly. Your breath catches, just a little. It’s playful. It’s Wooyoung. But something about the way he talks makes your stomach flip.

“You look really pretty tonight.”

The words land like a spark, and your breath catches before you can help it. You blink up at him, startled.

“I-, what?”

He grins, slow and lopsided. “Just saying. I don’t think I told you earlier.”

You feel your face flush, warmth blooming across your cheeks, down your neck. You look away instantly, trying to mask it with a half-laugh.

“I’m honest,” he counters, still looking at you. You can feel it, the weight of his gaze, the way it lingers. “I mean, you always look good, but tonight…” His voice dips, softer now. “It’s kind of unfair.”

You glance away, suddenly hyperaware of how close he’s standing. “You can’t just say things like that.”

“Why not?” he asks, leaning just slightly toward you. “Is it that hard to believe? Do I need to be faking a relationship for you to believe it?”

You don’t answer. You’re not sure you can. Your heart’s already too loud in your ears.

He nudges your arm gently. “You know, for someone who lives with me, you’re really bad at accepting compliments.”

You try to play it off. “Maybe you just give too many.”

“Mm,” he muses. “Or maybe you’re just really easy to compliment.”

You let out a breathy sound somewhere between a scoff and a laugh, tucking your chin down in embarrassment. “Can you not?”

You finally glance at him, and he’s already watching you with that infuriatingly unreadable look, somewhere between playful and serious. Like he’s holding back.

He doesn’t say anything else for a second. He just looks at you.

And somehow, that says more than the rest.

You try not to smile. You fail.

Wooyoung pushes himself off the wall with a lazy stretch, then turns his body to face you, effectively placing his back toward the living room.

“Come back in when you’re ready,” he says softly, his voice carrying that usual teasing warmth. “You don’t have to rush. But I’ll be on my seat, being distractingly attractive… in case that helps.”

You almost laugh, but then your eyes drift past him.

Your stomach dips.

Your ex is standing just inside the living room, half-shadowed but unmistakably watching. His expression is unreadable, his eyes sharp and fixed directly on you.

“Wait,” you breathe, reaching out without thinking.

You grab Wooyoung’s shirt and pull him a little closer. He stumbles forward a step, surprised but not resisting. His brows furrow slightly in confusion as he looks down at you.

“Do you trust me?” you ask now, your voice quieter now. There’s a tremor in it, not fear, but urgency. Purpose.

Wooyoung’s expression shifts, softening. “Yes,” he says, instantly. “Of course.”

That’s all you need.

Your hands move quickly, one sliding up to the back of his neck, the other gripping the front of his shirt. You rise onto your toes and kiss him. Firm and deliberate. Lips meeting his in a way that leaves no room for questions. His mouth parts slightly in surprise, but he doesn’t pull away. If anything, he leans in.

When you break the kiss just slightly, you don’t step back. You stay close, close enough that your lips graze his as you whisper, “He’s watchi-,”

You don’t get to finish. Wooyoung’s lips are on yours again before you even register, like they need to be. Like he doesn’t care about why you kissed him, or for who, but because he can’t stop now that you’ve let it happen.

This time it’s deeper. Hungrier.

You can’t help but deepen the kiss when he slides his tongue slightly into your mouth, and one of his hands slips down to your lower back, guiding you closer. The other lifts to your jaw, gentle but sure. l

You feel your back press lightly into the wall behind you as he moves with you, not rough, but insistent. The kind of kiss that drowns everything else out, conversation, footsteps, your ex’s presence across the room.

His lips part yours, his breath hot and heavy against your cheek between kisses. His grip tightens at your waist, grounding you. You respond instinctively, hands curling into his shirt, lips moving with his, matching every shift and tilt of his head.

It’s a performance. That’s how it started.

But it doesn’t feel like one anymore.

It feels like heat, like want, like a spark that caught fire the second you gave it permission. And he’s kissing you like he’s not planning to stop anytime soon.

And for just a second, you let yourself melt into it. Into him.

But then… it passes.

The air changes again.

You blink and glance over to the living room. Your ex is gone. Vanished back into the room. Wooyoung slows, then stops. His hands remain on you, his breath still a little uneven.

You pull back first, just enough to look at him.

His eyes are already on you. There’s something different there now, an emotion you haven��t seen from him before. Not just playfulness, not just comfort. Something heavier. Hungrier.

You force a small, awkward smile and drop your hands from his neck, stepping back just slightly. “Okay,” you say, clearing your throat. “I think that worked.”

Wooyoung doesn’t say anything for a second. He just studies you like he’s seeing you clearly for the first time. Then he nods, slow and unreadable, and finally, he smiles. But it’s not quite the same. Something about it is quieter. Almost reverent.

At the end of the night, shoes shuffle at the door. Coats rustle. The air is heavy with the kind of tired that follows too much wine and too much pretending.

“Get home safe, okay?” Hana says warmly, stepping toward you both as you’re about to leave. Her smile is soft, a little teasing. “You two are seriously adorable. Like… sickening. I love it.”

You laugh, a bit breathlessly, already halfway into your coat. But before you can say anything, Wooyoung’s arm snakes naturally around your waist, casual, confident. You feel his fingers press into your side, warm through the fabric.

“Thanks, Hana,” he says, flashing her a grin. “She keeps me in line.”

You roll your eyes and glance up at him, but the smile tugging at your lips is real, too real. “Barely,” you murmur, playing along.

His eyes flick to yours for a second. Just long enough to make your stomach twist.

Hana grins and gives you both a quick hug before stepping back into the house. “Bye, lovebirds.”

The door closes behind you.

The air outside bites cold against your skin.

And just like that, his arm drops from your waist. The performance ends.

Neither of you says a word as you walk to the curb. You don’t know if it’s the silence or the absence of his touch that makes the air feel heavier now, but it’s different.

The cab pulls up with a soft screech. He opens the door for you like always, waits for you to slide in, then follows without a word. The car is warm, too warm, and too quiet.

You're both staring straight ahead.

The streetlights flicker past, painting gold across his face. In the confined space, the silence between you buzzes, thick with something unspoken, something ignited hours ago that neither of you has dared to acknowledge.

The apartment door clicks shut behind you with a softness that feels far too loud in the quiet.

Coats are hung. Shoes are kicked off. The scent of his usual candle lingers in the air, citrus and something darker underneath. Normally comforting. Now it just makes your heart beat faster.

Wooyoung heads to the kitchen without a word. His shoulders are relaxed, but there’s something taut underneath it all. You hesitate in the hallway, watching him open the cabinet, sleeves pushed to his elbows, veins still prominent down his forearms from earlier, and you hate how you notice.

You drift into the kitchen slowly, lingering by the edge of the counter.

“So,” you offer, light and a little too bright, “that was fun, right? Peak acting performance. Someone give us Oscars.”

No answer. He fills the glass with water from the tap, moves with that same quiet ease, but doesn’t glance at you once.

You try again, a bit more playful. “Think we fooled them? I mean, your story about how we met really sold it. Ten out of ten commitment.”

He finally looks at you, just looks. And it’s a look that completely steals the breath from your chest. Calm, dark, unreadable. His eyes are locked on yours like he's waiting for you to crack first. And suddenly you're hyperaware of everything. How hot your cheeks feel, how your voice might've sounded too eager, how the silence seems to wrap around your body like a second skin.

You clear yours softly. “Anyway. Um. I’m gonna-, I think I’m just gonna head to bed.”

Still nothing from him.

You nod quickly. “Night.”

You turn, heart hammering now, and you’ve only made it a step or two down the hall when his voice floats to you, quiet, even.

“If you ever need a fake boyfriend again…”

You stop. Your fingers twitch at your side.

“…you know where to find me.”

You turn back toward him slowly. He’s still in the kitchen, leaning back against the counter, glass in hand, eyes unreadable, but fixed on you like he’s daring you to say something. To ask him what he means. To call him out.

You don’t.

You meet his gaze, and it’s only for a second, but something heavy passes between you, something weighty and unspoken that neither of you wants to name.

Then you nod.

Not a joking nod. Not one meant to brush things off. Just… quiet acknowledgement. You walk off with your heartbeat pounding in your ears, like your body knows something your mind hasn’t caught up with. You don’t look back, but you feel his eyes on you the whole way down the hall.

The door clicks softly shut behind you.

And for a long time, you just stand there in the silence of your room, pulse racing, breath held, trying to figure out what exactly that was.

You don’t even remember walking to your vanity. You’ve just been standing here, fingers curled loosely along the edge, eyes locked on your reflection like it might give you answers. But all it gives you is the echo of him. His words. His gaze. His lips on yours. The way your body reacted like it knew something you didn’t.

There’s a knock.

A soft one.

You straighten up fast, like you’re guilty of something. “Come in.”

The door creaks open behind you.

You meet his gaze through the mirror as he strolls in, easy and casual, like it’s the most natural thing in the world for him to be here, in your space, late at night.

He doesn’t say anything right away. Just leans against the doorframe, arms crossed, watching you.

You manage a breath. “Not tired?”

His shoulders lift in the faintest shrug. “Not really.”

Then silence again.

But it’s not awkward, it’s thick. Charged.

“I was thinking about something,” he finally says, his voice smooth, a little playful.

You glance at him in the mirror, trying not to let your pulse jump. “Yeah? About what?”

Wooyoung pushes off the frame, making his way toward you at an unhurried pace. “You’re better at this whole fake relationship thing than you give yourself credit for.”

You attempt a shrug. “Just playing along.”

A soft laugh leaves him. “Mm. Sure.”

He walks further into the room. Not quickly. Not even directly toward you. He slows as he passes by your bed, eyes roaming lazily over the space like he’s trying to memorize it. But you know that’s not what this is.

He’s letting the silence stretch.

He’s letting you squirm.

You glance at him through the mirror, just as he finally makes his way behind you.

You don’t move.

You can’t.

He stops right behind you, not touching, but close. You keep your eyes locked on the mirror, but it’s no use. He’s everywhere now. In your space. In your breath.

“And the things you said tonight,” he says, voice soft but pointed. “Those were part of the act too?”

You try to keep your tone even. “What things?”

He tilts his head. “The part where you said you like my hands. That you stare at them when I’m not looking.”

You freeze just slightly.

"I-, uhm... I dont-..." You glance down instinctively, suddenly very aware of your own hands fidgeting.

“Funny,” he says softly, “You think I haven’t noticed? When I’m cooking. When I’m fixing something around the apartment. You always get quiet.”

His hand lifts, fingertips brushing your hair gently off your shoulder. You shiver as he lowers his voice again.

“I meant what I said, by the way,” he says. “I do love your neck.”

You don’t answer, but he doesn’t need you to.

“In the mornings,” he murmurs. “When you’re in the kitchen, still half asleep, standing by the window. Your head tilts just a little. That soft little spot here,” he gestures near your collarbone, but still doesn’t touch. “barely covered.”

You’re not breathing properly now.

“And I try,” he continues, “I really try to keep it together, but you standing there like that…? That does something to me.”

You let out a slow, shaky breath, shoulders dropping ever so slightly.

His fingers trail lightly along the back of your neck, not quite touching skin yet, but enough to make you lean into it. He steps in fully now, his hands finding your waist, and you instinctively lean back into him.

And then, finally, his mouth brushes your neck. Gentle. Slow. A teasing press that turns into something deeper. You feel the smile against your skin as he kisses again, and again, lower this time, until your knees threaten to give.

You gasp, just a little, and he smiles against your throat.

“You know,” he starts, voice casual, “if this wasn’t fake…”

Your breath hitches.

“…I would’ve done a lot of things differently tonight.”

You swallow hard. “Like what?”

He trails one finger along your side, feather-light, just enough to make you squirm.

“If this wasn’t fake…” he begins, like it’s casual, like he’s not setting you on fire, “I wouldn’t have let you leave my side once tonight. I would’ve had my hand on you the whole dinner, your thigh, your back, the curve of your hip, just to remind you who you belong to.”

Your stomach tightens.

He brushes his fingers lightly along your sides, not quite ticklish, just maddeningly slow.

“I’d bring you home,” he continues, lips nearly brushing the shell of your ear, “take your hand, lead you to your room like I’ve been waiting to all night. And I wouldn’t rush it. No pretending, no performance. Just you. Me. And the dress I’ve been dying to take off you.”

He trails his knuckles lightly down your side, slow and reverent.

“I’d unzip it real slow…”

You hear the faintest shift of fabric.

“Let it slip off your shoulders while I kissed right here…” he presses a single, feather-light kiss to the side of your neck, “and here…” another just below your ear, “until you were shivering.”

Your eyes flutter closed, and he watches your reflection like he’s memorizing the moment.

“Do you want me to stop?” he whispers just below your ear.

You’re at a loss for words but you’re hungry for more. You shake your head as you swallow, but realise how dry your mouth is. His hands slide up your sides, warm, sure, with a smile on his face.

“If it hadn't been fake, I’d press you against this vanity,” he goes on, lips brushing the shell of your ear. “Make you watch as I touched every inch of your skin.”

You can’t look away from the mirror, from the image of his hands exploring you, slow and confident, like he’s known this body forever.

“I’d hold your hips right here.” His hands grip you firmly, positioning your body with ease. “And I’d make sure the only thing you remembered from tonight was how I made you feel.”

"Yeah?" you manage to say, too invested in everything he's saying.

“If this wasn’t fake…” he murmurs, his hands still on you, tracing the curve of your body as if he owns it. “I’d make you see stars. I’d fuck you right here, make you forget you were ever pretending.”

You let out a light gasp, feeling your heart in your throat.

He presses against you, his hand finding its way to your neck, just enough to make you tilt your head back, exposing more of that sensitive skin. He breathes softly against it.

“You’d be mine. I’d make sure you knew it, every fucking inch of you.”

You’re a breath away from crumbling, your chest rising and falling in rapid succession as you realize how much you want him, how easily you’re giving into the fantasy.

His lips are still close to your ear, breath warm, voice impossibly soft.

“But then again…” he murmurs, the barest smile in his tone, “this is all fake… isn’t it?”

You stiffen.

He lets out a low chuckle, his nose skimming the line of your jaw as he continues, casually cruel in the way only he can be. “None of this would actually happen. I mean, why would it?”

"Why not?" you barely let out a whisper.

His fingers drag slowly down your sides, feather-light, torturously teasing. He’s pretending to think, pretending to be thoughtful, but he knows exactly what he’s doing. “You and me, coming home after a night like that, all dressed up, all tense and wired… and me just…” His hand glides over your hips. “Peeling you out of this dress and fucking you over your vanity?”

He hums, tilting his head. “Seems a little far-fetched, don’t you think?”

You inhale sharply, your body practically trembling from restraint.

He leans in again, lips just at your neck now. “You haven’t said much,” he whispers, his hand brushing lower, just enough to make you flinch. “Should I stop?” His fingers press gently into your thighs now, possessive even in their softness. “Because we’re faking it, right?” He lets out a slow, amused breath. “And I’d hate to make things confusing.”

You swallow hard, your mouth dry, your skin flushed everywhere.

“Unless you want me to keep going,” he murmurs, eyes locking with yours in the reflection, darker now, heavy with intent. “But you’d have to say it, sweetheart.”

His fingers trail between your legs, light as a threat.

You grip the edge of the vanity with white knuckles, heart pounding in your throat. “Wooyoung…”

His hand slides up, over your stomach, between your breasts, up to your throat, never squeezing, just there. Possessive. Protective. His lips trail along your shoulder, just above the strap of your dress, while the other hand finally finds the zipper.

“I’d take you like this,” he says lowly, kissing the back of your neck. “Make you look at yourself while I ruin you, slow… deep… mine.”

Your knees nearly give out.

He presses forward just a little more, breath ragged now against your skin. “But maybe we should stop.”

You whimper, actually whimper, and shake your head.

“No, please,” you whisper, your voice breaking apart like the last wall crumbling. "Don't stop."

His hands freeze for just a moment, then he smirks, low and satisfied.

“There she is.”

His smirk deepens, wicked, triumphant. He doesn’t say a word.

Then, with deliberate force, he turns you.

Your back meets the cool edge of the vanity. Before you can fully catch your breath, his veiny hand is already on your throat, firm but careful, guiding your head back just enough to look up at him.

You gasp from the way it makes your knees go weak, the way it makes your heart stutter in your chest.

His gaze drops to your lips. Then slowly, almost torturously, he leans in, breath brushing your mouth, letting you feel the heat of it before he claims you.

The kiss is devastating. Nothing sweet. Nothing soft.

His mouth crashes into yours like he’s starved for it, tongue, teeth, everything. He takes and takes, groaning low in his throat the moment you moan against him. That tiny, helpless sound makes his fingers tighten slightly on your neck, his other hand sliding possessively down your side to your hip.

“God, you sound so pretty when you do that,” he breathes between kisses, voice wrecked.

You melt under him, into him, letting him press you back against the vanity like he wants to fuse you to it. He breaks the kiss with a growl, breath hot against your lips, then suddenly, he spins you again.

You can’t speak. You can’t think. All you can do is feel his hands on your hips, feel the way his body aligns with yours so perfectly it’s almost cruel.

“Still pretending?” he asks, lips brushing the shell of your ear. “Or can I finally touch you like I’ve wanted to all fucking night?”

You nod before he even finishes the sentence. "Yes-, yes please," you whimper, hips tilting back into his, head tipping to give him more of your neck.

He chuckles under his breath.

“Thought so.”

You don’t have a chance to respond before his hands are on you again, more urgent this time. His fingers find the zipper of your dress, and he pulls it down, letting you feel every inch of his focus on you.

The dress slides off your body, pooling at your feet, and he’s quick to step back just enough to take you in. His eyes rake over you like he’s starving. You stand there, vulnerable, under his gaze, and you can’t help the way your body reacts to him. The heat between your legs intensifies, the ache in your chest growing stronger.

“Fuck,” he breathes, eyes raking over you from behind. “You’re a goddamn dream.”

You gasp as he presses you into the vanity, your body trapped between the cool wood and the heat of him. His hands slide down to your thighs, pulling them apart slowly, giving him access, making sure you feel every moment of it. His voice drops to a velvet growl. “I’m gonna make you feel so fucking good, baby. Right here.” His lips press behind your ear again, “Tell me you want it,” he demands.

And you can’t hold back anymore. The tension in your body snaps, and you nod, your breath quickening. “I want it.”

He smirks, a dangerous glint in his eyes. “Good girl.”

His hand presses firmly between your thighs, rubbing you through the soaked fabric with just enough pressure to make your legs weaken beneath you.

He chuckles against your skin when he feels you tremble. “Already this wet for me, baby?”

You nod helplessly, and his free hand slides up your back, tangling in your hair, pulling your head to the side to expose more of your neck.

His teeth graze your pulse point, and you moan again, louder this time. "Look in the mirror as I touch you."

Your breath stutters, lashes fluttering as your gaze locks on the reflection. “Fuck, Wooyoung…” you whisper, already unsteady, your thighs trembling under his stare alone.

Then, with no warning, he hooks a finger in the waistband of your panties and drags them down your thighs, letting them fall. Cool air brushes against your wetness, and your whole body jolts in response.

“Jesus-” you exhale, shivering.

His fingers slide through your slick folds, slow and deliberate, just enough pressure to make you twitch. You moan, sharp and helpless, eyes fluttering closed for a second until he tuts softly beside your ear.

“Eyes open, sweetheart. I said look.”

You obey, forcing your eyes to the mirror again, and the sight of you, glowing, needy, lips parted, legs trembling, draws a sound from deep in your throat.

“That’s it,” he murmurs, kissing just below your ear. “Let me take care of you.”

Then, he pushes in, just one finger at first, thick and deliberate. He doesn’t rush. He presses in knuckle by knuckle, watching your face in the mirror as your lips part and your back arches. The way your body welcomes him makes his cock twitch under the fabrics.

“There we go,” he whispers, dark and pleased. “So fucking tight.”

He gives you a moment to adjust, curling that single finger just right, then pulls back, almost all the way, before pushing in again, deeper this time. You whimper, soft and broken.

“Such a good girl for me,” he murmurs, dragging his lips along your jaw. “You let me in so easily.”

When he slides in a second finger, your knees nearly give out, but he catches you, pressing his chest to your back and flattening his palm over your belly.

You cry out, raw and desperate, body jerking in his arms.

“Right there,” you gasp. “Fuck, right there-, don’t stop, please don’t stop-”

His lips trace your jaw, voice molten.

“Good girl,” he whispers, moving his fingers just the way you need. “Let me hear you.”

And you do.

Loud, unfiltered, desperate for more.

Your hands grip the edge of the vanity. He watches in the mirror as your face twists in pleasure, breath shuddering every time he pumps into you. He doesn’t relent. His fingers are steady, coaxing, relentless, fucking you precisely, like he’s memorizing every reaction.

“Tell me how it feels,” he demands softly.

“So good,” you breathe. “It’s-, god, Wooyoung-”

“That’s right,” he cuts in, curling his fingers deeper. “Say my name like that.”

He shifts just slightly, just enough to hit the spot that sends stars bursting behind your eyes, and keeps that rhythm. Over and over.

“Come on,” he whispers against your ear, his breath hot and ragged. “I can feel it. You’re right there, aren’t you?”

You nod, desperately, eyes fluttering shut.

But he doesn’t let you. His free hand curls around your throat, not squeezing, just holding, guiding you back to the mirror.

“No. Look,” he growls, his voice low and possessive. “I want you to see how good I make you feel. How pretty you look falling apart just for me.”

You force your eyes open, lips parted, eye makeup already smudged, breath shaking, and what you see unravels you: his body pressed to yours, his hand moving between your legs like he owns you, his gaze fixed entirely on your reflection.

The sight of it, the feeling of him everywhere, inside and around you, tips you over the edge.

You cry out, helpless and raw, as your body clenches hard around his fingers. He doesn’t slow. He works you through it, murmuring praise against your ear.

“That’s it,” he groans. “That’s my good girl. So fucking beautiful when you come for me.”

Your hips jerk, grinding into his palm as your orgasm pulses through you, long and overwhelming. When the waves finally ease, your body limp and trembling, he slowly withdraws his fingers, slick and shining.

You shiver, eyes fluttering shut as he presses his hips against you, the thick hardness of him pressing against your thighs.

He suddenly guides you forward, one hand on your back, he presses you down firmly, bending you over.

“Stay just like that,” he commands, stepping back slightly to admire the view, your ass pushed out, your eyes wide in the mirror, lips already parted. “Fuck. Look at you.”

Then you feel it, his hands on your thighs, spreading them, dragging his fingers slowly along your skin. His shirt hangs open, wrinkled and useless now, clinging to one shoulder, exposing his toned chest, flushed and rising with every harsh breath. His palm presses to the center of your back, bending you over the vanity with a firm, unyielding push.

“Stay like that,” he murmurs, voice low and dark. “I want you spread out. Pretty. Obedient.”

You obey without thinking, chest against the cool surface. Then, with excruciating slowness, he undoes his belt. The sound alone makes your breath hitch. He keeps his eyes locked on yours in the mirror as he pushes his pants down just enough and frees himself, fingers wrapping around his cock like he’s been aching for this.

And when you see him… you go still.

He’s thick, long, flushed and heavy in his hand, already glistening at the tip.

Your gasp escapes before you can stop it.

“Oh?” he smirks, stroking himself lazily, intentionally, letting your eyes drink in every inch. “Surprised?”

You hear the sound of him spitting in his hand, stroking himself once, twice, and then that thick, hard length is sliding between your folds, teasing your entrance.

His hand slides into your hair, not rough, but controlling, guiding your eyes back to the mirror.

“Eyes on the mirror,” he commands, hand fisting your hair just enough to lift your gaze. “You’re gonna watch what it looks like when your best friend finally fucks you.”

Then, with one slow, devastating thrust, he sinks into you.

Deep.

Possessive.

Claiming.

He groans behind you, head falling forward, one hand gripping your hip tight enough to bruise.

“God-, fuck, you’re big,” you gasp, hands scrambling to grip the edge of the vanity.

He pulls out halfway, then slams back in, hard enough to make the vanity rattle.

You gasp, fingers scrambling for the edge, and he laughs behind you, breathless.

“More,” you cry, pushing back into him, shaking. “Don’t stop-, fuck, please don’t stop.”

“You want more?” he hisses, grabbing a fistful of your hair and pulling your head up so you’re forced to look at yourself in the mirror. “Look at this mess. Look what I’m doing to you.”

He slams into you harder. Filthy. Relentless. His palm lands on your ass, then rubs over the sting like he owns every inch of your body.

Then he snaps, hips continually slamming into you with a rhythm that steals the breath from your lungs. Over and over again. The sound of skin against skin echoes, obscene and raw, as he pounds into you like he’s lost all restraint. He leans over you suddenly, chest pressing to your back. His breath fans hot across your skin as his lips find your shoulder.

He kisses it once. Then again, slower.

“You gonna come like this?” he demands, voice thick and breathless. “Bent over, ass red, stuffed full of me?”

“Yes-,”

But he doesn’t let you come.

Not yet.

Just when your body tenses, right on the edge, he pulls out halfway and stills.

You let out a sob, raw and desperate, collapsing onto your elbows against the vanity.

“No…” you whimper, voice trembling. “Why’d you stop?”

“Because I said so,” he growls behind you, breathing hard. “And if you’re mine now… you come when I let you.”

A sharp slap lands on your ass, the heat blooming instantly, making you cry out and he grins at the way your thighs twitch, how your body tries to grind back into him without thinking.

“Oh, you like that,” he mutters, dragging his palm over the curve of your ass, then gripping both cheeks hard, spreading you open as he groans. “Look at this view. Fucking perfect. So pretty and messy for me.”

His hand grabs your wrist, dragging you upright, spinning you to face him. His mouth crashes into yours in a messy, heated kiss, all teeth and tongue and breathless need. You barely have time to cling to him before he’s walking you backward toward the bed.

“You think I was gonna finish you over a vanity?” he growls against your lips. “Not a fucking chance.”

You fall back onto the mattress with a gasp, legs spread slightly, chest heaving, body already trembling from the way he’s used you, and he just stands there for a second, looking down at you like he’s never seen anything more perfect.

Then his eyes narrow.

“Spread your legs wider.”

You do, instantly.

His shirt is half off, a desperate tug of fabric, and as he pulls his pants fully down, he’s not wasting any time to let you get a full look at him. His cock stands heavy, dripping with need, leaking as he strokes himself with a low growl.

You open your mouth, but the words die as he moves closer, kneeling on the edge of the bed. His hand wraps around your ankle and drags you toward him, his grip firm, claiming. He leans over you, one hand planted beside your head, the other dragging slowly along your inner thigh.

“Tell me,” he demands, brushing his nose along your jaw. “Did it turn you on? Knowing he saw you with me? Knowing he saw how badly I wanted to rip that dress off you?”

“Yes,” you whisper, breath hitching.

Then he’s kissing you again, slower this time but just as possessive. His hand wraps behind your neck, holding you in place as he takes what he wants, savoring your reactions, feeding off every moan that escapes you.

“Look at this,” he mutters, gaze locked between your legs. “So swollen. So wet. All for me.”

His hand drags slowly down your stomach, the heat of his palm branding every inch of skin it touches. It’s not hurried, no, it’s maddeningly slow, his fingers grazing along the dip below your navel, making your muscles jump with anticipation.

Then his fingers reach your folds, gliding through your slickness, deliberately lazy. You twitch under his touch, hips tilting up instinctively.

And then-

He slaps your pussy. Open palm. Quick.

The sound cracks through the room, sharp and obscene. The sting hits you a second later, blooming heat across your center, and your whole body jolts, legs trembling.

“Fuck-!” you cry out, back arching off the bed. “Wooyoung-,”

He smirks down at you, all dark satisfaction. “Oh yeah,” he says, eyes heavy with lust. “You liked that.”

Before you can catch your breath, he does it again. A second slap, just as sharp. The impact makes your thighs jerk apart, a cry tearing from your throat.

He moans, actually moans at the sight of you coming undone. “God, you’re so fucking hot when you take it like that.”

Your body is pulsing, burning, begging.

“Look at you,” he murmurs, breath hot as he leans closer, dragging two fingers through your folds again. “Dripping. You get this wet from just my hand?”

He rubs your clit in tight, quick circles, pressure unforgiving but just right, sending sparks up your spine. The contrast of pain and pleasure makes your head spin.

Your hands grip the sheets hard enough to cramp. “Fuck, Wooyoung-, don’t stop-”

He chuckles low and hungry. “Didn’t plan on it.”

With one smooth motion, he shifts, settling between your thighs. His cock, thick, flushed, already leaking, presses against your entrance, the tip catching on your slick folds. He rubs himself through your arousal, slow and teasing, just enough to make your hips chase him.

You try to lift your hips, to take him in, but he pins you back down, eyes wild.

“No. I get to fuck you when I say so,” he growls, mouth crashing down onto yours, kissing you hard, deep, messy, like he’s starving. Like your mouth is the only thing that’s ever tasted good.

When he finally thrusts in, it’s a single, brutal stroke, burying himself to the hilt and knocking the air right out of your lungs.

“Fuck,-” you gasp, eyes rolling back.

He doesn’t give you a second to adjust before pulling back and slamming into you again, the force of it leaving you breathless.

He doesn’t stop. He grabs your wrists, pins them above your head, body caging you in like a predator. His mouth finds yours, kissing you like he’s drowning, messy and hot and desperate. Teeth, tongue, breathless moans between every clashing movement.

“Don’t you dare look away,” he growls against your lips. “Look at me while I fuck you.”

So you do.

His pupils are blown, his hair a mess, sweat on his brow, mouth parted. But it’s his eyes, the way he’s looking at you like you’re all he’s ever wanted, and that makes your heart slam against your ribs.

You’re gasping, crying out, and he swallows every sound, his kiss never softening, only growing more frenzied as his hips pound into you.

“You feel that?” he pants into your mouth. “That’s mine. This pussy’s mine.”

He lets go of your wrists just long enough to grab your thigh, throw your leg over his shoulder, driving deeper, angle harsher. His grip is punishing, like he needs to hold you down to keep from losing his mind.

“Shit-,” you sob, clinging to him now. “You’re so deep-, I can’t-,”

“You can,” he growls. “Oh, fuck, baby-, that’s it,” he smirks, sweat dripping down from his neck. “You feel so good-, so fucking tight, so wet, I could stay buried in this pussy forever.”

He drops his head to your neck, biting and sucking bruises into your skin, marking you as his hands move constantly, palming your breast, gripping your hip, dragging across your thigh, he can’t stop touching you.

“That’s it,” he pants. “Let me make you feel so fucking good.”

You clench around him and he nearly loses it, thrusts getting sloppier, harder, messier. He grabs your jaw, forces your eyes to his.

“Please-, Wooyoung, I’m close-”

“Yeah? Let me hear you. Come for me. Come on my cock, baby, let me feel you.”

And it hits you, fast and deep, your whole body tensing as pleasure crashes through you like a wave you couldn’t stop even if you tried.

Wooyoung watches it take you, and it wrecks him.

“God, baby,” he growls, suddenly losing all rhythm, all control. “You feel so-, fuck, I’m not gonna last-,”

You reach up, grabbing his face with both hands, forcing him to look at you just like he did to you. “Don’t stop. Give it to me.”

That does it.

With a strangled moan of your name, he buries himself in you with a final, desperate thrust. His whole body tenses as he gives in, letting himself fall apart.

You can’t help but look at his face as that wave of pleasure overtakes him. His mouth is parted, lips trembling with the sounds he can’t hold back, brows drawn together in a tight knot like he’s fighting to stay grounded. The muscles in his jaw twitch, veins standing out along his neck and arms, his whole body straining as he spills everything into you.

When he finally exhales, it’s a ragged, shaky breath, and his body slowly relaxes, chest rising and falling heavily as he tries to come back down. He doesn’t pull away. Doesn’t say a word. He just lowers his weight over you gently, careful not to crush you, his face pressing into the crook of your neck.

You can still feel the warmth of him inside you, the lingering tension of release pulsing between your bodies.

Then he lifts his head, just barely, and looks down at you, really looks. His gaze roams over your flushed cheeks, kiss-bitten lips, the way you’re still dazed and boneless beneath him.

And then he grins. Slow, smug, wicked.

“God,” he says, voice low and pleased.

You blink up at him, heart stuttering. “What?”

He doesn’t answer right away, just lets his eyes drag over you like he’s memorizing everything. The mess he’s made of you. The way you still haven’t caught your breath.

“You’re gorgeous,” he says simply, but it lands heavy in your chest. “Like… stupid beautiful.”

Heat rushes to your face. You instinctively turn your head, trying to hide the way your lips curl, the way you can’t even look at him right now.

But that just makes him laugh, low and breathless.

“Oh no,” he murmurs, fingers catching your chin, turning your face back to his. “don’t get all shy on me now. Not after the things I just did to you.”

“Wooyoung-“ you try to protest, flustered, but it’s useless.

He shifts suddenly, his hand pinning your wrist to the bed as he leans in, eyes blazing. “Nope,” he growls playfully.

When his mouth crashes into yours, it’s not sweet or teasing, it’s intense. Deep and all-consuming, like he’s starving for you. His tongue claims yours, every movement deliberate, dominant.

When he finally pulls back, barely an inch, his lips are swollen and his voice is wrecked.

“I’m never gonna get enough of you,” he murmurs against your lips. “Never.”

***

You wake up slowly, the soft light of the morning creeping into the room, bathing everything in a warm glow. His arm is still draped over you, his breath steady and calm. You shift gently, trying not to wake him, but you can’t help but linger for a moment, watching his peaceful expression. He looks so content, so relaxed, last night still feels like a dream.

Carefully, you lift his arm from your waist and slip out of bed. As you stand, you glance back at him. His face is soft, his black hair a little messy, and the sight of him, even in his sleep, makes your heart flutter. You try to suppress the smile that tugs at your lips, but you can’t help it.

Quietly, you make your way to the kitchen. The cool air of the morning greets you as you open the cabinet and pull out his cereal box.

You’re perched on the kitchen counter, bare legs dangling, quietly munching on a bowl of Wooyoung’s ridiculous neon-colored cereal. The box sits beside you, obnoxiously bright. You’d teased him for years about how awful it looked, and secretly craved it every time.

You hear the soft shuffle of feet before you see him.

Wooyoung emerges from the hallway, shirtless, his hair a messy halo of waves, eyes still heavy with sleep. He looks like a dream and somehow worse for your heart in the morning light. A familiar ache stirs in your chest. This is your best friend. Your roommate. The same guy who left his laundry in the hallway and screamed at horror games.

The same guy who had his hands all over you last night and made you come like no one else.

“Morning, roomie,” he mutters, voice low and rough, smirking when his eyes catch yours. They linger. “Is that my cereal?”

You nod, trying not to choke on it now that your mouth’s gone dry. “It was calling to me.”

He walks right up to you, stepping between your legs like he’s done it a thousand times. Only now, there’s nothing innocent about the way he crowds your space.

You glance down, gripping the bowl a little tighter. Your voice comes out quieter than you meant. “You, uh… want some?”

He doesn’t answer.

Just takes the spoon from your hand, still warm from your touch, and scoops up a bite like it’s nothing. His other hand settles on your thigh, casual but firm. You forget how to breathe.

He hums like it’s gourmet. “God, I love this shit.”

You try to roll your eyes, but it’s weak. He’s too close. Too warm. Too real.

And then, without warning, he leans in close, mouth brushing your ear.

“Good morning, beautiful,”

Before you can say anything else, before your heart can fully flip in your chest, he kisses you.

It’s soft at first, like he’s testing the waters, but then it deepens, and the world around you fades. There’s no rush, no frantic need, just the slow, steady push and pull of lips, the quiet hum of connection between you two, something that’s always been there but is only now being acknowledged.

His lips linger just long enough to make your stomach twist in the best way before he pulls back, barely.

You stare at him, still a little dazed. He smirks.

“What?” he says, all fake innocence. “You gonna yell at me for stealing your cereal or for kissing you?”

You eye him, lips twitching. “Still weighing my options.”

He shrugs, hands still warm where they’re resting on your thighs. “Take your time. I’ve got all morning.”

“You’re literally the most impatient person I know,” you mutter.

“Mm,” he hums, brushing his thumb just under the hem of your shorts, right where it makes your breath catch. “Not when it comes to you. I like watching you squirm too much.”

You exhale a laugh, trying not to give him the satisfaction. He just grins wider, enjoying seeing you like this.

It’s completely unfair, the way he looks so relaxed. Like this, you and him and whatever happened last night, isn’t a big deal. Like waking up tangled together, touching each other like that, was just the natural next step.

And maybe… maybe it was.

“You know,” he adds after a beat, glancing at your bowl again, “I thought about that last night.”

“What, the cereal?” you ask, trying to level your voice.

He nods, all faux-innocent. “Had this whole internal debate. Go finish the box or save you some.”

You squint at him. “You didn’t even eat any.”

“Exactly.” He grins. “Fell asleep. Dreamt about it. Woke up, and there you were. Stealing the first bowl like some greedy little gremlin.”

You scoff. “Wow. Rude.”

“And hungry,” he adds, stealing your spoon without looking. He takes another bite, still watching you, chewing like he’s thinking about sin. “Might be craving something a little messier, though.”

You scoff, but your thighs tense around his hips, pulling him in closer. He feels it. Of course he does.

You think that’s the end of it, but then he tilts his head a little, voice dropping. “Also, you were real cute sneaking around out here like I couldn’t hear you. Hair all messy. Wearing nothing but your-”

“Stop,” you cut in, already feeling the heat crawl up your neck.

He just laughs, clearly enjoying this way too much. “I’m just saying. Round two almost happened right then and there.”

You shoot him a look. “I was literally getting cereal.”

He leans in, lips brushing your cheek again before he murmurs, “Yeah, and you still looked hot.”

You go quiet, too aware of his mouth near yours and the fact that he’s still standing between your knees like he belongs there.

You open your mouth, no idea what you’re even going to say, but he’s already leaning in.

And then he kisses you again, easy, unhurried, like it’s just what he does now. Like kissing you is second nature.

And god, maybe it is.

TAGLIST: I only have one main taglist, so if you wish to be added/removed, then let me know! xx @lveegsoi @vixensss @yizhou-time @imgenieforyou-boy @life-is-a-game-of-thrones @ateezswonderland @cozypaint @blutiny @aerangi @arigakittyo @femaholicc @queenofdumbfuckery @mingiatz @hwaskookies @vent-stink @desanslogique @taestrwbrry @hannahstacos @tinyteezer @gold--gucciempress @zhangyi-johee @sunnysidesins @spenceatiny18 @yunhoswrldddd @beljakovina @soso59love-blog @trivia-134340 @skzfangirl143 @spicxbnny @h0rnyp0t @mingimangomu @no-nottoday @roguesthetic @hwas-star @tsuukamori @londonbridges01 @nayutalvr @purplelady85 @lover-ofallthingspretty @awkward-fucking-thing @luvbgy @thuyting @p1ecetinyzen @eumpappasmom @marsofeight @maidens-world @girlblogger-04 @renapersa @lol-imtrash2000 @melitadala @yoonglesbae @bby-boo4u @babymbbatinygirl @dalsuwaha @diekleinesuesse @beccaskz @les4heeseung @oddin4ry @manu2004 @mingimangomu @intowxnderland @chaotic-floral @toxicstrawberries @musicconversedance @insanityz @therealcuppicake @darkdayelixer @soobieboobiebaby @thevintagefangirl @​​fireseo @smileyishere92 @faerouzia @zerefdragn33l @lover-ofallthingspretty @yup-thats-me @trivia-134340 @mochi13

[sunspotpony]

I am very much of the opinion too that unless your execution and justification to use the terms as we use them in our modern world is done with profound skill, it ultimately weakens a piece of fantasy, makes it feel shoehorned in, and gives shitheel conservatives who want to yell about “woke bingo” a thing to point at and make those who are, unfamiliar, but not part of the far right crowd, more likely to listen to the far right crowd.

If you have a nuanced explanation that fits within lore as to why those words are used, then it actually has the opposite effect.

I’m of two minds, two, because, on the one hand, cool fantasy words and narrative justification for things is excellent, on the other hand, having the Specific Words in there, might literally just save somebody’s life.

It gives them not just a concept from a story to latch onto, but gives them a piece of culture that they can look up and find the history and community in, or if they already identify with those words, to see it spoken or written unabashedly in media, can be deeply validating and healing.

So I do think in many cases, the best of both worlds is to have it explained, in narrative, why they have chosen the [modern words] they have chosen, both because of the above effect, and also because by giving an explanation, you are removing the risk of a particular piece of work being extremely dated.

Sadly I cannot recall the book it was from, as it was long ago, but to introduce the reader to current real world events that were taking place in the 60s (when the book was written, as well) the protagonist walked in on her brother and his friends sitting on their shitty couch arguing about current events. It this simultaneously placed the book in time, yes, but also informed the reader

1. About the characters.

2. About what was going on in the world.

3. About what the community cared about.

Such that, as a result, the story wasn’t dated at all, but instead the reader was invited in to that place and time, regardless of where they were from, and made to see cultural context that may otherwise have been jarring.

I will say, an example of, what at first glance seems to be done quite poorly, but after looking into it, I’m actually willing to give some of its clumsy writing a pass, is Dragon Age 4’s nonbinary character, whose story is about being an outsider to their own culture, not being initially accepted by even their mother, and their anger at not having a concept of their own identity and how they fit into the world. They are surly and childish until they realize how they fit in, that the things they have been saddled with as expectations because of the when, what as, and to whom they were born. and while the writing could have justified the use of “nonbinary” more effectively, there’s enough good context that it’s actually probably fucking saved some lives. The slop dialogue quality is still hamfisted and makes me a little angry, but, probably saved some lives.

Now, fuck EA and BioWare. Don’t give them any money. But, it was an interesting example case where we see the modern words used in a fantasy setting in a nuanced and valuable way, albeit with questionable dialogue used to express it.

If there’s no way to KEEP a modern term from seeming out of place, another solid approach is to have a character use the term, be met with some confusion about such an oddly specific and “academic” sounding phrase, possibly receive some good natured ribbing from their peers, and then have them explain that, they had to pick SOMETHING, and that it’s important to them that, other people understand them and have SOMETHING, to have SOME WORD for it.

Because that’s actually also an echo of the experience of many modern day queerfolk, where it’s, there’s not necessarily a graceful or cool sounding word for what they are, but they NEED a word. A word is an anchor that possibly saved their lives or helped crystallize their understanding of the self, and other people might not understand, but the good ones don’t NEED to understand— they just respect.

Anyway, Hideo Kojima is responsible for the first case of the word “bisexual” explicitly appearing and being acknowledged n a console game and further, being spoken aloud by a video game character. And that, again, probably saved some lives.

I think there is some power and value in using The Words Themselves. But there’s a time and a place, and it must be done elegantly.

And sometimes indeed it’s just FUN to explore world building, because it also helps cast into clear view the arbitrariness of our concepts of gender and sexuality for example, and gives people who might not have otherwise been given the opportunity to think beyond what we have right now.

TLDR we need both. Both are cool and good for different reasons.

I have autism, adhd, and am tired as fuck, so there’s your fuckin ramblepost bc I’m too damn fucked up to write shorter.

Deal with it.

It's very #problematic of me I'm sure but if they must do either I really desperately prefer authors coming up with fancy always-italicized elven words for being gay or trans than having preindustrial warrior aristocrats and barely-socialized monsters have a vocabulary that casually includes 'demisexual' and 'enby'.

This is only slightly a principled stance (queernorm fantasy worlds are very obviously not trying to have any sort of realistic political economy of gender, which I only slightly judge them for), mostly just painful aesthetic mismatch.

[paracosmic-murdock]

if i could save time in a bottle

pairing: bucky barnes x goddess!reader

summary: thor and steve set up a little encounter between you and bucky, one that didn't even feel like a date but that paved the way to an impromptu, later one, after he wakes up from a nightmare and his first instinct is to reach out to you. the date, full of honesty and vulnerability, made sure for the both of you to know that, above all, you loved each other, and nothing either of you did or went through could change that. the date, also, went way better than expected.

warnings/tags: takes place after endgame (2019), steve does stay 'till the end of the line, hurt/comfort, suggestive jokes, bucky healing era, reader is thor's sister, no physical description tho, fluff, mystic arts, use of portals, dates, insecurities, bucky's nightmares, implied sa (bucky during his winter soldier years), references to other mcu characters (thor, steve, loki, odin, frigga, and dr strange), reader details her powers, bucky opens up about the winter soldier, mentions of deaths (loki, odin, howard stark, and maria stark), cutesy intimate moments, reminiscing, i can't stop thinking about them i need to write more bucky x goddess!reader, even if it flops, some smut (unprotected sex, fingering♡, p in v, teasing, body worship (bucky's), many "i love you's" while fucking—words of affirmation for the fancy ones), minors dni!!

word count: 4K

✰ part one | part two

✰ related os: when you know, you know

✰ mila's anthology (main masterlist)

no taglist but there could be one, so lmk in the comments if you'd like to be in it ;))

You looked at Bucky from afar, not knowing how you had managed to keep yourself from running to him the moment your eyes spotted him.

It had been only a few days, but Thor and Steve didn't waste any time.

There you were, at the same place you had met him more than eighty years ago. Now, it was some coffee shop named Starbucks and they had drinks ‘inspired’ by your brother and his friends. It was almost a profanity after everything.

Bucky raised his arm to get your attention, leather gloves on as if it were cold inside. His hair, shorter, as if he knew how the familiarity of it eased your mind—how the old times eased you.

“Hi,” You sat across from him. “How are you?”

He smiled softly. “Hi, doll. I'm fine, you?”

Doll. “Me as well.”

“I ordered for you,” Bucky motioned at the table. “What you always used to order.”

You noticed how it wasn't a teacup but a paper one, and how it was the same drink you used to order. The same pastry. The same everything, just… different.

“I love the hair,”

“I knew you'd like it.” He chuckled.

“Oh, did you?” you teased him.

“That's why I cut it if there was any doubt.”

You smiled slightly, face flushed like a lovestruck young girl. “The long hair looked good, too, but this look has no comparison. The beard suits you quite well.”

“Even bolder than I recalled,” Bucky blushed.

“Will you call me out now, Barnes?” you questioned with a smirk. “I thought you liked me like that.”

Bucky laughed. “I've missed you.”

“Buck,” you called him, your hand approaching his carefully. His breath hitched; he didn't move or speak, he only looked at you. “Can we…” You cleared your throat and looked down for a second. “I know we have both gone through things that have changed us and we may not be the same people we were when we first fell in love, but I… I never stopped loving you. Even when I thought there was no you to love anymore, the one thing that time didn't change, the only thing that life never took from me is the love I have for you, Bucky. Can we… start over? Can we do this?”

His fingers, still shielded under those gloves —which, for some reason you were unaware of, made you restless—, grazed yours slightly.

“Are you sure about this? Because… you said it yourself, we're not the same people, and I'm pretty sure I am not a person who deserves you; to be honest, I never was-”

“I do not care about who deserves who, I only care about what I need,” you interrupted him. “And that's you. You are all I need.”

He exhaled, tired from the fight between giving up and giving in. “You know I love you, too, but what if that's the only thing we have in common now?”

“Well, it is up to us to figure that out,” you said. “If I survived all these years, all the tragedies that I went through, if I went to that funeral, if we're here in front of each other, Bucky, it is for a reason. We are meant to be.”

“We are?” His face softened, the walls around him crumbling ever so slightly that, if you were sneaky enough, if you tried hard enough, you could slip in.

You intertwined your hands. “We are. And I don't know whatever happened to you, but if there's something I know, it is that nothing you tell me will scare me away. If you truly don't love me anymore, if you want me away from you because you do not love me, I will leave you alone. Otherwise, trust that I am here to stay, and that I have all the time in the world to prove to you that I am not going anywhere and that I will love you through everything.”

He nodded, smiling faintly.

It breaks you to know that he suffered in a way that took that smile you so much adore from him. Where are the jokes? The teasing? The laughter?

“Can I try my luck?”

You grinned as he repeated the words he said the first time you met. “By all means, sir.”

“My name's James Barnes, but everyone calls me Bucky.”

You introduced yourself, offering him your hand.

He took it. “Odindottir?”

“My father's name was Odin, the Allfather, King of Asgard. May He find peace in Valhalla, home to the souls of the honorable.”

“So you're a princess?”

“And a goddess,” you completed. “Who are you, Bucky Barnes?”

“That, I'm trying to figure out,”

“That, we can do together.”

He chuckled. “Are you free tomorrow night?”

“For you?” You raised your eyebrow, and Bucky nodded, almost fearing a negative. “Every hour of every day of every week.”

He exhaled, relieved, and smirked. “Would you like to have dinner with me at seven? As a date?”

You nodded. “Pick me up at 177A Bleecker Street. Pay no mind to my brother if you see him around, for he tends to overstep.”

“I can fight him.” Bucky shrugged.

You snorted. “Do yourself a favor and do not. Have some sense of self-preservation, pretty boy.”

“You have so little faith in me? That's a rough start.”

“He won against the Hulk. He was not lying like everyone thinks, I saw it in his mind.”

“You read minds?” Bucky asked, telling himself that it didn't scare him, though knowing it did.

“Thor and Loki used to get in trouble all the time, so I used magic to read their minds and see who was telling the truth,” you replied. “I taught Loki and he ended up using it for evil, so that is pretty much on me.”

“I will need you to promise not to read my mind,” he muttered. He tried to sound like he was joking, but you knew better.

“Okay, but can I still use my magic to, let's say, make you dream of me?”

Bucky hummed. “You don't really need magic for that.”

“You'll dream of me,” you declared. “No magic at all, and that is a promise.”

That night, he didn't at first. He had a nightmare first, one of those that made him wake up sweaty and scared to open his eyes to that HYDRA facility, tied to that chair; or with a gun in his hand, pointing at a target.

He woke up on the floor of his new apartment, bed sheets wet and back pain.

Bucky took his phone and considered texting Steve to see if he was awake by chance. Instead, your name shone on the screen and he typed an ‘Are you awake?’ before he could dare to regret it.

You called him less than a second later.

“Hey,”

“Hey.”

“You could not sleep?”

“No,” he confessed. “You?”

“No, me neither.”

“Why couldn't you sleep?”

“I'm feeling a little restless,” you said. “You?”

“Had a nightmare.”

“Do you have many of those?”

“I don't think you could guess how many.”

You let out a soft chuckle. “Tell me.”

“Every night,” Bucky stood up and went to the kitchen. “How often do you feel restless?”

“Every night.”

“What do you do to feel better?”

“I try to think about a good memory,” you replied. “You should try that.”

“I don't have many good memories left.”

You hummed. “How about… March 10th, 1939. Your birthday. There was this big party at the bar we met, and I took you home with me that night.”

The memory started building in his mind, making him blush.

“Remember the red dress?”

“Yeah.”

“You ripped it off of me,” you reminded him. “Then you touched me everywhere, kissed me where the sun hadn't been, and we made love that night for the first time.”

The memory flashed before his eyes right then and there, and Bucky's breath hitched when a phantom of your taste appeared underneath his tongue and a hint of the angriest of reds, the one from your lips, where the sun hadn't been, appeared behind his eyelids.

“Are you trying to kill me?” Bucky questioned you, feeling himself go hard. He let out a shaky breath.

“Me?” You feigned innocence. “I'm just reminding you of a good time.”

Bucky clicked his tongue. “Too good to go to sleep.”

“Then don't,” you smirked. “Would you like to go somewhere?”

“Like where?”

“Come here,” You bit your lip at the uncertainty of his reaction. “And I'll take you somewhere nice.”

He hummed. “Now?”

“We are both awake with nothing to do, aren't we?”

“Yeah,” He nodded as if you could see him. “Okay, I'll see you there.”

“Let me know me when you arrive.”

“Hi, Buck,”

Bucky smiled. “Hi.”

“Ready?”

“Not really until I know where you're taking me,” He smiled, mesmerized by the red on your lips that took him back to the days you were his and he, yours.

“The first time I came to Earth, we went to Norway,” you began. “I saw these for the very first time, they were… majestic. And just then, you know this world was made by a god because there is no way something as such exists as a mere phenomenon.”

“A god as in your father?”

You clicked your tongue. “I do not dare to question a thing.”

“Are you taking me to Norway?”

“No, it's day-time there,” you answered. “I am taking you north.”

You used your index and middle finger to create a portal, showing Bucky a small shack under a sky full of colors and stars, the winter air giving it all a mystical touch.

“How do you do that, again?” Bucky frowned, looking at you instead of the other side.

“It's, uh…, the Mystic Arts,” you replied, holding onto his arm, feeling it harder than a normal one, but said nothing. He realized you had noticed it and went stiff, though thankful that you didn't speak about it. “You know Strange makes them, but he uses a ring. I do not need one, I can make them myself. Just like other spells, and… I'm not going to bore you with this-”

He chuckled. “No, God, I need you to tell me everything you can do. It's fascinating.”

“Come,” you pulled him through the portal and closed it behind you. Bucky pretended like he wasn't absolutely astounded. Confused. Kind of scared. “Watch them.”

Bucky shuddered when you used your fingers to lift his face so he could look at the sky. Your touch on his skin was comforting, like blinking and appearing on a day where he was happy.

“They are beautiful,” He admired them: pink, green, blue, purple aurora borealis, thousands of stars above them; and, still, they weren't the most appealing thing in that place. “I'd never seen them before.”

“You said to me once that you've always wanted to see the beautiful things in the world,” you reminded him. “That you wanted to see all the stars, all the places from the books, and… that you had only ever seen war.”

“You remember all that?”

“I remember it all,” you answered. “Are you cold?”

He shook his head and looked to the other side. “No, I'm alright.”

You smirked and used magic to give him a thicker jacket, one with soft fur on the inside to keep him warm.

“It's an illusion,” you explained. “Is it better?”

“Yeah, thank you,” Bucky smiled. “Wait, this means that every time you were cold and I gave you my jacket, you could've done this?”

You laughed, motioning him to follow you to the shack. “Yeah.”

“That's evil,” he noted, following you closely. “What else can you do?”

“I can turn back time,” you began, still looking at the lights in the sky, now through the window. “Like… I can turn back time in general and I can do so with specific objects, like your hair to make it long again. I can undo things, go back to moments, stop time, I could see the past and the future, every future, but I don't do it often since it's against the rules. I can make portals and go anywhere in the universe and beyond, I can cast spells, read and manipulate minds. I used to fight as well, but I don't anymore. I, uhm, it's the power of the time stone in me, Mother created me from it. The Mystic Arts, as I said, and Asgardian magic.”

“That's impressive.”

You huffed and took a seat. So did he. “And what can you do?”

“Well, I am a super soldier.”

“Like Steve?”

“When he told you I was dead, I wasn't,” Bucky sighed. “I fell from the train and I lost my arm. The people who found me, HYDRA, they… gave me the serum and…”

“We don't have to talk about it if you do not want to tell me.”

“It's not that, it's just… They made me do things, unspeakable things. I did them, and it haunts me. I don't want you to think of me as what they turned me into.”

“No matter what you did, I will always think of you with nothing but love, fondness, and respect, Bucky.”

“Even if I did things you would hate me for?”

You hummed. “My brother tried to colonize the Earth, and Asgard, too. He faked his death and mistreated me like no other when he found out he was adopted. He sent Father here, usurped the throne, and pretty much drove him mad. There were casualties, I am sure. I am not saying I am proud of Loki, but I do not love him any less than the day I first held him in my arms, not even now that he is dead. Try me, Buck.”

Bucky thought it through. You could just ask your brother, or Steve, or anybody, and you will know exactly what he did. You had to hear it from him, or it could be even worse.

“The Winter Soldier,” he murmured. “I'm… not him anymore, but sometimes I can't just isolate myself from what I did when I was him. It was me, I remember all of it. Every person I hurt, every life I took, I remember it all too well.”

Your expression softened, and you tilted your head. “The Winter Soldier?”

“Yeah. HYDRA, they wiped my memory and… they did all these things to me, they… programmed me like a robot so I did just about anything they told me to with no control at all. They tortured me, they…”

A shaky exhale left your lips at the thought of someone hurting him. It pained you to see how he deviated his gaze from you, how he feared your rejection.

“I killed Howard and his wife, Maria.”

You just stared at him in silence, thinking about the heavy burden of the guilt he must carry on himself. The pain it must be causing. The nightmares.

“I almost killed Steve one time.”

“Bucky?”

He looked at you finally. “You don't have to accept me or any of it. I understand I am not the man you loved, that… you may not feel safe with me.”

“Don't ever say that,” You pressed your forehead against his and cupped his face. “I know you will never hurt me. There's nowhere safer than beside you for me to be.”

“Are you sure this is what you want?” Bucky asked, his words so heavy it felt like a beg for a yes instead of a multiple choice question.

“Yes,” you confirmed, focusing on the way his breath blended with yours, on how you haven't been this close to anybody in almost seventy-eight years, on how you felt like you belonged to him more than anywhere else in the cosmos. “I love you.”

He brushed his nose with yours, closing his eyes slowly. “I love you.”

“I love you.” you repeated, eyes closed, too, words colliding against Bucky's lips with how close you were now. Your lips, grazing against each other's, yearned for the slightest contact.

It wasn't slight at all.

The first thing he felt was you biting his lower lip. In response, Bucky held your chin and made you open your mouth wider, instantly slipping his tongue into your mouth and giving you one intoxicating, messy, breathtaking kiss.

His left hand took the glove from his right hand off, his soft fingers buried in your hair, grasping it to break the kiss and pull your head back so he could start leaving sweet kisses and shy bites on your neck. “I love you.”

Bucky kissed all the way back to your lips and left there another one, one quick. Then, he parted from you, taking off the glove from his left hand and the jacket you gave him right after. You could see a glint of golden in his arm, and the rest was jet black.

You hesitated to touch him, fearing his reaction, so you just stood up and took off your coat, your shoes, your jeans, your t-shirt, and your bra. He gasped; he found you even more beautiful than the day he last saw you.

“Wow,” Bucky interjected, the blue in his eyes turning darker in yearning. “God-”

A heavy exhale left your lips, and you returned to him—but closer. You straddled him and locked your eyes with his, making sure for him to know how much you needed this. Bucky didn't expect it, for you to take his hands in yours and place them on each of your breasts. “Touch me.”

The cold of his vibranium arm made you shudder, the way he squeezed your breasts, almost hesitant, elicited a loud moan from your lips, a sudden jerk of your hips, which crashed against him. Bucky analyzed the expressions of your face with each touch.

He didn't know what he loved more to see: the way your mouth opened and brows furrowed, or the red lipstick stains on your face. Or, maybe, how the northern lights illuminated you from behind, making it look as though you were the one shining just as bright.

“I love you,” you whimpered. Bucky pulled you forward and started sucking on your skin slowly until he trapped one of your nipples in his mouth. With one hand finding support on his shoulder, the vibranium one, and the other pulling his hair and holding his head in place, you moaned his name like a love song. “Buck- Bucky, I love you.”

“I love you, doll,” Bucky spoke in a soft groan. You attempted to take off his t-shirt, but he stopped you before you could. “Wait.”

“We don't have to continue,” you rushed to say. Bucky sighed.

“You think I wanna stop?”

You pursed your lips. “Would you like to keep your t-shirt on, then?”

He shook his head. “Yeah. No, wait, no. I just… I look different now.”

“What?” You frowned.

Bucky nodded. “I have scars. Too many. And they're not very nice to look at.”

“That's a relief, I thought you were green or something. I would have been a tad disappointed, I cannot lie to you, but I like you too much, I could have managed.”

“Yeah?”

You hummed. “Let me take that off, will you?”

“Okay.”

Your hands shyly took the hem of the navy blue t-shirt, slowly revealing scars from fights or even more. Finally, you lifted it completely and saw the place where skin and metal met.

There were indeed many scars; striking, painful. It broke you to think how much it hurt him, the difficulty it must signify for him to look at himself and remember all the torture he went through.

“Bucky,” You met his gaze again, one that begged for your approval. “You are perfect.”

The fear in his eyes, gone out in an instant. The vulnerability, turned to love as you kissed his lips and all the way down his neck, collarbone, his scars.

“You are perfect, and I am in love with you and all that you are.”

“I love you.”

You looked at him as you left a red kiss on the cold, vibranium shoulder, and played with the buttons of his jeans. “I love you.”

Bucky smiled and helped you take the rest of his clothes off. He kissed you urgently, as if nothing else mattered in his life. He touched you like a sensory experience, held onto you as if you could disappear any second now.

It had been a couple hours since you started, all teasing and touching, not getting to the point yet. Bucky enjoyed seeing you beg for him. He was also losing himself in the moment, focusing on you. It was you, no one else. He wanted this. He wanted this.

“What can I do?” you asked him, panting desperately, a tear running down your face. “For you to fuck me?”

Bucky grunted, the almost angry grip of his flesh arm on your thigh traveling to the inner part of it. Despite not being remotely close to you, he felt the wet mess he had made of you.

He hushed you. “Wait.”

“You do realize there is a goddess in your arms, begging you to fuck her?”

“Aren't I a lucky one?” Bucky smirked, cocky.

“Oh, go to hell,” You cried out, and, when you were just about to pull away from him, Bucky held you harder. “Bucky… oh-”

His heart and middle fingers softly caressed you and, without warning, went inside you. “That's what you wanted?”

You looked him in the eyes and shook your head eagerly. Bucky raised his eyebrows, acting like he was oblivious to your needs.

He hummed, lifting you slowly and flipping you until you were under him.

You didn't know when it happened, how it happened, you just knew he was filling you now, giving you all that you wanted.

Bucky moaned your name, looking at you. He pulled out and then went back in. “And this?”

“Yes, this,” you answered and kissed him again, rejoicing in the way he moved inside of you and the softness of his lips. “This… you.”

“Me?” he asked, the word falling in a whisper.

“You. Faster.”

He did as you told him, a glint in his eyes so devoted that you thought of his love as something above you. “Like this?”

With hands intertwined, breaths becoming one, and eyes locked, you felt in heaven. You were with Bucky. The moment you had longed for for so very long… there.

There, right there. “I'm close,” you faltered.

“Fuck, doll,” Bucky sped up his thrusts, now careless, mouth hungrily capturing yours in a kiss.

“Pretty boy,” you called him, surprised to be able to speak. “Look at me.”

Bucky did so, his blue eyes you have always been enraptured by were there, right there, looking at you as if you were everything.

In a way, you were. In his way. You were everything to him.

“I love you.”

He smiled, close, so close. “I love you.”

“I will always love you, Bucky,” You felt your body shake at the proximity of your release, one that wouldn't come properly unless you guided him to peace. “And I will always take care of you. You are safe, your heart is safe with me, I promise you until the end of time.”

Bucky let out a shaky breath and closed his eyes shut as he came inside of you. He didn't stop, he wouldn't dare until you did as well.

“I will love you until the end of time, too,” he breathed out and drove his vibranium hand south to draw even circles on you, to bring you closer. “Even when I'm dead and you're not… I'll still love you. For always.”

“Bucky,” you whimpered, legs shaking as you came. Waves, violent waves of pleasure took over you as he seeked for your lips to kiss you, to swallow his name from your mouth.

As soon as you steadied yourself, you pulled away from Bucky and lied beside him.

“We didn't use protection,”

You groaned as you realized. “There are no known cases of Half Asgardian-Half Midgardian children.”

Well, well.

“I'll talk about this tomorrow in therapy. It's my first mandatory session.”

“We have dated for eighty-six years since we never broke up. Children aren't precisely out of order,”

Bucky snorted. “I'm pretty sure we'll have to get married first. I'm an old fashioned guy and you're a princess. Your father would hate me from Valhala.”

“Thor is not above killing you,”

“Yeah,” he exhaled, tension he didn't know he had in himself about a thing he used to pray for. “I would be a mess of a father, though.”

“You would be great.”

Bucky smiled slightly. If you believed that, he could work on it.

“Why are we talking about this?”

“We didn't use protection so there is a slight possibility we make a... demigod child? Oh, with a supersoldier father and a made-from-an-infinity-stone-goddess mother.”

“I hope the baby doesn't inherit your brother's hyperactivity.”

“Your staring problem would be a worse thing to inherit, pretty boy,” You shook your head. “Perhaps we should stop speaking on the subject, lest we attract it.”

“I hope they have your smile,”

You hummed. “And your eyes.”

“Can we name her after my mother if it's a girl?”

“Why don't we make her first and then worry about the names?”

“We have to get married first.”

“Yes, it is true,” You agreed, kissing his lips softly. “When you first mentioned having children, I believed we would not be able to. Now, I think we could when the time comes.”

“We have time,”

“We have time.” you repeated.

[hana-recs]

i do think it’s criminal that it’s taken me This long to read a user amourcheol fic but. IM HERE. and i'm so very ready – the premise of this was too good to pass up, especially because my brother recently watched gladiator 2 for the first time and info dumped about both movies to me (i watched the first sooo long ago and havent seen the second yet but. ANYWAY.)

their reunion…. mea vita…… kissing you with “the longing of a thousand lost souls”............ fia dont u know im INSANE. + the cameos from the boys just after are like a perfect touch of levity to balance out the gravity of the scene, Loved the characterisation of chan so much omfg what a cutie. ALSO “Soonyoung’s cock is as clean as the city sewers.” caught me so offguard i snorted.

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.”

^ the noise i MADEEE i literally did not expect this but. AGH. and i do think that’s a testament to how well you fleshed out the characters, their dynamic and their pure love for each other - i was not expecting to get attached so fast. but i AM. 

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.

^ your writing is stupid good. like the stylistic choices to fit the world you’ve created are gorgeous, and the imagery….. sigh it’s just so good. you can Feel how overwhelmed he is, but also the tenderness and love he already harbours towards his son, and thats all done with your beautiful writing.

AND SEUNGCHEOL’S STORY…. why would u break my heart like this. have u heard of peace and love and happiness. Jokes aside, i do think it’s such a lovely addition to the fic – adds a whole new layer to their relationship by exposing shared grief and loss, which in turn sheds light on our main characters’ motivations. It’s so cleverly done fia u are a Genius.

“Thank you, my love, for bringing me peace.”

^ right well. it’s been fun. goodbye forever! (sorry but… her heart is his home,,, to love and to be loved is to rest, etc etc. i will cry)

“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.

and all the scenes that come after……

“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.”

JD.KLWEFUESGEL im literally obsessed with them sorry. Chan taking care of the baby is so sweet and soft,, and their memories of seungcheol??? such a specific brand of fond reminiscing that you portray SO well, u can so clearly feel all the affection they have for him 

AHSGFH anyway i just finished and i feel like i could wax poetic about this but instead i’ll drop a poem it reminded me of: 

fia every word you write is executed incredibly and i admire your brain so much. i think your world building is rich and immersive in a way that makes it feel like it’s always existed, and we’re just lucky enough to glimpse it through your eyes for 16k words. and your characters live and breathe, layered and memorable, even (older) seungcheol who is “offscreen” the whole time, and still you manage to create such a strong impression of him. you brought this world to life so beautifully.

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.

[raven-at-the-writing-desk]

Sending some malleus critical commentary:

So a common rebuttal I see to the common Malleus criticism that he doesn’t try hard enough to adapt to human environments despite being given ample opportunity is that he’s a fae and processes time differently and therefore shouldn’t be expected to learn quickly because he experiences time passing faster than others.

Fae don’t seem to be shown as being less intelligent than humans and if the working definition of being unintelligent is being slow to learn then Malleus qualifies. Lilia is way older and can adapt to social graces and in theory fae should be able to learn so many skills because they have way more time to develop them. And maybe this is an unfair judgment, but either is not that smart or just an arrogant brat. I think the latter is more realistic but the way he’s written both seem true.

Before I begin rambling (as I tend to do), I'd like to remind everyone to PLEASE MIND YOUR TONE AND WORD CHOICE before you submit something. I am choosing to respond to this ask because I think the topic is interesting and worth a close examination, not because I think Malleus is “not smart” or a “brat” (I don’t believe either of these things).

I do see temporal perception often being brought up to explain why Malleus does not seem to learn how to socialize or even take the opportunities to. That’s always made me wonder why is this an explanation for Malleus and Malleus alone…?

Lilia is fae too, though if his lifespan is shorter than Malleus’s. 700-1000 years is still much longer than the humans he is among at school. And Lilia is not particularly depicted as having a different sense of time even when he lives among the humans. Lilia's dream depicts the world of 400 years ago, but because Malleus is currently 178 years old, that means there's roughly 222 years in which he traveled the world. It was these experiences that softened Lilia up and got him to change his stance on humans. Some would point to this and say it's therefore unfair for us to expect Malleus to make strides when it took Lilia 200+ years to no longer arbor negative feelings towards humans. The thing is though, this is a MASSIVE change on Lilia's part. It's almost a total 180 from how he was previously. I doubt people are demanding that Malleus take such huge steps--they just want to see him attempt more often.

There's also Baur to consider. We don't have an exact number to his age, but his stance on humans barely lightened up. To this day, his daughter still has to defend the life she has chosen for herself and his relationship with his son-in-law is shaky at best. The thing is though, Baur did also change, just in a slight way. Instead of being suspicious of all humans, he lovingly dotes on his grandchildren, most of whom I'd image are not super far from Sebek's age. This brings the 222 years for notable change metric down to a much more manageable... I don't know, 16ish years, give a few years (since we don't know how much older Sebek's two older siblings are).

We don’t know the expected lifespans for species like Baur, Crowley, or the dwarves. However, it is still notable that these individuals are also not noted to have a warped perception of time. Baur is invited to various family gatherings and receives his grandkids to bond with them (fishing, reading, etc.). He’s never once stated to have missed these, despite temporal misalignment potentially being an issue for his human son-in-law and grandchildren. (This is assuming human/fae mixed children have a lifespan similar to humans and not fae, since Sebek ages similarly to Silver in canon.) Crowley is occasion late to meetings, but only by a few minutes and not several hours. He’s always there to run dorm leader meetings and ceremonies as well. The Seven Dwarves were on time for their VDC/SDC performance, as well as for the Sledathon (albeit they did get lost and needed help at the cultural festival).

This doesn’t seem to be the case for Maleanor or Maleficia either, despite them being the same species as Malleus. (Or at least we have no instances of being also perceiving time differently.) In fact, Maleanor stresses the importance of invitation etiquette, which seems to imply she arrives to events punctually and expects the same of her kin. Even if we were to excuse this by saying they live among fellow fae, so everyone runs on similar perceptions of time, lifespan also varies among fae species. So… wouldn’t it be the case that everyone is running on their own sense of time and not a standardized one (as opposed to humans, who all have roughly the same lifespan)? How do different fae sync up and how does this function in their society…? Is this actually an important world-building detail or was this just the best the writers could come up with to help explain why Malleus doesn’t show up to events 😭

Lilia has a line in Malleus's Dorm Uniform vignettes that implies it is possible for fae to learn and change within just a few (2-3) years. "A little trouble adjusting is understandable. But in your case... You've been away from Briar Valley for THREE YEARS and yet you haven't changed in the slightest." This is coming from Lilia, who has basically grown up alongside Maleanor, another dragon fae. Surely this means Lilia would know how much a dragon fae can change in a few years' time from his experiences with Maleanor? On top of that, Malleus is going to NRC specifically to learn and to broaden his horizons. This means it must be possible for him, otherwise why even other sending him outside of his country at all? To claim that temporal perception excuses Malleus from connecting with peers in this context almost feels like he's being infantilized ("He can't be expected to learn as quickly! He's just a baby!") and not held to the same standards of maturity as others.

And don't get me wrong! I'm not saying that 17-18 year olds are perfect beings or that they should be. The other third years are also very flawed and make various fuck-ups. What I'm saying is that Malleus should be granted grace, but not excessive grace. If he keeps being shielded from any form of accountability and not expected to adapt to his surroundings, it only encourages his current behaviors.

Fae aren't lacking in the ability to learn by any means. We are told towards the end of book 7 that Briar Valley has made advances in magic and technology even when isolated from the outside world, and they have passed on some of their valuable research to NRC as part of their apology. Furthermore, we know of multiple fae who attend high school (Lilia, Seven Dwarves, arguably Sebek, Sebek's older brother, etc.) and have no trouble with the material. Though dragon fae are considered still children at 200 and Malleus is well under that (at age 178), he is NOT child-like in mental capacity. He understands high school level coursework and speaks like a much older adult.

I wouldn’t say that Malleus is unintelligent. He is very bright and curious when it comes to like… magic (he feels insulted that his private tutors are giving him such “easy” work), ancient texts (see: Leona Union Jacket vignettes and Malleus Silk Adorned vignettes), and special interests like gargoyles. Where he's lacking is in the area of social skills. Now, there’s a million reasons why this is the case—he grew up in isolation, he was never held accountable when he hurt others, he had to regulate his emotions to prevent magical outbursts, etc. It’s clear Malleus wants to connect with others, but fails to do so for a variety of reasons, be it miscommunication, him missing social cues, or what have you.

Malleus expresses multiple times that he has a real interest in learning about others and that he is grateful for the chance to come to NRC, as it allows him to be exposed to many novel experiences and people. For example, he was very excited to be invited to Noble Bell College in GloMasq and to Silk City in A Firelit Sky, becoming angry when he learned the invitation was false and/or might be revoked. Malleus also communicates his gratitude when granted new experiences:

"This trip has been filled with surprises and new discoveries. I must thank you for granting me this opportunity, Asim." (Malleus Silk Adorned vignettes)

"You know better than anyone that I don't [... regret leaving Briar Valley]. People in Briar Valley never left me this bewildered. That's what makes this so enjoyable. I find my life here quite pleasant. I'll continue to put forth effort in the hopes that one day I'll understand [humans]. I'm sure we'll come to a mutual understanding in another, say... hundred years or so." (Malleus Dorm Uniform vignettes)

"I have little room for improvement when it comes to magic. But I am here to broaden my horizons. Learn the ways of the world, so to speak. Spelldrive tournaments, culture fairs, the great undertaking that is Halloween, even these birthday interviews. I've experience much here that I might never have elsewhere. In my estimation, I am more than achieving my aims. I've even met a few interesting humans who don't seem to fear speaking to me at all. If I'd remained in Briar Valley, I'd never have had the chance to meet any of you. I'm glad I can use magic because it allowed me to come to Night Raven College." (Malleus Birthday Bloom vignettes)

"What a pleasant bell; I feel its ring reverberating within me. I'm very glad to have been invited to Fleur City. To think I received a personal invitation... I must respond with sincerity and earnestness." (Malleus Masquerade Dress voice lines)

"It's rather pleasant being complimented on a dish I prepared. I'm grateful to have had such an engaging experience." (Malleus Apprentice Chef voice lines)

"It seems my dormmates have taken a liking to my costume proposal. I am glad I put some thought into it." (Malleus Halloween Dress voice lines)

"I'm not particularly unhappy when I'm alone. It's just...I happen to rather enjoy having companionship like this." (Malleus Ceremonial Robes voice lines)

... And TONS more if you consult the rest of his voice lines and vignettes; I'm going to cut it short here or else this post would be 50% examples.

The question now becomes “If he has an interest in befriending others, why doesn’t he try harder at it?” Because as it is right now, all his talk of gratitude (unintentionally, I'm sure) reads as almost insincere. He's talking the talk, but not really walking the walk.

If there is a spell he wants to learn, he can try it. If there’s something he wants to know about gargoyles, he looks it up. We even see in his Apprentice Chef vignettes that he's totally capable of learning new skills if he just puts his mind to it and is barred from using magic to instantly solve his problems. Malleus can also be taught to hold a phone without frying it with magic (in his Dorm Uniform vignettes) and how to play with a simple virtual pet game (in his Labwear vignettes). So what makes friendship different for him? My guess is because it does not come naturally to him, given his upbringing, AND he cannot control the outcome (ie the other party's reactions) whereas items can be static. Fostering friendship takes significantly more effort than Malleus is used to putting into most of what he does, and he's not used to reacting if something backfires socially. Friendship isn't programmed or one-size-fits all. You have to constantly work at it and maintain it, and Malleus is not used to that. We see this perfectly illustrated in his Dorm Uniform vignettes; he uses magic to teleport his fellow dorm leaders to Diasomnia so as to be on time to their meeting, but instead of being praised or thanking him (as he would probably get back home, where he is exclusively affirmed), he gets a negative reaction. His classmates tell him their autonomy has been violated, that he has just been very rude and treated them like mere objects--and Malleus is just NOT socially equipped to handle this situation.

He is so used to having everything handed to him on a silver platter, interacting with others and having them respond in a way that isn't favorable to him simply does not compute. Magical strength, food that appears as soon as he is seated, entire holidays and ceremonies to celebrate him, servants and advisors who never blame him for anything. So now when Malleus is faced with something genuinely difficult and reliant on another party like socializing, he flounders.

And how has he learned to deal with this??? By deflecting and complaining that “it’s difficult to understand”. It’s easier for him to pass the blame to others (also a behavior learned in childhood) than to accept fault for his own actions. We sometimes see this reflected in how Malleus deals with tech. It’s not as resilient as he would want it to be, but instead of trying to understand why tech is delicate, he writes it off as fragile and therefore pointless. This leaves Malleus trapped in a liminal space where he continuously denies the partial responsibility he has for his limited social circle. He never learned how to respond to times when his attempts to socialize blow up in his face, because all he has ever been taught is that he is NEVER wrong. Now he perpetuates that cycle because he has become used to it.

Instead of calling Malleus unintelligent or unable to learn, I'd say the more accurate description of him is arrogant. Malleus Draconia is ARROGANT in all caps, and this should be shouted from the rooftops just as often as Leona is called arrogant. It's that arrogance that makes him stubborn, unwilling to entertain other viewpoints, and eager to shut down those that oppose him.

This is the natural result of being worshipped since birth and being enabled his entire life. Malleus is perfectly aware of his social standing and power level, yet he talks down to others, threatens others with his magic, and/or says callous, dismissive things like how X won't be an issue because he can brute force it. It happens numerous times (Apprentice Chef vignettes, Vargas Camp 2, Union Jacket vignettes, GloMasq, etc.), and when brute force is no longer viable (book 7), he becomes incredibly insecure because he so often relies on magic as a crux to resolve his issues. He lashes out and literally has emotional outbursts so bad they stir up the weather.

This is Malleus's immature side showing itself, and I wonder if these outbursts, paired with Malleus's preexisting loneliness and the "important" status he has to the player character, has led to the fandom (for lack of a better term) "babying" him. (It's something I've speculated about!) This would encompass protective behavior and other special treatment that isn't granted to any other character (for example, fiercely defending the actions he takes and his OB). I find it sort of ironic that (some, NOT all) irl fans' treatment of Malleus can mirror the treatment he receives in-universe, both from other characters and from the narrative itself (refusing to admit to his missteps/that he has to take accountability, enabling him, etc.). Malleus is deified as a god in his own universe, and Malleus is infantilized and overprotected in fandom, and I find it ironic that neither of these things is what Malleus wants... (too much power isolates him, and he openly tells Lilia he is not a child and does not want to be treated like one) All Malleus wants is to just find equals, people who will treat him like a person and not like a monster OR a precious infant.

If we want to be realistic and interpret his character fairly, we can't just conveniently and selectively focus on his "innocent" and "cute" side. We have to acknowledge that he's basically a wealthy, powerful 17-18 year old that is used to having his way and does not know how to interact with his peers because he has never really been told 'no'. He has the capacity to learn and grow and to be a better person, but he doesn't make the most of those opportunities or actually listen to criticism because he's already going in with a defeatist mindset and blames those around him for his failure to adapt.

The craziest thing about all of this is that THIS CAN BE A GREAT CHARACTER ARC FOR HIM--but with how inconsistent Twst's track record with writing has been and with how the narrative consistently praises Malleus and excuses him of all wrongdoings, I'm not holding my breath.

[alexsl-universe]

First Date

Summary: Trying to find a good guy to date you try tinder, after many failed attempts a guy catches your attention.

Warnings: None, pure fluff.

Paring: TFWS!Bucky x Reader

Word count: 3292

Prompt: B1 "First Date"

A/N: Hello, I'm trying to post more of my writings, i wrote this a long time ago but didn't had courage to post before, just want to say that English is not my first language and any mistakes are mine, also this is for the Bucky Boy Bingo 2025 event, i write some for this event and i will try to post some in here, hope you enjoy it :)

Tiger fotos, holding fishes, couple wanting a third, “If no one knows no one can ruin”, which means open relationship but only for him, so many profiles but no one grabs your attention, mans who only want sex, but you want a real relationship, sex is good but you want someone to hug when you got home,

You scroll some more profiles and think if someone is worth the stress, until someone gets your attention, James Barnes, handsome and none red flags apparently, is a huge step up, you have similar interests and don't live far from each other.

James Barnes

Hi, glad to find someone without that stupid tiger or similar photos lol.

James: If i want someone nice i should display what i have to offer right? Saw you like Lord of The Rings, like more the movies or the books?

Got points for not going to some cheese pickup line, liked that

I’ve grow watching the movies but read the books when i got older, liked both, but movies got a special place in my heart, you?

James: Glad to know you liked me

Books have a immersion in a different way, but I like the movies too

Any other hobbies besides reading?

Hope you liked me too 😉

I don't do much besides reading a lot, the type that people got worried with the amount books I have, I also like to cook but I'm not the best

And what else do you like?

James: I'm liking you 😉

I like to do sports, nothing specific, exercise helps me to get my head in place

Wow, I imagine you must be really ripped then

I don't do much besides riding a bike sometimes

So…

Wanna meet in person? I really liked you and want to know you better 

But just a date, I'm not a one night stand girl 

James: I would love to meet you in person

And don't worry I'm not a one night stand neither

When can we meet?

You so nice, others guys just stop answering when sex is not guaranteed, you are getting a lot of points with me

You free on the weekend?

Saturday evening?

James: Hope i got enough to make you smile

It's good to me, where do you want to meet?

Do you like cats?

There's a new cat cafe i would like to go

James: Great, I love cats, send me the details and I will meet you there 😘

🥰

You send him the address and chat a bit through the days. He is cute but a bit shy and above all he is not trying to make you accept to have sex with him.

When Saturday came you get ready with some casual clothes, dark t-shirt, red plaid blouse, some comfort jeans and black all-star, with another look at the mirror you check and everything looks good, but you still got some butterflies in your stomach, you still don't know if he is the same person or he is lying about everything.

Your thoughts got calmer when he sends you messages about being anxious to meet you and making you smile like a little girl with his messages.

You two arrive almost together, with just a few minutes apart.

“Hi James, how are you?” you say getting close and smiling at him

“Hi, you waited a lot? I got lost trying to get here” he said a bit shy but also smiling to you 

“No, just a little, I think not even five minutes” you said smiling to him

“Good” he say smiling to you “I bought you flowers” he says while handing you the small rose bouquet 

“That's so cute James, thank you so much, you are the cutest guy I've been on a date” you say looking at the flowers “But I don't think we can get in with those, but i will definitely put them on my backpack” you say smiling 

“That's okay, if you don't want you can leave here” he says a bit shy “Let's get in?”

“Sure!” you say happily, you always loved romantic gestures, but you are most sure that the last person who gave you flowers was your dad in some moment of your childhood 

As you two get inside the staff says that the flowers need to be on your backpack inside the lockers in the entrance, and also explains how everything works, you can eat your food first then you can get to the cats, or the other way around, but never bring food to the cat area, you both decides to eat first. 

“So, what a really nice and romantic guy like you is doing on tinder?” You ask sipping you hot cocoa on a mug that has cat whiskers draw on

“Let's just say I don't date anyone in a long time, so I took the tinder shortcut, hoping that I can get a date” he say drinking from a very similar mug but with coffee inside

“Oh sorry didn't mean to get you sad, I know how hard can it be” I say smiling trying to light up the mood “And if you may ask me, you're the best date I've ever had”

“Thank you” he says shyly sipping his coffee again “If you may ask me you're one of the kindest women that I've went on a date with” he smiles to me

“Thank you” you say feeling your cheeks get a bit hot. “Want to see the menu?” you say pointing at our side

“I… don't think I've had nothing like those foods, you can pick something for me if you want”

“No problem, but first I need to know you a bit more” you say resting your elbows on the table and holding your face with your hands “What you like in the food?”

“Simple, like jam, not much fancy desserts or lot of mixed flavors”

“Hmm, let me see what they got in the menu for you” you grabbing the plastic object and reading some of the plates “I think you will like ‘kitten bread’ is puff pastry in the shape of a cat's paw with some deli meats on top” you say showing him the picture of the menu

“Looks tasty, let's eat that” he say noding with his head 

“And ‘Meowve Jelly’ is a pave with jelly, each flavor came with a different cat expression” I point at it picture a bit lower on the menu

“They have one with plums, I love plums, I want one of these too” he says happily “What you going to get for you?”  

“I think the same bread but a ‘Lucky Cat’ cake, it looks like a cat sitting and is made of chocolate which is love” you show him the picture 

“It's really cute, just like you” he says smiling to you, and you get a bit flushed

“Let's order then” you say smiling and waving at the closest waiter to you two

You two order and chat while waiting for the food, he says about his experience in the army and you talk about your job, the time flies as more you know about each other.

When the food arrives you get excited because the food is even prettier in real life, with every detail carefully put in place 

“They are so pretty, you mind if I take a picture?” You say happily to James, or Bucky as he likes to be called “I won't show your face or anything just the food, don't worry”

“Sure, feel free to take the pictures” he says smiling to you

You take pictures of the beautiful food and one that has Bucky's arm and hand, you won't share that photo anywhere, you just wanted to have something to remember him and the best date you've ever had.

“Finished, hope they are good as they look” you said putting your phone down

“They're really cute, is a shame that we will ruined while we eat” he says grabbing the fork and looking confused at his bread “Also I have no clue how to cut this” he says laughing his nervosism out

“I think you can try like this” you show him were the kitten beans, that are the deli meats in a way that he can taste both the bread and the filling “But you can eat as you like”

“Your way is probably the best to taste all it deliciousness” he say putting the fork on the mouth and eating “It's really good, try for yourself doll” You get flushed by the nickname 

You do just like him and ate a piece of yours, and it's one of the most delicious things you ever eaten 

“It's really really good” You say smiling to him

“I like here, but with you the experience is ten times better, I really liked your smile” he says also smiling to you and you get a bit more flushed 

“Thank you, you also have a beautiful smile” you haven't met any guy like him before, someone that makes so much complements or was as sweet as he is “You're gonna get me spoiled treating me like a princess”

“My ma’ taught me to treat every woman well, especially when I'm liking her” he says smiling and giving you a wink, you try very hard to think who stupid loses him and also you thank that you can be with him, he is like prince charming.

“Thank her later, I'm loving being treat like a lady, especially by you” i say smiling at him “Fells like you got out of a romantic movie”

“You lucky that I'm very real” he says getting one of his hand to touch mine and tangle our fingers together 

“If you allow me to ask, how are you single? You are like the perfect example of boyfriend material and any lady who loses you is an idiot”

“Well, let's say being in the business that I'm in and having to be long times far from home makes hard to find someone who is willing to make it work, and generally pushes people away" he said sipping his coffee

"I get that, but if you're here it means that you're good at what you do so I shouldn't worry that much right?" You say after sipping your hot cocoa 

"You're seeing me in a good moment, there was far worse, I think I'm on lucky wave" he says smiling and finishing his plate

"That's good, you should enjoy it, relax a bit" I said putting my cup on the side and keep eating my plate

"I will, hopefully with you" he said smiling "And you? Why such a petty lady is doing single?" He said hiding his face with the mug to not show that he got a bit shy

"Well, nowadays people are more in just sex and no connection, I liked but I want to have someone waiting for me at home, talk about my day and theirs" you said pushing you cake closer to you "Being someone that want a relationship nowadays scares people" you say shrugging

"I'm not scared, I also do want something solid, I've already had my fair share of instability, with job problems, some close people getting in and out of my life, is... was tuff years" you can feel the sadness in his voice as he gets his desert close to him "Looks like we are in similar situations" he tries to hides his sadness thru a smile

"Different details but yeah, same situation" I smile to comfort him "No more sadness, let's get something sweet to makes this moment sweeter" he laughs at your joke, you think his laugh is very cute

"With you doll this moment already is very sweet, the dessert is just a bonus" he winks at you again and say the nickname that he don't know but makes you the happiest woman in the world, you smile back at him

"Agread, this is the best date I've ever had by far, and with a man that I thought only exists in my dreams" you smile and cut a piece of your cake with your fork and put in your mouth so you don't shame yourself

You appreciate the sweet chocolate taste, with the filling made of Belgium chocolate mousse and tiny chocolate granny imitating the cat fur, you smile even more from that divine taste. Bucky does the same with his dessert and enjoying it

"I think I'm gonna become a regular here, hope with you by my side to make everything sweater" he smiles and you choke with a piece of cake, is he trying to steal your heart? Cause he is doing a amazing job at it

"That would be amazing" you say after finally eating that cake piece and smiling at him

"There's a reason you want to come in here? You have or had a cat?" He asks while eating more 

"Had a fill during my life, but at the moment I don't, not sure if I want one so people may starting to call me the crazy cat and books lady" he laughs at my joke, that has a bit of truth, but you don't want to think about that now

"I was thinking to get one myself, my doc says will be good to me and make me feel less lonely"

"It's a good idea, but think a lot about it, is a big responsibility to take care of another life, mostly those who depends a lot on us, it can be tiring and exhaustive, but to me is worth it" you smile remembering of your last cats, they show love in different ways but still is love

"I think i need more of that, my house feels much lonely sometimes, having someone waiting for me there would be good" he says eating another piece 

"So much, having someone that loves us at home makes it fells way more like a home, maybe you find one in here" you say smiling 

"Maybe I can even find two" he says smiling, I really hope he can find a cat, but why did he said two? "I'm liking here, but mostly you" he smiles at me

"Me too" I smiled at him and blushing a bit "Did you finish eating? Want to see the cats?" 

"Sure, I would love to play with the cats, and your company makes will make it even better" you smile at him and get a bit more red

After you two finish eating your desserts the two of you go to the part that has the cats, finding a spot with not many people and sit and wait for a cat to approach.

Don't take much time and a white cat goes in Bucky direction, she smells him, goes around him and lay on his lap

"I think she likes you" you say while petting the cat

"You think so?" He asks shyly, and not knowing how to accept her love "You think she will let me pet her?"

"Probably, she is letting me pet her and laying on your lap" you say smiling at him "Let me help you, do like me, cats don't like much belly rubs and will let you know where they want" you say petting her chin 

Bucky starts slow with fear, but she starts to purr, loving his touch and moving all over his lap, then finally stopping with her belly up

"See, she likes you" I say petting another cat that got close to me 

"I don't think any other animal was that lovely with me, I fell that I already fell for her" he says while petting her head "Not just for her actually" he say looking at me with his cheeks a bit flushed 

"I can say the same James" you smile back to him

"Call me Bucky doll, we got more intimal so you can call me that" he say getting your hand close to yours "But I hope we can be more than friends"

I hesitate for a second before getting closer to him, feeling the warm for his hand thru the leather gloves and some sparkles, something that I haven't felt in a long time, I just give in to desire and lean in to kiss him, a romantic and passionate kiss, he caress my face with one of his hands, until you feel cat nails on my hand

"Ouch"�� you say getting out of the kiss to see that you have a scratch on your hand "Hey I know him first don't be jealous" you say to the cat that doesn't even bother to look at you

"Did she hurt you?" Bucky says worried

"It's just a scratch, I'm fine" you say smiling "But I won't complain if you kiss to make it better"

He takes your hand and into his lips and presses a gentle kiss on your injury, and he keeps kissing until he reaches for your mouth again, but gets interrupted by a woman approaching you two.

"Excuse me" she say lowering to you level "My name is June and I'm one of the caretakers of the cats, I saw that Alfine really liked you two, she is more shy and doesn't interact much with the visitors, and i want to say that all of the cats in here are up for adoption" she says smiling "Also we don't allow this type of physical contact in here, but I'm happy for you guys" she say standing up and leaving us in silence

"I think I will adopt Alfine" Bucky says breaking the silence "You would help me to get everything for her?" He says looking at me

"I would love but maybe the process can be a little long and definitely with a lot of bureaucracy" I say holding his hand with mine "But we can get a part ready before she comes home"

You both smile at each other and go to the place where June is, she explains how everything is going to work and gives Bucky the papers to adopt Alfine.

To my surprise it takes less than an hour to adopt her, after the two of us go get the basic stuff for her in the closest pet shop to grab all of the essentials for her to live with him.

I’m with him companing him during all of the process, even helping to choose the color of her leach and some basic toys for her.

"I think her bed will be good next to yours, mine love to sleep with me but she can be different, beside you create a bigger bound even more with her" I say while putting the shopping bag on the couch 

"I know but... she looks likes the jealous type, and I want another cat in my bed" he say smirking

"If you ask nice she may agree" I say smiling and getting closer to him

You two start to chat more while getting everything ready for her confort, Alfine stays with both of you on the couch, demanding some attention from time to time but knowing when she needs to let you two alone.

When both of you sit on the couch and get a bit closer one thing leads to another and now he got his hands all over my body.

As he promised he wasn't a one night stand, even after we spend that night talking until both were craving more intimacy and decided that going into his room, which was the best idea, he doesn't want to be known as the naked neighbor, but I’m very sure after that all the neighbors know his name now.

A/N: Hope you enjoy it, pls tell me what you think

[thatsmzbitchtoyou]

Royal Duties Chapter 1

Summary:  Princess Y/N is betrothed to Prince Bucky Barnes, a political match to form bonds and alliances.  A friendship is formed between them built on understanding and allyship.  But can real love grow from forced circumstances?

Warning:  Language, eventual smut, miscarriage/pregnancy, mentions of possible cheating

Next chapter

Y/N swiped her hands down her wedding dress, sweeping away any last minute crinkles.  Her soon-to-be-mother-in-law smiled kindly at her and handed her a bouquet of deep red roses, and she quickly took them with a small smile back and stood ramrod straight, staring at the ornate church door separating her from the awaiting groom.  She felt numb.  Any feelings of hurt, betrayal, stress…it had all morphed into resignation two days ago.  This was her life now.  No use fussing over it anymore.  Her father approached and she dutifully took his outstretched arm.  “Try to look happy,” he grumbled.

She merely blinked and waited for her cue to enter.  Then the music started, she took a deep breath and pinned on a shadow of a polite smile as the doors opened.  There was really no pretense with this wedding.  Everyone knew it was arranged in some aspect, the smiles and public outings were merely a carefully curated facade to try and convince the people that love could unite two sides that had been at war for years.  Y/N was just a bargaining chip.  A tool in a peace treaty.  She had known this growing up, that at some point she would be married off to God knows who as a means to an end, but she had been given so much time to live her life that when the moment came she had fought it, both diplomatically and not-so-kindly, at one point screaming and beating her fists against her father’s chest.  But it was futile.  She was sold off to the prince of their enemy.  The only solace she found in the arrangement was that at least it would end the war and her people could finally have some peace.

The prince was…nice.  She had met him a few weeks before.  James Barnes, prince of Brooklyn, but he preferred to be called Bucky by those closest to him.  He was a perfect gentleman when they met, giving her the proper greetings and acting accordingly with royal propriety.  He had put on a good show when they were in public, giving her his arm as he escorted her around his kingdom and got her acquainted with his people, basically introducing her as the prospective new queen.  But the moment they were in private he would pull away and act like she didn’t exist.  Honestly it didn’t surprise her.  Their people were enemies for many years, so they didn’t trust each other.  

He was incredibly attractive, which helped lessen the blow of an arranged marriage to a stranger, but he was indifferent.  He was waiting at the end of the aisle, wearing his military uniform as was customary there, but also as a show to her and her father who was ultimately winning in this deal. He looked very handsome.  His hair was long, almost hitting his shoulders, and he had it tied and slicked back for the occasion, a small smile slightly quirking up the sides of his mouth.  And yet her heart didn’t flutter.  Her steps didn’t fumble.  She walked with timed precision, letting the media take all the pictures of her in a wedding dress she would never have chosen and holding a bouquet she would never have chosen for herself.  None of the process had been her choice.

She kept her eyes trained on the priest at the front until she reached the steps to meet her groom, where she made a show of hugging her father and him placing her hand into Bucky’s before he sat down and she let Bucky guide her up the steps.  She handed her bouquet to his sister Rebecca, her maid of honor, then placed her hands into his outstretched ones.  “Please be seated!” The priest called out to the attendees once the song ended, then the ceremony began.  Y/N repeated everything she was supposed to say, keeping her polite smile on her face and looking at Bucky periodically, trying to keep up appearances for the cameras.  Every minute detail of this had to go well, otherwise the peace treaty would be considered a farce and international relations would fall apart.

When it came time to exchange rings she took the gold ring, that she also didn’t choose, and slid it onto his metal finger.  Ah yes, the infamous metal arm of Brooklyn’s war hero prince.  His price to pay in battle.  It really was a feat of science and a thing of beauty all at once.  She had never seen past his wrist, and as much as it was fascinating, it had never scared her like it did others.  She could see it in the faces of dignitaries and other world leaders when they would inevitably stare.  She knew it held great power, the ability to snuff out a life, but she did not fear it or him.  Maybe she should, but as she finished adjusting his ring she did as they had discussed with the advisors beforehand and lifted his metal hand as she slightly bent down and kissed his metal knuckles.  

That garnered a slight gasp and whispers among the attendees, the sound of the whirring of camera lenses focusing in on the moment, a strange sound in an old place of worship.  But that was the whole point.  Another show of her accepting him, and therefore his country and people fully as well as showing reverence, respect, and bending the knee in surrender.  Normally she would have bristled at being asked to do such a thing.  Now her pride had been tucked away into a far recess in her mind and heart, and she didn’t care anymore.

She righted herself, gingerly holding his hand still and met his gaze.  He didn’t look as indifferent, his face looking a little shocked at her actions.  She wasn’t sure why, they had spoken about what she was going to do, even if they hadn’t fully practiced it.  She had agreed to it.  But he quickly schooled his features, the polite smile returning to his lips.  He took his turn in placing her wedding ring on her finger gently.  It felt like a shackle, heavy on her finger with meaning as well as with how large the 12 carat diamond was, engulfing her ring finger.  Bucky nestled it onto her finger, then brought her hand up to his mouth and kissed the ring, then kissed her knuckles and set it back down.  That was surprising.  It wasn’t rehearsed or discussed beforehand, and her dulled heart stuttered at the last minute affection.  She could feel her own shocked expression and quickly blinked and smiled wider at him.  

Now for the last thing they hadn’t rehearsed.  “You may now kiss the bride,” the priest said with a sickly sweet smile on his face.  Y/N swallowed thickly and took a deep breath, looking up at Bucky.  His jaw ticked, betraying the slight smile on his face, but took the lead and leaned down, his metal hand reaching up to cup the side of her face.  His metal fingers wrapped around the base of her skull, his thumb directing her jaw to move upward as he closed the distance between them and kissed her soundly on the lips.

Y/N didn’t know what she was expecting, but it wasn’t how much she would love it.  His lips were perfect.  The metal on her skin felt perfect, especially with the grip at her neck and his metal thumb skimming from her jaw up to her cheekbone in a soft caress.  Her heart stuttered again, and she mentally chastised herself.  It was quite convincing, and for just a moment she got lost and drowned out the sound of camera clicks and thunderous applause.  He pulled away first, his eyes focusing on her lips first before flicking over her face.  She stared back at him, unsure of what he was thinking, but she could see emotions flying in those bright, ocean eyes of his.  She squeezed his flesh hand that was still holding her left hand, and he seemed to come back to himself and the polite smile resumed as he turned to the crowd.  Y/N instantly followed, both of them smiling at the attendees.  Rebecca handed back her bouquet and she smiled as convincingly as she could as the camera flashes blinded her and Bucky led her down the steps and back out of the church.  

The rest of the day was filled with constant pictures being taken, faces old and new being shoved in front of her, handshakes, polite smiles and diplomatic responses to questions and compliments.  The reception was a blur of more playing pretend with Bucky as he would hold her close with an arm around her waist, always have one of her hands in his, dancing with her, and every once in a while a well timed kiss.  Usually on her lips, but sometimes on her cheek, in her hair on top of her head, her temple, and once a sensual one on her neck as his metal hand squeezed her hip.  The cameras really ate that one up.

By the time the party ended and the frenzy was quieted by the plane door being shut, Y/N slumped in her seat.  The newlywed couple was now jet setting off on their honeymoon, but only for a week.  Bucky had to get back quickly as a show of commitment to the country, to show that they weren’t spending too much money on frivolous things after being at war for so long.  The second half of their honeymoon was going to be humanitarian visits to spots around Brooklyn, showing off the new Queen and painting their coupling as the people’s King and Queen, united in strengthening bonds between their countries and people.

Bucky sat in the seat across from her, leaning back in it as the plane took off.  They sat in silence, Y/N looking out the window for a while before taking her phone out.  She had multiple missed calls and messages from family members and friends, all congratulating her on her big day.  Her father and mother’s messages were stark in comparison.  “Keep smiling and secure an heir,” her father had written.  “Behave and be the Queen I taught you to be,” her mother had written.  Y/N sighed quietly and set her phone aside, leaning her head against the seat and closing her eyes.  It was done.  

Bucky cleared his throat, and she slowly opened her eyes and met his gaze.  He had leaned on the seat arm rest, looking more relaxed than she had ever seen him, but his flesh fingers fidgeted with the new ring on his metal finger.  He looked nervous, a far cry from the quiet confident man she had observed for the past few weeks.  He was about to say something when his head advisor and best friend, Steve Rogers, approached from the front of the plane.

“Congratulations, Your Majesties,” he grinned proudly at them.  “A fine wedding day.”

Y/N smiled at Steve appreciatively.  He had been a bright light since she had been brought to Brooklyn, always kind and understanding and friendly with her.  “Thank you, Steve,” she said quietly, her eyes blinking tiredly.

Steve nodded at her then sat next to Bucky.  “I’m sorry to bother you with more event scheduling, especially on your honeymoon, but I thought I’d run through the vague rundown of what we were thinking about for this week.”

“Alright,” Bucky nodded.  

Y/N listened as Steve outlined the basics of what their days on the honeymoon would look like.  They would be followed on vacation, undoubtedly, so every moment would be caught.  They had to keep up the charade of a happy, newly married couple.  “That neck kiss during the reception was great,” Steve said with a smirk, nudging Bucky’s arm.  “Just keep doing stuff like that and we’ll be good.  And…” he looked at Y/N with a slight grimace, “it would be helpful if you initiated some physical affection as well.”

Y/N huffed a laugh.  “Will do,” she said with a slight smile, looking down to hide the small blush brightening her cheeks.  It wouldn’t necessarily be hard to initiate physical contact with Bucky.  He was attractive, kind, and she liked kissing him.  It was just getting him to talk casually that would be a challenge.

“And you guys can use this time to get to know each other better,” Steve said suggestively.  “You won’t constantly be chaperoned by me or anybody else.  I’ll only be a phone call or text away, but me and the rest of the team will make ourselves scarce.”

Y/N and Buck agreed, and Steve left to the back of the plane to talk to the rest of their entourage.  Bucky bit his lip, looking everywhere but at her.  Y/N was too tired to care, and when the stewardess came by to ask if they wanted to eat she nodded happily.  “Yes, please,” she sighed.  “I haven’t had a full meal in hours.”

Bucky looked at her incredulously, a small frown creasing his brow as she ordered, then he ordered a small meal.  The stewardess walked away and he leaned forward.  “What do you mean you haven’t eaten a full meal in hours?” he asked.

Y/N waved away his concern.  “Well, we haven’t really had a moment to sit down and eat, have we?” she joked.  

“I ate at the reception.  You were right next to me, why didn’t you?” he probed, his frown deepening.  

Y/N frowned back at him.  “It’s not polite for a princess or Queen to eat while she’s being spoken to during meals,” she said robotically.  “Especially with dignitaries or other royalty.  I have to wait until the conversation is over.  The conversations just kept coming, so I snacked in between.”

He looked perplexed.  “Is that what your parents taught you?”

“Yes, and every royal protocol teacher or advisor I’ve had,” she said, shifting in her seat.

Bucky’s frown stayed, then the food was brought out for them.  Y/N thanked the staff and dug into her meal, enjoying the first real meal she’d had since breakfast.  She made it through most of it when Steve came walking back towards them.  She went to put down her utensils but Bucky shook his head at Steve.  “Give us a few more minutes, punk,” he said quickly and motioned for him to walk away.  Steve’s eyebrows raised, but he nodded and walked back the way he came.  

Y/N looked at Bucky in astonishment.  “It’s okay, Your Majesty,” she said.  “I’m almost done.”

“Finish your food, then I’ll call him over,” he said without looking at her, taking another bite of his food.  “And it’s Bucky.  Not Your Majesty.”

That damned flutter in her heart was back, and she blinked stupidly at him for a moment before picking her utensils back up and finishing the rest of her meal.  A few hours later she was asleep when she felt a nudge to her shoulder.  “Y/N,” Bucky’s voice called out to her.  “We’re here.”

She took a deep breath and opened her eyes blearily, turning her head to look at him.  He was close, leaning over her as his flesh hand rested on her shoulder.  “Hm,” she hummed.  “I’m up, I’m up.”

He gave her a tight smile then stood up, holding his hand out to her.  She quickly got her bearings and took his hand, letting him help her up.  Her team immediately surrounded her, fixing up her hair and makeup, straightening out her clothes that she had changed into halfway through the flight, popping a mint into her mouth before clearing her to leave the aircraft.  Bucky led the way out, and they were immediately met with flashing cameras and shouts of their names.  Y/N kept her smile on, politely waving at the cameras and taking Bucky’s hand when they reached the bottom of the stairs from the plane.  They stood for a moment, letting the cameras get their fill, then he pulled her towards the limo awaiting them.  

“Kiss her!”

“Kiss him!”

“Hope you have fun on your honeymoon!”

Y/N remembered what Steve said, and as Bucky opened the car door for her she gave him a wider smile then reached up and cupped the side of his face, showing off her wedding ring and sweeping her thumb along his cheek affectionately.  He smiled back at her and she sat in the car, another round of cheers and more flashes blinding her until Bucky got in the car and shut the door.

“Very good, Your Majesty,” Steve said, already in the car sitting across from them in the back-facing seats of the limo.  “Just a little razzle dazzle goes a long way.”

Y/N scoffed and relaxed back against the seat.  “Exactly how much PDA do you want from his honeymoon, Steve?” she asked.  “A nip slip?  Excessive making out?  The first royal porno?”

Bucky snorted and Steve blushed.  “Oh, um, well nothing like that,” he sputtered.

“I’m teasing,” she winked at him.  “I’m just wondering how far you want us to take it, to really sell it to the people.”

“As far as you’re willing to take it, without it becoming the first royal porno,” Steve teased back.  “Though I’m sure there are plenty of people who would love that.”

Bucky shook his head with a smirk, and Y/N nodded before sighing.  “What’s the timeline for an heir to be produced?” she asked.

Both Bucky and Steve looked at her incredulously.  They glanced at each other then back at her.  “Well…that’s…up to you two,” Steve said carefully.  

She frowned then looked at Bucky, who was giving her a sad, knowing look.  “Is that another lovely thing taught to you by your parents?” he asked quietly.

Y/N felt like she was missing something.  She looked between the two of them, trying to process the turn the conversation had taken.  “Y-Yes?” she answered simply.  “Aren’t royals expected to reproduce within the first year or year and a half?”

Bucky’s eyes looked tight and Steve cleared his throat.  “We don’t expect you to,” Steve said quietly and reassuringly, a kind look on his face.  

Y/N simply nodded then looked away from both of them and out the window.  She felt naive, like she was learning something that everybody else already knew.  Nobody spoke again for the rest of the ride to the private resort.  She and Bucky were accompanied to their little bungalow on the beach, then the door closed behind Steve after he made sure they were settled and the silence around them became deafening.  There was only one bedroom, with one bed.  But now after their earlier conversation, she wasn’t sure what to do now.  Her parents expected her to throw herself at Bucky the second she could and get pregnant.

“Well, I’m exhausted,” Bucky said as he stretched and walked toward the bedroom.  “What side of the bed do you normally sleep on?”

Y/N followed him, watching as he rummaged through his suitcase and started pulling out things for bedtime.  She glanced at the king sized bed.  “Um, usually that side,” she pointed at her left.  

“Sounds good,” he said noncommittally.  He gathered up his things and headed to the bathroom.  “Did you want to shower?”  Her eyes widened and he whirled around with his own eyes wide and held a hand up as he shook his head.  “Not together!  I mean…not that I would mind that, but I don’t expect it, you know?  I–”

Y/N snorted and started laughing, almost doubling over at the look on his face.  “Oh my god, Bucky,” she giggled, covering her mouth with her hand and shaking her head.  He huffed a laugh and rubbed his eyes.  “I may have been taught some pretty shitty purity culture and royal protocol things by my parents, but I’m not some fragile virgin,” she said.  “Yes, I would like to shower, but you can go first.  I’ll unpack while you do what you gotta do.”

Bucky chuckled and nodded.  “Okay, I won’t be long.”

A while later he came out of the bathroom as Y/N was picking through her pajama travel bag with a frown.  “What’s wrong?” he asked.

Y/N groaned and hung her head in her hand, rubbing a hand down her face.  “You’re gonna judge my parents real bad,” she said in warning.  Bucky sat on the bed next to her and she looked at him with a grimace.  “My mom replaced all my regular underwear, my pajamas, and my swimsuits with this,” she said, pulling out lacy lingerie set after lacy lingerie set, even the swimsuits looking very revealing.

Bucky’s eyes widened, a blush painting his cheeks as he eyed it all.  “Jesus,” he murmured.  “They really want you pregnant.”

Y/N laughed at that.  “Yeah,” she said.  “They’re um…very enthusiastic about this marriage.”

Bucky shook his head then reached out and thumbed one of the sets.  “Do you have a tank top or something you could wear instead?” he asked.

“Actually, yeah!” she said, quickly getting up and going over to the closet she had been hanging everything up in.  She pulled out an oversized white tank top that she usually used for covering up her swimsuits, then went back to the mound of lingerie and picked out the only piece that was more of a short than a panty.  “This should work,” she said, then smiled at him.  “I’ll go shower.”

“Take your time,” Bucky smiled back at her.

The shower was rejuvenating, but also reminded her how late it was and how tired she was from the eventful day.  She opened the bathroom door to find Bucky had put all the lingerie back into the travel bag and thrown it onto her closet floor, and he was texting on his phone while leaning against the headboard of the bed.  “I’m having Steve order you some new pajamas,” he said as he finished typing the message.  “And we can look at swimsuits in the shops nearby tomorrow.”

“Sounds good,” Y/N said with an appreciative smile.  He finally looked up at her then did a double take.  Her tank top was a bit large, so she knew that the side of her breasts would most likely show, as well as her cleavage, so she kept her arms close to her sides as she walked to her side of the bed.  The underwear shorts she wore were longer than a panty but not by much, and were skin tight, showing off the curves of her ass.  He looked her up and down as she climbed into the bed under the covers before turning away from him and getting comfortable.  “Goodnight,” she breathed.

There was a short pause of silence, then Bucky shifted and got comfortable under the covers as well.  “Goodnight,” he replied quietly.

Y/N tried to relax, shutting her eyes and wishing for sleep to take over.  But she was so overtly aware of him next to her, it was difficult to even breathe normally.  Suddenly a text dinged on her phone, and she inwardly cursed herself for not silencing it.  She reached over and grabbed it from the nightstand, and upon seeing it was from her mother she tensed and pressed her thumb on the notification.

I hope His Majesty enjoys the gifts I set aside in your suitcase.  Be smart, dear.  Remember the positions I taught you, and you’ll have an heir in no time.  

Y/N couldn’t believe the audacity of her mother.  She was about to type a quick reply when Bucky’s metal hand snatched the phone out of her hand.  She gasped and turned to find him leaned upwards on his right elbow, making him hover above her, the deep crease between his eyebrows even more prominent as he glared at the message.  He scoffed then turned her phone off and set it on his nightstand before turning back to face her, his eyes softening as he met her gaze.

“I don’t want you speaking to your parents until they can speak to you as a daughter that they actually care about,” he said firmly.  “Anything else can go through me.”  Y/N stared up at him with wide eyes, her mouth agape as her eyes flicked between his in surprise.  He stared back at her for a moment before sighing and looking away.  “I know that this isn’t something either of us chose.  That my country forced your hand.  But I hope we can make something good out of this.  Make something good between us.”  He hesitantly met her gaze again.  He looked hopeful, and it made a small crack in her hardened heart for what could be in the future.  

“I hope so, too,” she murmured.

Bucky gave her a grateful half smile and nodded before growing serious again.  “I need you to understand that I know we will eventually need to be together…uh, sexually, but I won’t push you or force you.  I’d rather we work up to that and grow as a couple.”

Y/N felt incredibly grateful to him at that moment.  She had been coached and pressured from the moment their engagement had been announced by her parents and their advisors on how to seduce the prince, that she would be expected to bed a complete stranger on their wedding night and immediately have his babies to secure the alliance.  But he was no monster, and all the stress and inappropriate conversations she’d had drilled into her head for the past month now slipped away.  The crack in her heart was chipped away even further, and she silently sighed and gave him a real smile for the first time since they’d met.

“Thank you,” she whispered, not trusting her voice at the moment.

Bucky seemed to be able to read the emotions on her face and returned her smile, then leaned down and kissed her cheek before lying back down.  “Goodnight,” he yawned.

“Goodnight,” she said, yawning as well before snuggling back down under the covers.  Everything would be alright…wouldn’t it?

[vinylmango]

Time Gone By

Remmick  x Reader (envisioned black!fem!reader while writing) Warnings: historical inaccuracies, mentions of minor (oc) character deaths, not beta’d Description: Remmick wasn’t always filled with a sense of bitter longing for a time and people forgotten, driven by the unwavering urge to belong to something, to have someone belong to him. He used to belong to the old country. He used to belong to the sunlight and the rolling green hills.  He used to be yours. Word count: 3k

Notes: - Although I wrote this with a black female reader in mind, I tried to keep physical descriptions as generic as possible so anyone can read it if they want to. - Also I think I'm planning to write a few parts to this so stay tuned lol. - Feel free to send in a request or just say hi, my inbox is open and the list of who I write for is on my pinned nav post.

masterlist

PARTS: ONE

He could remember the first time he had seen you like it was just yesterday and not years and years ago. It had been a normal day, rather unremarkable in his mind when he had woken up that morning before the sun had begun to peak over the horizon signaling a new day.

That day the stars still faintly lit the pale purple sky as oranges began to take over, pushing the stars away. Remmick picked up his tools, slinging the few large pieces of wood over his shoulder with his free hand. He hummed an old song to himself, one that his mother had hummed to him as he grew up and one that her mother had hummed to her. His goal for the day was to finish mending the fence, then head into town to go get some ingredients for the stew he had wanted to make, then he’d go and bring some to Mrs. O’Neill who had recently been ill and was getting older. 

He had spent four hours fixing the fence, getting sidetracked a couple of times throughout to stop and say hello to the cows that liked to wander to the edge of his property, sticking their large heads over the fence to say hello. They lowered their heads, moving closer into his touch, as he’d brush the hair from their large dark eyes.

“Goodbye.” Remmick said to the remaining cow who had stayed the whole time, watching him. His voice was soft and deep, the first time he had spoken since waking up. “I’ve got to be going to town now. I’ve got to get some food.” He explained as the cow blinked at him. “I’m sure you’ve already eaten though, haven’t you?” Remmick gathered his tools, before giving her head one last pat and heading back over the hill towards his small stone home, the cow wandering back to her friends when he left. Setting his tools down just outside of the entrance, Remmick grabbed a light coat, throwing it on as he walked the dirt road into town, a small smile growing on his face when he heard the sound of music playing as he got closer towards the center of town. 

People danced and sang in the city center, little markets stalls and shops set up all around as people ventured into town to get what they needed for the day. “Hello Remmick, Darling.” An older woman’s voice caught his attention. Remmick glanced over, seeing Mrs. Sullivan’s wave back at him from where she sat selling wool. 

“How’s it Mrs. Sullivan?” Remmick addressed her, stopping in front of her shop, sticking his hands in his pants pockets. 

“Everything’s well now.” She told him. “John’s back in good health.” John, her husband, had been ill as of late, running fevers off and on. 

“I’m happy to hear that.” Remmick smiled at her, squeezing the hand she had laid on his arm gently before bidding her goodbye and continuing on to find the ingredients he was looking for.

He stopped at the vegetable cart, stuck as he tried to decide between two vegetables, both of which he hadn’t planted in his own garden that sat on his property only a little ways from his home. He was weighing out his options, holding one in each hand, when he froze hearing a gentle humming as the sound of a string instrument was strummed softly in the background. That’s when his breath caught and he almost dropped the vegetables in his hands. 

He had never heard anything like that before. It wasn’t like any folk song he had heard people singing or any of the ones he knew. He had never seen someone like you before either, someone so beautiful, so different. It was as if you had conspired with the sun as it came from behind the clouds, shining down on you in that moment. Its warm rays kissed your skin in just a way that made the dark brown of your eyes warm to a rich chocolate. 

You caught his gaze then, your full lips pulling into a whisper of a smile before you looked back down at the instrument in your hands. “Have we met?” You stopped playing, setting the instrument to the side as you stood from your seat, stepping towards him. 

“Uh…no.” He hesitated, his eyes still busy drinking in your appearance when he spoke. You glanced up at him through your eyelashes, eyebrows furrowed just slightly but smile still there. 

“You’re looking at me like you know me.” Your voice was soft like the long grass that covered the hills in the summertime. 

“I’d like to.” He spoke, his eyes darting away from you and his cheeks dusting pink and then red. His dark eyebrows furrowed as he slid a hand over his face. Your smile widened when he cleared his throat, his eyes cutting to you only to notice you standing closer than before. “I mean…I’d like to, that is know more about you…or know you if you’d like that…too.” He tripped over his words, hands wringing at his sides as a light laugh bubbled from your lips and he felt himself grow hotter.

“(Y/n).” You introduced yourself, holding a hand out to him in greeting. He took your hand in his, shaking it as a slow smile began to appear on his face. Maybe all hope wasn’t lost yet? 

“Remmick.” He told you. Your hand was soft in his grasp. Not soft in a way that he could tell you had never used them to work, just soft in a way that they were well taken care of and warm. Your hand lingered in his, though neither of you released the others. “You’re not from here.” He said though it wasn’t a question. You nodded once, eyebrow raising as you finally let go of his hand, letting yours drop to your sides. 

“What’d you mean by that?” You questioned. He could practically see the walls being constructed in your mind, eyes no longer as bright as they had been a minute ago. It looked as though you had been in this very situation before and it hadn’t gone well for you.

Remmick shook his head. “Just…I come here almost every day and I never saw you until now.” He tried to explain slowly. “I might’ve talked to you sooner if you had.” 

Your mouth opened just slightly as if there were words waiting on your lips to be said before you decided against it and closed them again. You nodded at his explanation slowly. “I’m sorry.” Your voice was the softest he had heard it, only just above a hushed whisper as you looked down at your boots, hands pulling at the hem of your shirt. “Not many people have been…” You trailed off, but understood what you had left unsaid. “Have you lived here long?” You changed the subject, your mood rising as you put a smile back on your face. 

“Grew up back that way. Still live there.” He pointed in the direction he had come from. “Just me though now.” He added, not really sure why he needed you to know that no one else lived with him. 

“I live that way by the cliffs.” You pointed in the same direction as he nodded, knowing the area you were referring to. “Used to be an old fisherman’s place, but I’m not too good at fishing.” He cracked a smile at your words, his hands now comfortably in his pockets as he listened to you intently. 

Remmick sucked in a breath, trying to work up the courage to do something before releasing it and looking back at you. “Would you…” He paused trying to think of the words that were threatening to die on his tongue the more he held eye contact with you and the heat of your gaze consumed him from the inside out.

“Would you stop by sometime?” He asked as you paused, waiting to see if he had more to say. “I was planning to cook but I always have a lot for just one person even after taking some to my neighbors.” He trailed off, his eyes glancing around him before he looked back at you trying to gauge your reaction. 

You stood in front of him, impossible to read what you were thinking, as your dark eyes narrowed for a moment before you tilted your head to the side. “Should I bring anything?” Your question broke the mounting silence between you as he breathed out and a flash of relief crossed his face. 

“No, no that’s all right.” He shook his head as you nodded with a smile. You were going to disregard what he had said as your mind began to think through what you should bring. “I should get going…I’ll see you tonight.” He bid you goodbye with a wave of his hand before you watched him walk off towards other shops in search of ingredients. 

• • •

Your mind raced through different scenarios as you did your best to calm yourself down. Clutching the basket to your chest, you looked down at the ground, glaring at the rock that had tripped you and threatened to ruin your evening as his home came into view and the sun began to set behind you. 

It was a charming stone home that sat picturesquely on a hill, rolling green hills and farmland surrounding it. Faint smoke rose from the chimney, dissipating into the now darkening sky. You breathed out, standing in front of his door, smoothing the dark blue dress you had made hoping to make a good impression on the kind man from the market who had tripped over his words when he spoke to you.

You knocked, three short taps on the heavy wood as you waited only a moment before the door opened to reveal a slightly more relaxed version of the man you had seen earlier. 

His shirt sleeves were rolled up to his elbows showing off the strong muscles of his forearms. The top two buttons were left unbuttoned and a cloth was thrown over his shoulder. “(Y/n), come in.” He smiled at you as you walked past him and he closed the door behind you. He took your coat, hanging it by the door as you took your boots off and followed him towards the kitchen. 

“Oh I brought this.” You held the basket up, placing it on the table as he raised an eyebrow, a slightly surprised look in his blue eyes. “It’s not much…just bread…I didn’t know what to bring, so…” You trailed off, taking the cloth from over it to reveal a large freshly baked loaf, steam rising from it letting him know just how fresh it was. 

“You didn’t have to bring anything.” He said softly as you shook your head. 

“That’s not the way it works in my culture, Remmick.” You explained to him, your voice light. “You never arrive to a home empty handed.” You pushed the bread forward as he smiled at you and you couldn’t help but smile back. 

“This is really nice.” You told him after he had handed you a bowl and sat across from you at the wooden table. You had cut a few slices from the bread as you both took one and began eating. 

“Hm?” He looked up at you from his bowl. 

“This is really nice.” You repeated. “And your food is good.” You added, smiling again when you saw the faint rosiness appear on his cheeks in the fire light. 

“Thanks.” He said simply. “You know I’ve never really cooked for anyone before…well other than Mrs. Sullivan.” It was your turn for heat to rise to your cheeks as you dropped his eye contact. 

“So I’m special then?” You teased as he nodded with a crooked smirk. “Why?”

“You just are.” He replied bashfully after a pause, chuckling at your teasing. “Tell me about what you did before coming here?” He asked as you nodded, finishing chewing before opening your mouth to begin. 

“There’s not much to say really, Remmick.” You thought for a moment as he tried to stay present in the moment and fight the overwhelmingly warm feeling that flowed through him at the way you said his name.“My mother, she died when I was young, she had a fever for a few days and then just didn’t wake up. My father was devastated. I was his only child and so he took me with him when he decided we would leave home. We never stayed in one place long, it’s like a blur. Then he took to drinking and it caught up with him eventually in the end. I was an adult by then. When he was dying he asked me to go see the cliffs. It was something he wanted to do and never got to see…so here I am.” You breathed out. “Quite a sad story.” You laughed awkwardly, feeling like you had changed the mood of dinner.

“That’s alright.” He said, picking up on your feelings as his hand had automatically reached for yours, his thumb smoothing over your knuckles as you froze at the touch before relaxing again and letting out a breath. 

“Tell me yours?” You asked, trying not to get lost in the little touches and the warmth of his strong hand. He nodded, his posture straightening as you watched him think about what he wanted to say. 

“Mine’s quite similar.” He offered you that lopsided grin again. “My mother and father raised me here. My father died first, it was an accident. He’d fallen off of the roof of the neighbor’s house when he was helping to repair it. He was gone in an instant, before anyone could say anything to him really. My mom stayed for some time before she remarried some farmer from a few towns over. He didn’t want another man’s son so I stayed here.” He shrugged, but you could see the pain just beneath the surface as he spoke about it. You squeezed his hand gently, looking him in the eyes. 

“I’m sorry.” He shook his head at your words, brushing it off. 

“Don’t be.” His voice was lower now. “She’s happy there with him and I’m just fine here.” He told you. “It’s quiet.” He hummed as you nodded. 

He took your bowl when you were done, washing them and you dried them before you both sat in a chair by his fireplace. You glanced around at the decorations. They were simple and although you were still learning him, they felt like they fit him. 

A herding dog stretched out asleep in front of the bed on a small worn rug. A similar rug covering the floor in front of the fireplace where you sat. Remmick’s bed was simple and covered by a large quilt that looked like it had been made with love and passed down, the squares beginning to fade from their once vibrant reds and blues. “Do you read here?” You asked him as your hands rubbed against the soft fabric of the chair you sat in. 

“Sometimes.” He nodded, glancing to the small table under the window by the fireplace, a small stack of books sitting there. “Do you enjoy reading?”

“Yes, but I still have yet to find a favorite book or author.” He smiled at that as your eyes locked on the instrument that sat in the corner. It looked similar to one you had seen played in the marketplace. “Will you play?” You asked as he hesitated momentarily before nodding, standing to retrieve the instrument before sitting back down in the chair he had occupied. 

He started to strum the strings with his thumb, clearing his throat before starting to sing. His voice and the notes were played hesitantly at first, as if he hadn’t played in front of someone in a long time and was afraid to play a note wrong or get judged for his singing abilities. He looked up seeing you listening along, your head and body swaying back and forth slightly in the chair along to the notes. Your eyes were closed and a grin pulled at your lips. 

He took the time to look over your features as he grew more confident in his playing and singing and you smiled wider.

He had never seen someone as beautiful. He stopped singing then, the song over as you opened your eyes again, clapping as you laughed at his embarrassment. You could tell that he had never been used to being the center of attention, preferring the quiet anonymity that the outskirts of society granted him. Maybe that was why he chose to stay in the stone house that was a ways from the town, but not that far from your home. “You have a gift, Remmick.” 

“No.” He shook his head quickly, only believing you were trying to inflate his ego because you hopefully liked him in the same way he was starting to fall for you. “There’s far better music in town.”

You shook your head, your hand reaching out and settling on his forearm as he stilled at your touch. “People play in town but nobody sounds like that.” You reaffirmed. “My grandmother knew things…things beyond this life. She lived a long way away from here, back home on the island.” You stated, sitting in front of him, your hand still touching his arm. He leaned into your touch as you continued. “She said that music like that is powerful. It’s a gift that only some can possess.”

“I’m just a farmer, (Y/n).” His voice was soft, the last of his protests quieting as you gave him a look. “I doubt someone like me would get a gift like that. You’d have to be lucky and I don’t think anyone in my family has ever been lucky.” He laughed humorlessly as he set the instrument down. 

“Well, maybe you are.” A genuine smile grew on your lips again as you gravitated towards him. He leaned towards you as he too smiled, his fingers hesitantly touching your hand before you took his hand fully in yours, interlacing the fingers. 

tags:

[vxlenst3in]

Have you watched blue lock cuz i just finished it like 10 minutes ago and i want a fic

lowk the itoshi brothers are SO HOT like hear me out okay

and Rin makes "wednesday" sound hot 😭😭😭

Anyways can i req a random itoshi brothers x fem!reader fic?

can be a threesome or like seperate

yeah i have no plot in mind i just want a fic tysm and ily

~Kylie

ALSO STOP DESPAWNING AND COME BACK

≽^• ˕ • ྀི≼ the itoshi brothers fighting over you

The Itoshi brothers have always been a huge part of your life. From the day you met those two at a nearby playground, till today, where you have to attend double the soccer matches. Sae and Rin used to be inseperable back then. It was their dream to become the best strikers in the world, but we know how the story goes.

They’ve always been competitive when it came to you. Fighting over who got to carry your bag, or who would get to sit on the see-saw with you. Almost wrestling each other over who got to sit next to you on the bus. It was cute, sort of – till it wasn’t. As the three of you got older, the brothers started viewing you as more than just their childhood friend, and that’s when the real fight began between them.

Rin had definitely gained a head start when Sae went to Spain, to become the best striker of the world. Even though he felt somewhat sad that his brother was gone, it didn’t last for long. He had you all to himself. Even though he would also try his best to catch up to his brother in terms of soccer, he would always get to see you in school, or have you watch his matches. He thought he had won this unofficial battle with ease. Little did he know, it was merely the start.

Sae, on the other hand, dreaded every day in Spain because of it. Yes, it was his dream to train here, but at the same time it turned into an absolute nightmare. He would always see the stuff you or your friends posted on social media, and almost lose his mind. Even worse when his little brother was to be seen somewhere on those posts. Sae would still make a somewhat “great” effort to text you every now and then. If you can count the dry replies to your stories, as an effort. He knew so very well what Rin was doing.

So imagine, even so many years later, they’re still trying so hard to win you over. Just with upgraded techniques now.

Rin’s technique is rather aggressive. His hands are roughly grasping onto any piece of flesh they can grab onto, as he drills into you from behind. You’re bent over the dinner table, that you just ate dinner with him and Sae at. Sae now going for his evening run, completely oblivious to what was happening in his apartment right now. Rin’s touch is inexperienced, not really knowing where to put his hands, while trying to not bust a nut after 2 minutes, because you just felt so damn good. You were his first and only. He wouldn’t even dare to think of another woman in your place. But god, despite all that, he was making you feel good, his pelvis repeatedly hit the flesh of your ass, as he pressed you further against the table with his whole body weight. His hips snapping up and down, while the both of you lost your damn minds. One of his hands wandered up to yours, pinning them down while the other held your hips in place, his chest pressed against your back, while he rested his head right next to yours. Rin wasn’t loud during it, but given how close he was to your ear right now, you could hear all the ragged breathing, the choked groans, and the attempted dirty talk that only came out in murmurs.

“Don’t get why you still entertain him, you have me-!” Rin choked out, as his hips began to stutter. Your weak whimpers spurring him on. “Just be with me alr- Ah!” He didn’t even realize how close he was—

Sae had learned from his old mistakes. He was taking no chances for his brother to get any closer to you, so instead of going to Spain alone, he would always bring you along. You got to go on a fun little vacation, and Sae Itoshi got you all to himself. He’s not a man to waste time, but is it really wasted if he gets to see you all whiny beneath him? His boner had been up and hurting for almost an hour now, but god, he was utterly obsessed with pulling orgasm after orgasm out of you by just fingering you. Sae was pretty experienced in comparison to his brother. Every now and then he’d lay chicks he’d meet at his soccer club's celebration parties. Weirdly, they all looked creepily similar to you. Not that it meant anything, right? But in the end, none of these models could compare to the real thing. None of them could replicate the sweet noises he pulls out of you, or the way your pussy is practically screaming for more even when you beg him to stop. None of them could even get close to the way you make him feel. His thumb drags across your clit, while two of his other fingers keep curling inside of you. You lost track of the amount of orgasms he has pulled out of you by now. But judging by the look on his face, he was far from done. Just like his younger brother he wasn’t a loud man — well, he still talks you through it.

“That’s it, she’s so messy, don’t ya think, sweet girl?” “You love me more than him, right? Your pussy certainly does, doesn’t she?” “Give me another one, won’t you?”

And whenever you take too long to reply, he just delivers a slap to your cunt. What a mean man.

You would’ve been lying if you said that you weren’t fine with it. You enjoyed both of their attention, and thought it was okay the way it was. Both Rin and Sae had their “pros and cons”, but they made up for each thing the other was missing. So why choose? Neither of them had asked to be your boyfriend anyw- That was until both men decided to ask you to be their girlfriend on the same day…

Seriously?

 ©vxlenst3in - do not steal, modify, translate or repost my work. a/n: hi kylie!! i hope i can make up all the time ive been away with this super quick request sob. i hope its too obvious who i like more between them, but so sorry if it is..anyway thank you so much for requesting!! always a pleasure seeing you around :) likes, feedback and reblogs are appreciated! reqs are open❤︎

[headdinthewall]

MATCH CELEBRATIONS ── g.clarke ౨ৎ ⋆｡˚

summary : in which george forgets to celebrate his goal during the match, so he makes up for it afterwards a/n : my brain is just full of creative ideas atm so… also can you tell george is my favourite? but i was rewatching the charity match and got this idea // italics is stephen doing the commentary content : established relationship ,, sexual innuendos ,, mentions of injury ,, a severe lack of knowledge on how football works xx

─────── THE ENERGY THROUGHOUT Wembley Stadium was electric and buzzing. The match had gone incredibly smoothly so far, with a new record of 16 goals being scored, making the overall score be 8-8 with only eight minutes to go. Your fingers were crossed on your lap, knees bouncing nervously as your boyfriend was subbed back on.

You were sat between Sabina and Arthur, both of them talking to you and making casual conversation. You and Sabina murmured over what the hell was going on during the match and the newest make up releases that were actually worth buying, while you listened to Arthur just complain about the constant off-side passes — whatever that meant.

You continuously checked your phone, a nervous habit you picked up when George wasn’t around. It made no sense — of course — because it’s not like he could text you right now anyway, he was literally on the pitch.

“Oh! It’s a corner! It’s a corner!” Arthur exclaimed, hand gripping your arm ridiculously tight, causing your bracelets to dig into your arms.

“Arthur!” You hissed, pushing him off like an annoyed older sibling.

“Sorry.” He laughed, staring at the huddle of players in front of the goal.

Tobi was stepping back, preparing to boot the ball towards them.

Just as he did, Angry Ginge completely missed his defence kick, the ball flying straight past him and into the foot of—

George.

All of a sudden, the stadium burst into screams and yells of support and excitement, everyone raising from their seats as your boyfriend’s foot knocked the ball into the back of the goal (and himself in the process as he stumbled into the net).

“Oh my God!” You screeched, standing and jumping whilst clapping, “Yes George! Oh my God, yes!”

Arthur and Isaac were just as excited as you, arms around each other’s shoulders and jumping in joy. Arthur pulled you into it and you laughed at their boisterous celebration.

George looked incredibly confused as he ran towards Tobi, gesturing between the two of them and trying to figure out who was actually to be credited, but when the rest of the Sidemen team joined in on clapping his back, he relished in the feeling.

He found you in the crowd and waved, resulting in him getting an air kiss back.

“And there goes George and his mrs, subtle PDA, we love to see it. Blowing kisses at him, though I’m sure he’ll be getting more blowing of another kind for that goal.”

You cupped your mouth with both hands and whooped for him, screaming loudly.

The cheering died down as the game continued to progress but you still couldn’t get over the adrenaline rush of the love of your life scoring a goal right in front of your eyes.

The grin never left your face, even after Theo Baker scored a last minute equaliser, making the score 9-9.

“Does that mean penalties?” You looked over at Arthur and Isaac, and they nodded.

You refrained as much as you could from biting your nails, considering you’d just had them done a couple days ago.

The crowd was in utter shock as Sketch saved Simons goal, as he was known for being a great penalty shooter.

As the game came to an end, with Speed getting the winning shot for the Youtube Allstars, a lot of people began filing out of the stadium, ready to leave and go home, yoy however, could not, as you had to wait for George.

From your spot, you could vaguely see Munya and Els doing interviews on the pitch, grabbing different players and putting a microphone in their face.

“Clarkey! Clarkey!” Munya called out, grabbing George’s shoulder and turning him to the camera. “Your goal virginity is gone!”

“Yes.” George laughed.

“How does that feel?”

“Well, it’s one of them ticked off the least, hopefully that means the second one tonight!” He joked, smirking, “No, um, honestly I had absolutely no idea that it was my goal, hence the complete lack of celebration and just, sort of, pointing at Tobi, um, but no, insane.”

“With more time, how would you have celebrated?” Munya asked.

“I—“ George laughed with a scoff, “I don’t think time was the problem, I think it’s just that I’m a pure idiot— uhm, but I do have a celebration now … where is she?” He hummed, eyes scanning the crowd and then pointing at you. “Isn’t she beautiful.”

He beckoned you down, waving his hand at you.

“Me?” You mouthed, pointing at yourself.

“Yeah! Come down!” He shouted, even though you probably couldn’t hear him.

“Is this a camera moment?” Munya questioned, confused as to what was going on.

“I mean, it’s going to be caught on the fifty thousand phones that are here, so might as well get it in good quality.” George shrugged with a laugh.

You made your way down the stairs and through the tunnel, when security stopped you.

“Sorry, love, players and interviewers only.”

“Oh, no, my boyfriend asked me to come down—“

“Tom, it’s good.” Simon came through, patting the security on the back, “She’s allowed through.

Tom nodded and let you past.

“Why does he want me?” You asked Simon, as he clearly had an idea as to what was going on.

“No idea.” He lied, gesturing for you to follow him.

You jogged up to George, ecstatic to be seeing him, and threw yourself at him, arms around his shoulders, “I’m so proud of you!”

He laughed, arms around your waist, and tapped your bottom to put you down.

“I’ve got something for you.” George stated, stepping back slightly.

Munya and the camera man cleared the scene, allowing him more space.

“What— Oh my God.”

The air was knocked from your lungs as you watched George, panting and flushed red from his exertion, as he got down on one knee.

His eyes were full of pure adoration and nothing short of unconditional, eternal love.

The air around you seemed thick, and despite the roar of the crowd and buzzing atmosphere around you, it didn’t seem real. You were grounded by his presence, and the scenes around you disappeared, as if it were just you two, alone, on a field of grass.

“Reader … you have been in my life for seven years now, and those seven years have been the most wonderful, exhilarating years of my life, and I genuinely couldn’t have done this whole Youtube, social media thing, without you.”

You burst into tears, unable to control yourself.

“Waking up next to you every morning is like witnessing the human embodiment of an angel, and there is no one else I could dream of doing that with. I don’t usually believe in ‘everything happens for a reason’, but I whole-heartedly believe that we met for this reason. Because you are my soulmate, through and through. You’ve been there for me through everything, from tough times like when my mum was sick and to the best days of my life, like asking you to be my girlfriend, and every day that’s followed since.”

Your sobs were uncontrollable as you nodded with his words, your hands on your cheeks.

“You’ve put up with me since day one, which shocks me, especially since I sweat like a pig when it’s only eight degrees outside, and even though we lost the game today, I know that I’ve already won in life, because I get to call you my girlfriend— and hopefully my wife.” He laughed, clearing his throat as he neared on crying himself.

“So … reader … will you marry me?”

The question lingered for a split second and you were entirely speechless, opting for a shaky nod instead of saying anything.

“Yeah?” He muttered.

“Yeah.” You croaked, holding your hand out.

He grinned and slipped the ring on. Once it was secure, he shot to his feet, lifting you off the ground. Your arms locked around his neck and your legs around his waist as you sobbed into his shoulder.

“To Mr and Mrs Clarkey!” Munya exclaimed into the microphone and everyone erupted into cheers.

“I love you so much!” You sobbed, pulling away from his neck and placing your hands on his cheeks, “Of course I’ll marry you, oh my God!”

He laughed at your reaction, giving you a chaste kiss, keeping it appropriate and sensible for the cameras and children in the crowd or watching.

yourusername

liked by arthurtv georgeclarkeey chloeburrows and 439k more

after five years on knowing you and four years of dating you … i can legally call you mine (soon)💓

tagged : georgeclarkeey

georgeclarkeey aren’t you sweet x

↳ yourusername and you’re performative, proposing in front of everyone like that x

georgeclarkeey loving you forever x

↳ yourusername loving you forever and always x

chloeburrows awww, the cutest! so happy for you two💞

arthurtv ‘we might have lost the game but i’ve won life’ 🥶🥶🥶 (congrats you guys❤️)

↳ georgeclarkeey cheers, was waiting for your approval (thanks mate❤️)

chrismd10 proposal was almost as cold as my free kick mate

↳ stephen_tries give it a rest, it was one of 18 goals

behzingagram best proposal oat🙌🏼❤️

sidemen ❤️❤️❤️

↳ georgeclarkeey thanks for letting me do that guys

livvydimartino beautiful girl🥹 so happy for you xx

↳ yourusername thank you ml💓

bambinobecky he can’t take my munchkin from me. tell him i’m coming for him

↳ yourusername nothing can split us apart becky x

↳ georgeclarkeey i can read her comments🤓🤓

arthurnfhill george please film fifty more platform roulettes before a baby clarkey is on the way

↳ yourusername don’t plan on getting preggy for a while yet finchy x

↳ faithlouisak neither did i babe x

user1 everyone’s getting married and having babies now!! this is so cute it’s so nice seeing everyone make their own families!

user2 the fact that she immediately burst into tears🥹

↳ user3 she’s so real for that honestly

user4 clarkey for the best proposal of all social media couples!!!

user5 they’re so in love it makes me feel sick (with jealousy)

[eclipixels]

AAAAHHHH TSYMMMM FOR THIS

OKOK I HAVE ANOTHER ONE 😓

[ProPlayer!Isagi] x [Ex-(Top)Idol!Reader](Bcs they both r gonna get asked for autographs🤞🤞) (Ex bcs she took a reaally looong break from her career since she got married to Yoichi, also bcs they moved to germany, but she's fine w/ that :D)

Soooo they had a baby son,, andd now that he's old enough to be on a plane, they're going back to japan bcs their families have been wanting to see their son with a burning passion (a very intense burning passion, actually)

Anddd when they boarded, one of the hostesses were playing with their son, keeping him entertained as reader and Yoichi settled down (their son was crying a lot) and thennnn when reader finally had the chance to be with her baby, he calmed down instantly

Basically Yoichi looking at her w/ affection, deep in love bc she is a ball of sunshine🤞🤞🤞🤞

Pls tell me this makes sense🥀💔

Coming Home

Yoichi Isagi x Reader

Content: Coming back to Japan to have your parents and parent-in-laws meet your baby for the first time

[2,025 words]

      The hum of the Munich airport was a strange kind of white noise. Soft footsteps, intercom chimes in German and English, the occasional crackle of a coffee machine. Yoichi Isagi wasn’t used to being off the pitch and still breaking a sweat, but here he was, clutching a diaper bag, baby sling, and a folded stroller.

      And you stood beside him, rocking your infant son in your arms, humming gently under your breath.

      The melody was familiar. He didn’t catch it at first, but then it clicked. One of your songs. From the tail end of your idol days just before you’d announced your hiatus. Just before you’d disappeared from the stage, the spotlight, and the pages of glossy magazines all to build something quieter. Something more lasting.

      Isagi muttered something under his breath, scanning the departure board. You looked up from the bundle in your arms and smiled. “How long until boarding?”

      “Forty minutes.”

      “Time for a snack, maybe? He might need a change, too.”

      “Already changed him ten minutes ago.”

      “Well damn, I don’t know. Maybe he might need another.”

      Still, even like this, half-asleep and balancing a baby on your hip, Isagi thought you were beautiful. More than when you were dancing on glowing stages or flashing perfect smiles at cameras.

      You sat down near the gate and bounced your son gently in your lap, cooing softly when his tiny fists flailed toward your necklace. Isagi watched, heart swelling in that overwhelming, aching way he still hadn’t gotten used to.

      Then, a voice.

      “Excuse me? Yoichi Isagi, right?”

      He turned to see two teenage boys hovering awkwardly a few feet away. One held a soccer ball in a drawstring bag, the other gripped a worn photobook of you.

      “Yeah,” Isagi said, smiling warmly. “Hey.”

      “Oh my god, it’s really him,” one of them whispered, eyes wide. The other stammered something barely tangible to you, but you managed to catch them naming one of your albums.

      Isagi stepped in, signing the boy’s ball and politely asking if they wanted a photo. You handed the baby over to Isagi so you could sign the photo book, giggling at the old idol pics inside.

      “I was so extra,” you said, cringing slightly.

      “You were a legend,” the girl replied. “You still are.”

      As they walked off, flustered and beaming, Isagi slung his arm over your shoulder. When the boarding call came, you both rose slowly, gathering your things and trying to juggle the baby, bags, passports, and sanity all at once.

      First class was a blessing thanks to Isagi pro league contract and the miles he racked up traveling across Europe for matches. The hostess greeted you both warmly, her eyes flickering to the baby with practiced politeness.

      “Would you like assistance with your luggage?”

      “Actually,” you said, adjusting your grip on the now-fussy baby, “could you hold him just for a second? We need to get the bags into the overhead.”

      The attendant nodded and took your son gently. He started squirming immediately, his little face twisting with uncertainty as he was separated from you. Isagi rushed to store the carry-ons while you hurriedly folded the stroller. You moved with quiet urgency, but the baby’s little sniffles were turning into pre-cries. Once everything was secured, you reached for him instantly.

      “Come here, baby,” you murmured, taking him back into your arms.

      Almost immediately, he settled. Not all at once but his breathing slowed, his fists unclenched, and his eyes fluttered shut as he buried his face into your chest. You rocked gently on your heels, humming again without realizing it. The same old tune.

      Isagi turned around just in time to see you like that, standing in the soft first-class lighting, hair tucked behind your ears, your cardigan sleeve pushed up from where the baby had clutched it. Your expression was calm. Full of warmth. Every bit the woman he came home to after grueling matches. Every bit the woman who had chosen him.

      He sat beside you once you were buckled in, watching you in quiet awe.

      You finally looked at him. “What?”

      “You,” he said, voice hushed. “You’re just…”

      “Just?”

      He took a moment, then leaned in and kissed the corner of your mouth.

      “You’re incredible.”

      You blinked at him, then smiled. “That’s the sleep deprivation talking.”

      “No,” he whispered. “That’s love.”

      You laughed softly, resting your head on his shoulder. The baby breathed evenly in your arms, small and safe. He squeezed your hand beneath the baby’s blanket.

      —

      The airplane engine faded beneath the landing announcement, and as the wheels touched down on Japanese soil, your chest swelled with something you hadn’t felt in a long time. It wasn’t quite nostalgia and not quite homesickness either. It was more like a quiet, persistent warmth. A reminder that somewhere beyond the stretch of the runway, family was waiting. You shifted in your seat and looked down at your son, now fast asleep in your arms, his small face relaxed and peaceful despite the long flight. Isagi was beside you, eyes half-lidded and unfocused, exhaustion written in the way his shoulders sagged, but he turned to look at the two of you and smiled the moment your eyes met.

      "Back in Japan," he murmured, voice rough from disuse.

      You nodded, brushing a thumb over your son's soft cheek. "It feels like forever, doesn’t it?"

      He exhaled slowly and leaned his head back against the seat, gaze flicking to the window where the sky had turned a pale grey with the early morning light. "It does.”

      The process of disembarking was slower than usual. Traveling with a baby meant adjusting to a new rhythm, one where every step took longer and every action required a free hand you didn’t always have. Still, the two of you moved in quiet synchronicity, a kind of practiced dance that only came from months of shared parenting. Isagi carried the stroller and your bags while you held your son close, murmuring softly whenever he stirred.

      The walk through the terminal was a blur of quiet chatter, rolling suitcases, and the occasional stare from someone who recognized either of you. Some remembered Isagi from the recent league victories, others recognized you despite the absence of makeup and the simple jeans-and-hoodie ensemble. No one said anything, but a few people smiled in passing. You were grateful for the unspoken respect that surrounded your little family like a bubble, one that held even more tightly once you reached the arrival gates.

      Your mother was the first to spot you, her hands flying to her mouth as tears welled in her eyes. She moved past the crowd with urgency, almost tripping over her own feet in her hurry. Your father followed a few steps behind, trying to keep up while carrying a small paper bag of gifts. Isagi’s parents were just behind them, his mother holding a tissue already, his father unusually quiet as he stood off to the side, blinking too quickly.

      "Mom," you said softly, and that was all it took. She enveloped you in a hug, careful not to crush the baby between you, but her arms were trembling with emotion.

      "You’re here," she whispered. "You’re really here. Oh my god, let me see him."

      You pulled back gently and shifted so your mother could see her grandson’s face. Her expression crumbled entirely. She reached out but hesitated, looking to you for permission.

      You smiled and nodded. "Go ahead. He’s still waking up."

      She cradled him like something sacred, tears slipping silently down her cheeks. Your father moved beside her and peered down at his grandson with wide eyes. "He looks just like you did when you were a baby," he said. "Except with more hair."

      Isagi chuckled behind you, then turned as his mother reached for him. She hugged him tight, almost too tight, and whispered something into his ear that made his shoulders stiffen briefly. Whatever she said, he nodded and leaned into her a little more. His father offered a firm handshake that turned into a one-armed hug, brief but heartfelt. There was something unspoken in the way they looked at each other, something both proud and emotional.

      Introductions followed. Grandparents passed the baby around carefully, each pair marveling at how small he was, how warm, how perfect. You watched as Isagi stood beside his mother, one arm around her shoulders, smiling at the sight of his father holding the baby like he was afraid he might drop a glass sculpture. It hit you then, harder than it had on the flight. This was what you had left the stage for. Not just marriage or motherhood or peace, but this moment. This feeling. The way his family and yours came together around something so simple and so pure.

      Afterward, you all piled into two waiting vans and made your way toward his parents’ home, where you’d be staying for the first few nights. The drive was quiet, your son napping in your arms while you leaned against the window and watched the scenery roll by. Isagi’s hand rested on your knee, thumb brushing absent circles against the fabric of your jeans. He didn’t speak much, but you felt his gaze on you more than once, lingering in that way he did when words weren’t necessary.

      At the house, his mother had prepared a small spread of welcome food. Nothing extravagant, just miso soup, tamagoyaki, grilled fish, and rice with pickled vegetables. But it was warm and fragrant, and the taste of the rice alone made you feel like crying. Your son stayed in his baby lounger beside the table while everyone sat around and talked, asked questions, shared stories.

      You told his mother how he was already trying to roll over and how he liked being held upright against your chest while you danced in the kitchen. She smiled with wet eyes, her hands folded in her lap, and told you how Isagi used to cry whenever he wasn’t being held as a baby. His father added that he would scream whenever he saw a vacuum cleaner. You laughed, and Isagi turned a little pink.

      When the baby started to fuss again, you excused yourself and took him into the small guest room to nurse him and rock him gently. The sliding door clicked softly behind you, muffling the laughter in the kitchen. You settled into the chair beside the window, your son tucked into your arms, eyes fluttering with drowsy protest. Outside, the garden was quiet, sunlight slipping through the trees like a soft veil.

      A few minutes later, the door creaked open and Isagi stepped inside. He didn’t say anything at first, just walked over and knelt beside you. His eyes were warm and full, like he had been waiting to exhale all day.

      "You okay?" you asked.

      He nodded, resting his arms on your knee and looking up at you. "I just wanted to see you."

      You smiled, brushing your hand through his hair. "You’ve seen me all day."

      "So?" he murmured.

      You looked down at the baby, who was finally full and falling asleep again. His face was relaxed, mouth slightly open, one hand resting on your chest like it was his whole world. Your body was tired. Your hair needed washing. But in this moment, you were still the most beautiful person Isagi had ever seen.

      You blinked, breath catching a little. "I’m exhausted and half-functioning and worried he’s going to wake up screaming on the plane back."

      Isagi shook his head slowly. He leaned up, kissed your cheek, and then your temple, lingering there with his forehead against yours.

      "Marrying you was the best decision I ever made," he whispered.

      You laughed softly, closing your eyes and letting your fingers trail over his knuckles. He smiled, pulled your hand to his lips, and kissed your wedding ring.

      Outside, the wind rustled through the garden trees. Inside, in the still warmth of the room, your baby slept in your arms, and the man you loved watched you with the kind of affection that no crowd or spotlight could ever compete with.

[unlikeable-female-character]

So one of the many things Deadpool and Wolverine unlocked in me was a desire to learn crochet. Which is a very odd thing to say but also very true. My mum has knitted and crocheted since she was small and taught me to knit about a million years ago but I’ve never been able to grasp crochet. Then my nephews got very into Wolverine thanks to playing a Lego Marvel video game and asked if Granny could make them a Wolverine each - which she did, in his yellow and blue. While she was in the midst of making them , I went to the cinema to see Deadpool and Wolverine and came home with the worst case of brain rot I’ve had for a long time.

I decided I too would like a Wolverine but mum refused to make me one. So I decided to learn and make my own. Which I eventually did. This rather wonky square was the very first thing I made. The second? A certain Wade Winston Wilson.

I found the pattern for him and Wolvie online and once I had mastered the techniques I decided Deadpool was a bit of an easier prospect for a first project. Then I moved on to Wolverine and was quite pleased with him. He’s not perfect - I fucked up the colour change on the body and belt, that should be on the back - but I’m quite proud of him.

I then seemed to take over being offical maker of things for my nephews and they have had the following - Batman and Robin, the Hulk and Magneto and for some reason Charles the Second. I still have a list of people to do for them (I am waiting for Smallest Nephew to ask for Quicksilver, his newest obsession after watching Xmen Apocalypse) .

One pattern I had been looking for with no luck was a non uniform Logan, so basically every day Logan. Could not and still cannot find one. Which annoyed me. So having a few projects under my belt I decided I could just make my own up using another pattern. Here he is, based off the original Deadpool I made. His hair was the result of many discussions with my mum as to what was the best technique to use. So dedicated to Mr Howlett am I that individually threaded each piece of hair onto his head. He and Wade now stand on my bookcase and I often make them hold hands.

Over Christmas both Ryan and Hugh posted little crochet Deadpool and Wolverines and so I obviously had to put mine in my tree (can’t post the pics, thank you 10 image limit)

I have made a few other things and am now back in learning mode, trying to decipher the pattern to make a flower bouquet blanket. It’s challenging but a lot of fun and as a mindfulness exercise I’ve found nothing better. It’s also made me sweat more than I ever thought possible and question my ability to count.

It’s an odd thing to get from seeing a silly film where two idiots stab the shit out of each other for fun but it’s just one of the other ways this film has so profoundly affected my life and in such a positive way.

[humaling]

Typical Tuesday Morning.

pairings: finnick odair x reader

summary: you got a little bored and decide to have some fun make-over with your pretty husband

warnings: use of pet names

word count: 3.2k

author's note: set on years after the war! okay so reader being pregnant isnt that focused on—only did it for plot but also bc i like the idea of finnick having his happy ending in thg like he deserves.

It’s another typical Tuesday morning. Finnick had woken early, as he usually did, with his beloved wrapped safely in his arms. He spent a few quiet minutes simply admiring your sleeping face, his fingers brushing slowly up and down your arm with that signature tenderness of his. When the first golden light of morning crept over the horizon, he leaned in to press a soft kiss to your forehead before sliding carefully out of bed. He tucked a pillow in his place, just to keep you warm and feeling less alone. A fond smile pulled at his lips when he saw you instinctively nuzzle into the pillow, still lost in sleep.

The beach wasn’t far—just a few steps outside the door. That had been one of your dreams, something you whispered to him in the depths of District Thirteen when hope had been nothing more than a stubborn ember. A house by the sea. He made it happen. One item checked off your bunker-made bucket list, and he'd do it all again if he had to.

After his morning swim, Finnick came back inside, toweling off the saltwater and starting breakfast. Well—breakfast for three now. Baby number one was arriving in six months, and Finnick couldn’t contain his giddiness as he cracked four eggs into the pan—two for him, one for you, and one for the little one growing inside you. He toasted bread and sliced your favorite fruits, arranging them neatly on one of the pink plates you’d bought just a few weeks ago. Hot chocolate was next, two cups. Finnick never liked coffee, and you’d been leaning away from it lately too—something about the baby bringing out your sweet tooth more and more with each passing day.

Finnick liked to say it was the baby inheriting your love for all things sugary. You never had the heart to argue.

While he stirred the hot chocolate, you snuck up behind him, wrapping your arms around his bare waist and peppering his back, shoulders, and the nape of his neck with soft, sleepy kisses. Your mumbled "good morning" made his heart stutter the way it always had. He set the spoon down instantly, turning to scoop you into his arms and drown you in kisses—sloppy, dramatic ones, all over your face. You groaned, pushing him away half-heartedly, calling him disgusting. He only laughed. Hormones, he figured.

After breakfast, you tried to help him clean, but of course, Finnick wasn’t having any of that. He picked you up and sat you on the counter, wagging his finger with a grin. “Sit pretty for me, sweetheart,” he told you, and you did, watching as he cleaned up every last dish.

Then came the bath—shared between soft giggles, soapy hands, and fleeting kisses. Finnick’s calloused fingers were gentle as they moved over your skin, washing you with care. His lips were greedy for affection but never rough. He was never in a rush. And he always kissed you like he’d been waiting forever. Maybe he had.

It was barely ten in the morning when you both collapsed onto the couch, limbs tangled. Finnick had gotten obsessed with some new show that came out recently—something with drama and swords, probably—and you rested your head on his chest, listening to the steady thump of his heart while he peeled an orange and fed it to you piece by piece. You were warm, safe, content—but also just the tiniest bit restless.

You weren’t ungrateful. Not even close. But the days were starting to blur together. And sure, the nightmares still crept in sometimes, but when the sun rose, everything became soft and slow again. Sometimes... maybe too slow. You loved Finnick. You loved your life. But there was a tiny part of you that missed the thrill, the spark, even if it came with a little chaos.

Maybe you just needed a plan. Or a distraction. Or maybe—just maybe—you were about to stir up some harmless trouble just to see Finnick roll his eyes and chase after you again.

You slowly began to slide off Finnick’s body, but his arm instinctively tightened around your waist, tugging you right back into place. His eyes finally peeled away from the TV, landing on your face where your cheek was smushed into his shoulder, a slight pout forming.

A soft smile curved his lips. “Where you goin’, baby?” he asked, leaning in to kiss you lazily.

“Just gonna pee,” you mumbled, gently pushing yourself off him.

Finnick let out a quiet hum and loosened his hold, though his hand caught yours for a split second before letting go, giving it a light squeeze. “Come back quick. It’s cold.”

You hummed in reply, skipping lightly down the hall—but instead of turning toward the bathroom, you veered left. One last glance over your shoulder confirmed it: Finnick was still glued to the screen, completely enraptured by the show. He didn’t even notice you were headed the wrong way, too busy tearing open a bar of chocolate with exaggerated focus. You stifled a laugh as you caught sight of him with one leg propped dramatically over the couch, elbow resting just right so he could eat his chocolate with minimal effort. He looked absolutely ridiculous—and you loved him even more for it.

You turned your attention back ahead and hurried into your shared bedroom, making a beeline for the vanity. With practiced speed, you grabbed a few pouches, some bottles, and a small handheld mirror before sneaking your way back into the living room.

Finnick looked immediately confused when you plopped down on his stomach, arms full of makeup.

He tilted his head slightly, one brow arching as he wordlessly grabbed the remote and switched off the TV. “What’s all this, honey?” he asked, narrowing his eyes at you like he already knew he was about to be roped into something.

You gave him your most innocent smile as you set everything down on the coffee table. “Just gonna doll you up a little, Finn. Nothing serious.”

His hands found your waist again, warm and firm as his thumbs started rubbing gentle circles. “Uh huh,” he muttered, unconvinced. “I better not end up lookin’ like one of those Capitol clowns again.”

You giggled, already dabbing a bit of primer on the back of your hand and warming it between your fingers. “No, baby. I swear. You’re gonna look fantastic this time.”

The product was cool and a little wet against his skin, and it made him flinch slightly—but he didn’t move away. Instead, he relaxed under your touch, eyes fluttering shut as your fingers smoothed the product across his cheeks, the bridge of his nose, and his forehead.

He didn’t say anything after that. He just breathed softly, letting you work your magic, trusting you the way he always did—with everything.

You took your time, layering a bit of concealer under his eyes and patting it in gently. Finnick peeked one eye open. “This supposed to get rid of my eye bags?”

You nodded. “Mhm. You're gonna look so fresh people are gonna think you sleep ten hours a night and drink kale smoothies.”

He snorted. “Joke’s on them—I live off chocolate and my pregnant wife’s cravings.”

You grinned, tapping his nose playfully with the sponge. “Exactly. You're a miracle of modern beauty.”

Finnick let out a dramatic sigh, flopping his head back on the couch cushion. “Do what you must, sweetheart. My face is yours.”

That earned a little laugh from you as you pulled out a brow pencil. “Okay, but hold very, very still. This part is serious business.”

Finnick's eyes popped open with exaggerated fear. “Wait. Are you gonna touch the brows? The golden arches?”

You rolled your eyes, trying not to giggle. “Relax. I’m just filling them in a little. You barely have any tails.”

“I like my barely-there brow tails!” he gasped.

“You also liked jelly with tuna once,” you reminded him, arching a brow right back.

“Hey, that was an experimental phase,” he muttered as he pouted and stayed still, though his lips twitched with amusement.

With light strokes, you filled in his brows, gave him a little eyeshadow—not too much, just a bit of shimmer to bring out those ridiculous green eyes—and then, very carefully, you reached for the mascara.

Finnick opened his eyes when he felt you hesitate. “What now?”

“Do not flinch,” you warned. “If you blink while I’m doing this, you’ll ruin the whole masterpiece and we’ll have to start over.”

Finnick sat up straighter like he was prepping for war. “Understood. Eyes wide. No blinking. Death before dishonor.”

You held in your laughter as you leaned closer, applying the mascara with surgical precision.

He blinked at the last second. Mascara dotted his upper lid.

“Finn,” you sighed without glancing at him, “stop staring at me like that.”

“Like what?”

“Like you’re two seconds away from getting down on one knee and singing a love ballad about me.”

He grinned, absolutely unapologetic. “I actually might, you know—hang on, just let me—”

He shifted beneath you, clearly attempting to sit up, but you pressed your knees into the couch on either side of his waist, fixing him with a warning look.

“Stay still. I’m almost done.”

He obeyed with an exaggerated pout, hands resting obediently on your thighs while you applied the final touches: a bit of blush to warm his cheeks, then—because you couldn’t resist—a soft pink tint to his lips. It suited him way too well.

Finnick smacked his lips dramatically. “So... do I look kissable, or very kissable?”

You tilted your head, pretending to analyze his face with the eye of a seasoned artist. “You look like a summer dream... but with emotional depth.”

His eyes lit up. “So basically, I’m a walking romance novel?”

“Exactly.”

Finnick leaned forward, lips already puckered and eyes fluttering closed like he was in the middle of some dramatic Capitol soap opera. “Then I deserve a kiss from my leading lady.”

You pulled back immediately, one hand on his chest to stop him. “Absolutely not.”

His eyes flew open. “What? Why?”

“Because I just put the lip tint on!” you said, scandalized. “It took forever to find the right shade for your undertone. If you kiss me, it’ll smudge and ruin everything.”

Finnick blinked. “So I went through all that for nothing? No kiss? No reward?”

You crossed your arms. “Your reward is looking like a ten out of ten. A kiss would destroy the integrity of my art.”

He groaned dramatically, throwing his head back. “This is a cruel, cruel world.”

You patted his cheek lightly, trying not to laugh. “Hold out ‘til I take pictures. Then you can have all the kisses you want.”

Finnick peeked up at you through his lashes, lip jutting out. “I want them now.”

“And I want to preserve the aesthetic.”

He let out a theatrical sigh, settling back against the couch cushion. “Fine. But just know this is the biggest test of my love and patience yet.”

You smirked, reaching for your camera. “Pose pretty, sweetheart. The world needs to see your artistic depth.”

You positioned yourself on the couch while still on top of Finnick, camera in hand, angling it carefully to capture Finnick in his full, made-up glory. The lighting was perfect, the lip tint still fresh, and his sea-green eyes looked unfairly stunning with just the slightest shimmer of eyeshadow catching the light. You could already tell these photos were going to be some of your favorites.

“Okay,” you murmured as you lined up the shot. “Give me dreamy. Brooding. Soft smolder. Pretend you’re on the cover of some Capitol romance novel, but it’s tasteful, not trashy.”

Finnick arched a brow and tilted his jaw just so, immediately falling into character. He shifted his expression with exaggerated drama—first a wistful, far-off gaze, then something sharp and stormy like he was about to deliver a poetic monologue about love and loss. You snorted behind the camera, trying to steady it as he flipped his hair back with a dramatic flourish.

“This one’s for District Four,” he said in a low, theatrical voice, striking a pose like he was about to sell luxury fishing equipment. “And this,” he added, turning his face to the side and narrowing his eyes, “is for my adoring fans.”

You burst into laughter, lowering the phone as your shoulders shook. “Okay, I got enough. You can stop now. Don’t strain anything.”

Finnick immediately sat up, his hands planted firmly on either side of him, muscles shifting beneath your favorite hoodie he’d thrown on earlier. His eyes locked onto yours with a glint of mischief that sent a warning straight down your spine.

“Good,” he said, lips twitching with a smirk. “Now give me my prize.”

You blinked, immediately scooting back a little on instinct. You’re now on his lap. “Don’t you dare.”

But the look on his face was dangerous. That playful, daring grin only grew wider as he started to rise from the couch like a predator who had just spotted his next meal—and unfortunately, that meal was you.

“Finnick—no.”

You yelped as you scrambled backward, but your balance was off, and Finnick was fast. In a blink, he had you tackled back onto the couch, his arms caging you in as he hovered over you with wild, delighted eyes. His weight was just heavy enough to keep you pinned, but not too much—never too much. You squirmed beneath him, palms pressed to his chest, still laughing breathlessly.

“Don’t you want to see if it’s kiss-proof?” he asked, voice all low teasing and smug delight.

You barely had time to shout before he dipped his head and smashed his mouth onto yours in the sloppiest, most ridiculous kiss he could muster. It was all squished lips and way too much pressure, his nose bumping yours and your laughter muffled beneath his lips. You tried to pull back, tried to push him away, but it was already too late—the lip tint had been thoroughly, spectacularly destroyed.

When he finally pulled back, you stared at him in absolute horror. His once-softly tinted lips were now comically smudged, color bleeding past the corners of his mouth. The tint had transferred onto your face too—your chin and upper lip dotted with smears, your nose slightly pink as if you’d rubbed your face in a bowl of berries.

“You absolute menace,” you muttered, grabbing a pillow and lightly swatting at his head.

Finnick only laughed, completely unrepentant. He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, inspecting the color with amusement. “Worth it.”

Groaning, you reached for the makeup wipes while muttering curses under your breath. “You look like you made out with a strawberry milkshake.”

He sat back proudly, eyes twinkling as he let you clean him up. “Thank you. I strive to be both delicious and memorable.”

You gave him a flat look while scrubbing the worst of the tint from his cheek. “I was serious about preserving the aesthetic. I warned you.”

“And I heard you,” Finnick replied smoothly, leaning into your touch. “I just didn’t listen.”

You tossed the used wipe aside with a sigh, already reaching for the primer again. “You know what? Fine. Sit still. But if you try anything again, I’m going full Capitol glam this time. Glitter, sequins, fake lashes, the works.”

He blinked, genuinely intrigued. “Will there be rhinestones?”

You narrowed your eyes. “There will be humiliation.”

But five minutes later, Finnick had a shimmer of gold dust on his temples, a tiny glittering heart stamped onto his cheekbone, and his lip tint perfectly reapplied—though this time, you kept a strict three-foot distance rule.

“I look fabulous,” he said, examining his reflection in your phone camera with the pride of a man who knew exactly what he was doing.

“You look like a fever dream,” you countered, though your smile betrayed how much you adored every second of it.

Finnick leaned back against the couch, arms behind his head as he basked in your attention. “Then dream of me, sweetheart. But no more kiss bans after this.”

You raised your brow, uncapping the glitter tube again. “That depends. Do you want glitter eyebrows next?”

He paused, eyes darting to the tube, then back to you.

“…Yes,” he whispered solemnly.

By the time the makeover wound down, the living room looked like a beauty salon had exploded. Brushes were scattered across the coffee table, half-opened palettes balanced on the cushions, and there was a trail of glitter dusting the floor like a trail of stardust. You sat cross-legged beside Finnick on the couch, your elbow resting against his arm as you admired your handiwork one last time.

He looked thoroughly ridiculous and painfully handsome all at once—his lashes curled and tinted, cheeks kissed with soft color, and a shimmer of gold catching the light on the apples of his cheeks. And somehow, despite it all, he wore every bit of it like he was born to.

Finnick tilted his head toward you, watching as you gently gathered the last few items into your pouch. His hand found yours again, fingers threading through with quiet purpose.

“You’re really something, you know that?” he said, voice low and steady in a way that made your heart ache just a little.

You glanced at him, a smile already forming. “Is this about the makeup or the fact I managed to keep you still for twenty minutes?”

He chuckled, eyes half-lidded with lazy warmth. “Both. But mostly just... you.”

For a moment, neither of you said anything. The sun had started shifting through the windows, casting soft golden beams across the walls and painting the room in a warm, drowsy hue. Outside, the sound of waves drifted in faintly through the cracked window. It was quiet, peaceful in a way your life hadn’t been for years. And now, here you were—curled up with the man you loved, laughter still lingering in the air, his skin dusted with sparkles and your heart full.

Finnick leaned over slowly, brushing his nose against your temple. “You know, if you ever get tired of me doing absolutely everything around here, you could just sit on me and do my makeup more often.”

You snorted. “Is that your way of asking me to pamper you?”

“I think I’ve earned it,” he murmured, his lips grazing the edge of your cheek. “After everything. After all of it.”

Your hand found his jaw, thumb sweeping gently across the tinted corner of his mouth. “Yeah. I think you have.”

You leaned in, kissing just beside his lips this time—careful, so you didn’t smudge the color, but slow enough to let it linger. His eyes fluttered shut as he exhaled through his nose, curling an arm around your waist and pulling you in close.

“I love you,” you whispered, your voice nearly lost in the hush of the afternoon.

“I know,” he whispered back, his smile brushing your hair. “But say it again anyway.”

You nestled against his chest, cheek against the curve of his collarbone, and held him close. “I love you,” you said again, softer this time, like it was just for him.

“And I love you most.”

And for once, there was nothing more to be said. Just two souls wrapped in warmth, laughter still clinging to the walls, and the soft, steady rhythm of a love that had survived the storm.

[lvrsturniolo]

FIRST TIMES MINISERIES— FT. MATT STURNIOLO

008. First Scare

cw; angst. crying. panic attack. pregnancy. mention of past sex. comfort.

SERIES MASTERLIST HERE

dividers by @bernardsbendystraws

The last two weeks had felt strange.

It started small. Headaches, waves of nausea. You chalk it up to stress or poor sleep. But it’s not long before the signs get harder to ignore. Your body feels heavy in a way you’ve never felt before—sluggish and off-balance, like something isn’t quite right underneath your skin.

And then there’s your period— or rather, the absence of it.

You’re five days late.

You try not to panic. You try to convince yourself it’s just stress or maybe a shift in your cycle—but deep down, your gut is screaming. You’ve never been late before. Not even once.

And the truth is, you already know why.

You and Matt had only had sex once.

Two weeks ago. Your first time. You still think about it almost every day—not just the physical part, but how close it made you feel. You remember the way he held you, how he kissed every inch of you like he meant it. How careful he was. How he whispered how proud he was of you, how good you were doing, how beautiful you were. It wasn’t rushed or messy—it was perfect.

But it had also been… unplanned. No condom. Not because you were stupid, but because you were on the pill. Because you thought you WERE being safe.

Now, you’re standing in your bathroom, staring at the mirror, heart hammering in your chest as you hold the box in your hand.

Pregnancy Test: Early Detection.

Your fingers shake as you rip the foil open. You sit on the toilet, take a deep breath, and do what you need to do.

The waiting is unbearable— you pace the floor. You check your phone. You try not to cry.

But when the timer dings, and you finally work up the courage to look down at the test, the world tilts under your feet.

PREGNANT

You fall apart.

Right there, on the cold tile of your bathroom floor, knees tucked to your chest, tears pouring down your face. You grip the little plastic test so tightly it might crack in your palm. But the word doesn’t change. It’s still there. Still real.

You want to scream. You want to run. But you can’t move. You can’t breathe.

Because how do you tell the boy you’ve only been with for seven months—the boy you just gave yourself to for the very first time—that you might be having his baby?

Your phone buzzes somewhere on your counter. You don’t even flinch.

You can’t tell Matt. Not yet. Not like this. You’re scared—terrified—that this will be too much. That the moment you tell him, he’ll look at you differently. He’ll leave.

Because he’s young. You both are. He’s 21, and you’re just 20. You haven’t even figured out the rest of your lives yet, let alone the idea of creating one together.

You stay there on the bathroom floor until your body goes numb and your throat aches from crying.

And then—there’s a knock on your front door.

“Baby?” Matt’s voice calls softly. “You home?”

Your heart jumps in your chest.

Him telling you he might stop by after filming was the last thing you had thought about today.

You don’t move. Don’t answer.

A beat passes. Then the soft clink of keys, and the front door creaks open.

“Sweetheart?” His footsteps come down the hall, cautious, unsure.

When he reaches the bathroom doorway, he stops. His voice drops.

“Oh my God—hey, hey—baby?”

He’s on the floor with you in an instant, kneeling beside you, his hands cupping your face.

“Look at me, Angel. What’s going on? What happened?”

You can’t even speak. Your throat’s tight, your stomach twisting.

“Are you hurt? Are you sick?” His eyes scan you frantically. “Sweetheart, talk to me, please—”

You manage to lift your trembling hand and gesture weakly to the plastic stick on the tile next to you.

Matt’s eyes flick over. He blinks once. Twice. Reaches for it.

Silence.

Then—quietly, brokenly—he says, “Is this yours?”

You nod, barely.

He holds the test in both hands, staring at the word like he doesn’t fully believe it. Then he swallows, gently sets it down, and turns back to you.

And you finally speak, voice cracking through tears. “I didn’t mean to— I’m on the pill so I thought—”

“Hey, hey,” he cuts in, reaching for you again, pulling you into his chest. “Stop. You didn’t do anything wrong.”

“I didn’t even think about it that night—I should’ve—but I didn’t, and now—”

“It’s not your fault.” He says it firmly this time. “You didn’t do anything wrong, baby. Not one thing.”

You curl into him. He holds you tighter. Your tears soak into his sweatshirt.

“Y-you’re gonna leave,” you whisper. “I didn’t know how to tell you. I was scared—I’m scared.”

His arms tighten around you, lips pressing to the top of your head. “Did i say i was leaving? Absolutely not. I’m scared too. But not of you. This is on me just as much as it is you sweetheart.”

Your breathing shudders, hitching in your throat. “It was only one time— and I’m on the pill s-so i thought i-it couldn’t happen.”

“I know.” He exhales, and you feel the weight of it in his chest.

Neither of you speak for a while.

He’s sitting with his back against the bathroom wall now, you tucked into his side. His thumb rubs slow circles on your back, and your legs are tangled together, warm despite the chill of the tile.

Eventually, he murmurs, “We’ll figure this out.”

You shake your head against him. “I don’t know how.”

“You don’t have to. Not right now.” He presses a kiss to your forehead. “We’ll take it one day at a time. You’re not doing this alone. I promise. I love you so much.”

Matt leans back to look at you, and his eyes are soft. Serious. “We figure out what you can do. We make a plan. Whatever you decide, I’m staying right here.”

You believe him. You feel it in the way he’s holding you.

Tears sting your eyes again. “I don’t even know what comes next. W-what about your career? You can’t travel around and do events— or film out late with a kid. What are Chris and Nick going to think? They don’t even know me that well yet an—”

“Stop it right now.” He interrupts you. “You mean more to me than any career. We will figure it all out. And you don’t have to worry for a second about my brothers. They’ve only heard about you from what I’ve said and from the few times you’ve been around them— and i promise they love you so much, because they love me so much and they see how happy you make me.” He says softly, kissing your temple and giving your hand a reassuring squeeze.

He helps you to your feet slowly. Leads you to the couch, wraps a blanket around your shoulders, and pulls you into his lap. He doesn’t let go—not even for a second.

Hours pass. Neither of you says much. But it’s enough.

Because despite the fear and uncertainty, Matt is still here.

Loving you no matter what.

Even though your whole world just changed, you know one thing for sure— and that is that you’re not in this alone, no matter what.

It’s starting to get really realllll chat !!