#fixed rate explained

[moneymakesmoneynow]

Guaranteed annuity rates transfer No Further a Mystery

Greg Daugherty has labored twenty five+ years being an editor and writer for big publications and Web sites. He can be the creator of two books.

Liquidity Constraints:

Fixed annuities normally have surrender costs and penalties for early withdrawals, making them much less liquid in comparison with other financial investment possibilities.

Last but not least, there’s the issue of what “guaranteed” actually suggests. Annuities will not be federally insured, as most bank accounts are. When state guaranty cash might provide some defense if an insurer defaults on its annuities, the best safeguard is to acquire an annuity only from an insurance company with stable credit score scores from independent businesses like Moody’s and Standard and Weak’s.  

Principal Defense:

The principal investment decision inside a fixed annuity is protected from market fluctuations, offering a secure financial investment possibility.

The annuitant might also withdraw the accrued price as being a lump sum, but this feature may bring about considerable tax liabilities and lack of income guarantees.

Any time you obtain a estimate, we’ll show you if any individual else provides bigger rates. So, you’ll have the option to match a wide range of retirement income selections and be sure you’re obtaining the best offer for you personally.

Interest rates will range based on the form of annuity plus the service provider. You can customize the quantity of payments for each year in the deal, but most annuitants acquire payouts once every month or twelve periods for every year.

Guaranteed annuity rates are fixed interest rates presented on specified sorts of annuities. They offer the annuity holder with a guaranteed, continuous income stream for a specified period or for life, regardless of market place fluctuations.

Fixed Annuity vs. Variable Annuity A fixed annuity can pay the annuity’s operator a predetermined interest rate on their income during the accumulation stage.

Request a question regarding your economical condition delivering as much detail as feasible. Your information is saved safe rather than shared Unless of course you specify.

Should you’re all set to reap the benefits of the life span income ensure that an annuity delivers, merely enter your annuity total, age and guaranteed annuity rates rate of return into our immediate annuity calculator to have an estimated month to month income.

One of the critical functions of guaranteed annuity rates is definitely the fixed interest rate. After the annuity deal is signed, the interest rate is set and will not likely alter through the length of the annuity, no matter market fluctuations.

Pro suggestion:

Industry experts usually tend to answer queries when qualifications and context is supplied. The greater details you offer, the more quickly plus more extensive reply you will acquire.

three. Tax Benefits: The tax-deferred growth of earnings in fixed annuities allows for more quickly compounding and tax discounts through the accumulation stage.

[satoblue]

SPOTS — nanami kento

kento’s yellow tie goes missing. | wc: 1.0k

f!reader, established relationship (married), you have a daughter, fluff, kento can’t say no to his little girl, the backstory of how his tie came to be… unique, unedited, this was rushed and unplanned, satoru cameo at the end (i couldn’t help myself heh) | dividers made by me

kento’s tie didn’t always have the black spots it does today. it used to be a simple, bright yellow, void of the interesting pattern which was frankly — not of his own choosing. that is, until it went missing one morning.

the man searched high and low in a rush. at this rate, he would be late for work.

where he usually stored this specific yellow tie to go with this outfit in particular, he found the little pocket beside all his other neatly organized ones to be empty.

how unusual. it’s not as if it grew a pair of legs and walked away on its own.

“hm…”, he hummed to himself in thought, fist below his chin as he cruised his brain to remember where it was last seen. you watch from the bed, having just woken up, blinking away your drowsiness as your flustered husband tries retracing his steps.

even in your exhaustion, you can tell what this is about. he was your man after all.

after a minute of erratic pacing, kento turns to you, face determined and serious. before he can question if you knew about its whereabouts, you give a slight shake of the head.

still disoriented, slowly coming back down to earth, you reply hoarsely, “when i did the laundry, i put it in there. you can’t find it?”

you shuffle out of bed, your feet meeting the carpeted flooring as you make your approach to the dresser.

he grumbles under his breath, a small “no”, mind preoccupied with finding his lost tie.

“can’t you just wear another? i’ll find it later while you’re at work.” you suggest carefully, peeking into the dresser and admiring the variety in your husband’s collection.

you pick one out with a delicate touch, a light blue bordering white, holding it to his chest over his very blue dress shirt.

kento gives you a look, like he expects you to know the reason why. and even if he did, he doesn’t fail to explain it to you yet again. it is simply one of his quirks.

he pries the piece of fabric gently from your hands, folding it back up.

“you know the others don’t go well with this outfit, dearest. especially this one — it clashes with my shirt.”

you huff.

“oh, you—”

before you can respond in a teasing, exasperated manner like usual at his peculiar antics, the both of you turn your heads towards the doorway at the sound of excited little feet skipping down the hall. a small head of hair peeks in not a moment later.

“daddy’s tie?”, your little one inquires, the incomplete sentence endearing to your ears. she must’ve overheard your conversation and her father’s ceaseless shuffling so early in the morning.

“yes, baby. daddy’s tie is missing.” you smile sweetly, crouching slightly. “the yellow one.” you clarify.

your daughter blinks. and then she does it again.

“yellow?”, she repeats.

“mhm!”, you nod.

she takes your hand into both of hers. “i know!”

kento’s brows raise, fixing his sleeves down where he had previously rolled them up to his elbows, and you look down at her in surprise. “you do?”

you take a glance at your husband and then back again. “where is it?”

she doesn’t answer your question exactly, but she does giggle cheekily, “made it pretty.”

you don’t even have to turn back around to see that your husband had frozen in place from those three words. you continue to smile, though you were a bit wary.

“made it pretty..? what do you mean by that, baby?”

“was ugly… baby made it pretty…”, her voice trails off, getting more unsure and quiet by the second under her father’s blank stare.

with pursed lips and narrowed eyes, you hold back a snort.

you don’t know whether to laugh at the fact your daughter was referring to herself in the third person by the pet name you and her father tend to call her by, rarely mentioning her real one unless she was being naughty that she forgets it is even her own name — or that she decorated one of her daddy’s precious ties.

when kento fails to say anything, likely still in shock, you speak up.

“can you show me?”

hesitating slightly, your baby girl nods. she takes one of your fingers into her small hand, guiding you out of your bedroom and into her play room while kento follows closely and silently from behind.

upon entering, you notice it immediately on her play table beside a black, uncapped marker that was likely dried out at this point. she takes it, holding it up for both of you to see her spotty craftsmanship on the silky fabric.

kento’s tie did not, in fact, grow legs and wander off. but, it looks like it would.

“giraffe!”

the both of you stare wordlessly.

now, kento could be quite the complex man at times. he could just wear another color tie. or yet, if he’s feeling a little extra, go to a store on his lunch break and buy an identical one.

he decides, ultimately, it is too much of a hassle.

there is also the urge inside him to correct his daughter on her misconception that giraffe’s have black spots and that they were yellow — that the design is more akin to that of a lizard’s.

but the bright, sparkling eyes of his little girl peering up at him stops him before he can even utter a word.

he’ll probably purchase another one. for now, he guess he’ll just have to make do.

extra:

when kento heads to work half an hour later, he knows on the way there that he has to prepare. he knows what to expect from a certain someone.

as he steps foot into the building, he immediately hears the familiar voice from across the hall.

gojo satoru snorts.

“nice tie, nanami!”

[sweetstrawberryys]

"Booby Trap"

Summary: You got into an argument. Youre trying to make a point. He's not listening. Then you lifted your shirt.

Rating: Mild nudity, suggestive humor, Tf141 being helpless

Masterlist

---

KYLE "GAZ" GARRICK:

Kyle’s pacing.

Hand gestures. Raised eyebrows. Voice getting all high-pitched in the way it does when he thinks he’s making a solid point.

“You always do this, babe! You say ‘I’ll clean it up in a minute’ and then it’s a week later and the broom is still in the fookin’ shower! I nearly slipped and died tryin’ to have a rinse!”

You try to explain. “Okay but that wasn’t—”

“No, no. Don’t ‘babe’ me. This is a pattern. A toxic pattern. If we were on a talk show, I’d be the man cryin’ on the couch, sayin’ I deserve better!”

You sigh.

Then you lift your shirt.

Two seconds of silence. Maybe three.

Then—

“…I forgive you.”

You blink. “What?”

Kyle’s eyes are fixed. He’s doing that thing where he’s not blinking, not breathing, not processing.

“I don’t remember what I was mad about. That information is gone now. Like a hard drive after Ghost hits it with a crowbar.”

You start laughing. “I don’t think that’s how—”

“Shh.” He waves a hand. Still staring. “We don’t need logic here. We need peace. Love. And boobs.”

You smirk. “You’re so easy.”

“Yeah?” he says with a grin, already pulling you into his arms. “Well maybe if you weaponized your chaos a little less effectively, I’d win more arguments.”

You kiss his cheek and pull your shirt back down.

Kyle whines.

“But I was enjoyin’ the view! That was the best part of my day!”

---

SIMON "GHOST" RILEY:

Simon’s arms are crossed, foot tapping. He looks like a pissed-off gargoyle in tactical gear.

“You left without tellin’ anyone,” he says, voice low and flat. “That’s twice now. We had no eyes, no backup, and you came back with a limp.”

“It was a short recon. I was fine—”

He steps in closer. Not yelling. That’s not his style. But you can feel the tension in him, all knotted in his shoulders and jaw.

“Doesn’t matter if you were fine. You could’ve not been. And I—” He stops himself. Breathes through his nose.

And you know that look. That haunted edge he tries to cover with gruff discipline.

So… you do what any emotionally intelligent, loving, supportive partner would do in this moment.

You flash him.

His breath catches audibly. Like someone punched him.

His mask twitches.

And then—he full-body jerks back a step like he’s seen a flashbang.

“My God, love—!”

You smile sweetly. “Still mad?”

He presses both hands to the top of his head like he’s trying to physically keep his brain inside his skull. “That is so unfair. That’s criminal behavior.”

“You gonna arrest me?”

“Don’t tempt me,” he grumbles, ears flaming red above the mask. “Bloody hell. You can’t just—present yourself like that while I’m mid-sentence.”

“Why not?”

“Because I’m trying to discipline you and now I can’t remember what words are.” He turns away like he needs to recalibrate. “Fuckin’ tits out like it’s Mardi Gras…”

You come up behind him, arms around his middle. “I’m sorry, Ghostie.”

His voice drops into a mumble, soft, stunned. “…Still can’t believe you’d show me, of all people…”

You press a kiss to the back of his shoulder.

“You’ve seen all of me before.”

“Yeah, but I never recover.”

---

CAPTAIN JOHN PRICE:

Price has his “Captain Voice” on.

Which means he’s calm. Stern. Too composed for his own good.

You’re sitting on the edge of the armory bench like a scolded schoolkid, and he’s pacing in front of you with his sleeves rolled and disappointment radiating like a heatwave.

“You disobeyed a direct order,” he says, pausing to look at you. “Took an unvetted route through a hostile zone, and worse—told Soap it was fine.”

“He said he wanted excitement,” you mutter.

“He’s not a golden retriever, sweetheart, he’s a trained soldier—he’ll chase a shiny thing if you wave it the right way.”

You smirk. “That’s on him.”

He stops pacing. Leans against the wall with his arms crossed. “I don’t like being ignored. I don’t like being lied to. And I especially don’t like being flirted with to avoid accountability.”

“…Is that a challenge?”

He narrows his eyes. “Don’t.”

You lift your shirt.

He doesn’t move.

But something in his eyes flickers. Like the last grip on his self-control just wobbled.

A slow breath escapes him. His jaw tightens. “Darlin’…”

“Yes, Captain?”

“We were having a conversation.”

“Mmhm.”

His gaze is very deliberately locked on your face. Not once does he let it drop, though you can feel the effort behind it. He’s mentally filing away every inch for later—probably in 4K.

“You think flashing me’s gonna get you out of trouble?”

You hum. “Is it working?”

His tongue presses against the inside of his cheek.

There’s a pause.

Then:

“You are in trouble. Deep trouble. And now I’ve got somethin’ else to punish you for.”

He pushes off the wall and walks right past you, but not before murmuring, “Put that away before I forget what century we’re in.”

You hear him mutter down the hallway:

“…fuckin’ menace…”

---

JOHNNY "SOAP" MACTAVISH:

You’re not even arguing about something serious.

Just who left the fridge open and let Ghost’s protein shakes turn into swamp water.

But Johnny’s committed to the bit. He’s pacing the kitchen, shirt half-buttoned, waving around a spoon like it’s a gavel.

“You think this is a game, bonnie? Do you know what Ghost is like when his protein goes off? Do you?! The man’s already emotionally fragile! You’re gonna send him over the fuckin’ edge! Next thing we know, he’s knittin’ socks in the murder room and mutterin’ about betrayal!”

“Johnny, relax,” you laugh, arms folded. “You’re being dramatic.”

“I’m bein’ reasonable! Look at the data!” He gestures to the fridge. “Smells like a corpse and regret!”

You wait for him to turn around.

And then—flash.

He turns back mid-rant, spoon raised—

—and drops it instantly.

Eyes go wide. Neck jerks back. He actually stumbles.

“Wha— You can’t just—I was making a POINT!”

“You’re not mad anymore, are you?”

“No, I am—I’m—fuck—” He runs both hands down his face, like he’s buffering. “That’s dirty pool. That’s against the Geneva Booby Convention or whatever!”

You grin. “Would you rather I took more off?”

He pauses. Thinks.

Then, with zero hesitation, he yanks down his pants.

“Right. If this is how we fight now, I’m bringin’ my best weapons.”

You shriek, laughing. “Johnny!”

He poses proudly, pants puddled around his ankles. “I’d argue more if we’re just gettin’ naked every time! This is the best relationship dynamic ever.”

Bonus:

From the doorway, Price’s voice cuts in, deadpan.

“MacTavish, for the love of God, put your pants back on.”

Ghost mutters behind him. “Every bloody time.”

Kyle pops his head around the corner. “Hey, are we flashing again? I didn’t realize we were flashing again—wait up!”

[smileysuh]

dark protector

🌙 starring. Choi Seungcheol x afab!Reader

🔮 preview. “When I’m balls deep in your pussy, watching you writhe under me, listening to your pretty sounds- that will be the cherry on top of this birthday,” he explains. “Thank you for wanting to make me feel good, but- usually, baby, I like to be the giver.”

tw/cw. mentions of past relationship abuse/trauma/cheating, alcohol, bar fights, Cheol gets grazed with a knife, unprotected sex, dry humping, hand job, blow job, pussy eating, fingering, pleasure dom!Cheol, breast worship, dirty talk, praise, size kink/manhandling, multiple reader orgasms, groping, Cheol is a big muscled tattooed man, creampie, birthday sex, etc… I pet names: (hers) baby.

👹 rating.18+ explicit I wc. 14.2k

🍭 aus. tattoo/motorcycle au, nurse!reader, soulmates, etc…

☀️ mlist + an.  The tarot deck used in the prologue is ‘The Wild Unknown Animal Spirit Guide Deck’ by Kim Krans. I had so much fun exploring a more spiritual-themed plot, the idea of soulmates and spirit guides and such :)

Prologue

It’s been six months since your breakup. Six months of self-work and healing practices. Six months of connecting with your spirit guides, hoping you can work through this dark period of your life and come out the other side.

You’ve just gotten off a long shift at the hospital, where you work as an emergency room nurse. Cleaning up other people’s messes makes you feel a little more whole every day, it shows you that while your wounds might be deeper than the skin, you have the resources to fix things that seem unfixable.

After a shower, you slump onto your couch, your hands reaching for one of your tarot decks. It’s as if you can feel the energy radiating off your spirit animal cards, and you remove them carefully from the box, holding them close to your chest.

“Spirit,” you say softly. “I think I’m finally ready to try dating again. But I’m scared. I’m scared I’ll end up in the same situation as last time, finding a man who needs to be fixed- I know my pattern is finding broken men, and I’m done with that. I need guidance. I need some sort of sign that will show up when I meet the right person.”

Part of your healing journey was writing down what traits you’d want in a partner. You’d made a list that included, ‘kind, smart, patient, stable, loyal, and protective,’ and you’d folded to your own physical tastes by writing ‘tattoos’ as well. You can’t help it, you like the way art looks on skin, and although all the tatted bad boys you’ve dated in the past have been assholes, you’re holding onto a hope that you can find a good man with tattoos. You know they’re out there, you just have to find one.

“Spirit, can you help me pull a card, and whatever animal is on that card could be a tattoo that my future significant other would have?” you ask. “Please don’t choose a lion or a wolf or something super common- I want an animal that is a little more unique, something that couldn’t just be coincidence… but, I mean, if my soulmate is meant to have a wolf then I guess I can make that work.”

You hate questioning your guides, hate putting boundaries on them. If your soulmate has a stupid, overdone tattoo like every other man with ink, then so be it.

Taking a deep breath, you begin to shuffle your spirit animal deck. 

You’re not being too fast with your shuffle, you prefer to sit for a long time and wait for cards to pop out rather than force a reading with erratic motions. Focusing on your breathing, and your ask from the spirit, you wait patiently.

Soon, a card pops out, landing on the coffee table in front of you.

An Elk looks up at you, and you take a moment to assess the card before finding the guide book.

You flip to the Earth section, finding the Elk easily. There are a few keywords at the top of the reading, they say ‘Stable, resilient, headstrong, the father.’

Stable is a word you’d written into your boyfriend manifestation notes, and you consider that for a moment before reading further. 

“The great Elk represents the Earth element in its masculine form. This means it provides underlying support and stability amidst life’s many changes. An Elk personality is fully established in themselves and knows their core values. They become known and respected for acting in ways that uphold those values. Sometimes the Elk’s ego can become inflated, but for the most part, they make damn good fathers, mothers, lovers, and friends. The world needs more elk energy.”

You think about the type of man who could be stable, whether that’s financially or emotionally. You’re hoping to find a man as set and in love with his job as you are- the kind of man you could build a future with. You’d be lying if you said you hadn’t been thinking about kids, and the note that Elk personalities make good fathers and lovers makes the feeling of hope stir within you.

However, the Elk - like the Lion and the Wolf -  is a pretty common tattoo. 

“I’m wondering if I should ask for a second card,” you tell your guides. “This deck has numerous animals connected to zodiac signs. Fish for Pisces, Scorpion for Scorpio… I know not all zodiacs have an animal correlated to them, so I won’t use this as a defining factor, but… maybe to make things even a little more specific, could you help me pull a card to represent the zodiac sign for my future Elk tattooed boyfriend?” 

This feels like a lot. And you’re aware that there are only a few cards in this large deck that will actually connect to the zodiac, so you prepare yourself for a dud card.

You begin to shuffle, and this time, a card pops out even faster than the first. It’s face down on your coffee table, and you take a breath, willing this to be a sign.

When you flip the card, you find a lion staring up at you.

The lion is correlated with the Leo zodiac, and you swallow thickly, thinking about the traits generally connected to Leos. The words that come to mind are ‘confident, loyal, ambitious, and protective,’ two of which are traits you’d manifested.

You find your guidebook again, reading the top line of traits: “Patient, regal, a complete master.”

“The Lion is a master of the fire element and the living mascot of self-transformation. A lion personality dedicates their life to personal and spiritual growth. This dedication inspires some and intimidates others, therefore the Lion is respected by all but known intimately by few. Some mistake the Lion as hard to access or aloof, yet those with a keener eye know better. Lions are observant, stealth, and precise in their words and actions. They do not waste energy or resources. This card reminds us that self-mastery is available to all, no matter where our quest begins.”

You consider your reading as you put your deck away and head to bed. A Leo man with an Elk tattoo, someone who is patient, stable, headstrong, loyal, and maybe a little egotistical, but hopefully not in any ways that would be damaging to you like your narcissist of an ex-boyfriend.

You’re prepared to not find a man who fits this bill, but you feel a little better about narrowing down the traits you’re attracted to. Some people don’t believe in tarot, and while you can understand that, this reading has spoken to you in a way that you can’t quite explain.

There’s no timeline to the reading, and you won’t be restricting yourself waiting for a man with an Elk tattoo to sweep you off your feet, but it feels a little easier having some parameters. 

When you fall asleep, you dream of a large man standing in shadows, Elk-like antlers protruding from his head. 

One:

“Tell me again how you found out about this place?” you sigh, getting out of your best friend’s car to stare at the tattoo studio.

“God, I’ve told you a hundred times,” Sunmin rolls her eyes. “One of my sister’s boyfriend’s cousins’s boyfriends work here.”

“I’m going to need you to say that slower.”

“My sister’s boyfriend, Jeonghan, his cousin is dating one of the artists here, and he says they’re all super hot. And I figured, since your tarot cards told you a few months ago that you’ll find some dude with an elk, a tattoo shop is a good place to look for him.”

“Okay, but please don’t bring up the actual tarot,” you plead. “People judge me for that shit all the time.”

“My lips are sealed but my eyes will be wide open,” she grins.

The two of you enter the tattoo shop, and the air conditioning is a welcome reprieve from the hot summer outside. Your friend chats with the receptionist about her consultation with an artist named Vernon, and soon the two of you are being escorted deeper into the studio.

It’s an open plan layout, with small sections for each artist. Only one man is currently tattooing someone, and you suppose that since it’s the morning, they likely get busier as the day goes on.

There’s a large man who approaches you and your friend as you sit in Vernon’s section. “Hi! You must be Vernon’s ten o’clock consultation! I’m Mingyu. Vernon’s just chatting with our boss in the back, but he’ll be out pretty quick.”

“Hi, I’m Sunmin and this is y/n,” your friend introduces you. “We have no problem waiting.”

“Cool. I don’t have a client for a while, I can keep you guys company while you wait for Vernon if you’d like.”

“We’d love that,” Sunmin beams. 

“How did you guys hear about us?” Mingyu asks, taking a seat on the tattoo artist chair.

“My sister’s boyfriend’s cousin is dating one of the guys who work here,” Sunmin explains.

“Is your sister’s boyfriend Jeonghan?” 

You’re shocked the man was able to follow what Sunmin just said.

“Yup! That’s him!” Sunmin confirms.

“Love that guy,” Mingyu grins. “Yeah, I’m dating his cousin. He told me he’d tell others about the shop but I didn’t think he’d actually follow through with it.”

“Well, here he is, following through,” Sunmin laughs. 

“So is this tattoo consult for you?”

Sunmin nods. “Yup! I’ve always liked ink, got a few small pieces, but I wanted something bigger for my thigh.” 

“How about you?” Mingyu asks. “Any future tattoo plans?”

“Not at the moment,” you respond, gaze shifting to a door that leads to the office in the back. Two men have come out, they’re both quite handsome, dressed in oversized hoodies that obscure any ink on their torsos. 

“I’ve actually been looking at elk tattoos,” Sunmin lies, “know anyone with anything like that?”

Mingyu opens his mouth to respond, but one of the men from the back is already approaching. “Hi, are you Sunmin?” he asks.

“That’s me,” your best friend beams.

“I’m Vernon,” the soft looking man smiles. Mingyu gets out of his seat, bidding a quick farewell before going back to his own section. As Vernon and Sunmin begin to talk about her tattoo plans, you find your eyes shifting to the man who must be the boss as he walks over to inspect the tattoo taking place.

He’s got a nice build, and you can see the outline of strong shoulders even from under his large black hoodie. He rolls up the sleeves, and you can see he’s heavily inked, but from a distance, you can’t make out any elk-like marks. 

Sunmin had done her best to try to ask Mingyu about a tattoo fitting what your tarot had told you to watch out for, but you suppose you shouldn’t be shocked that your soulmate isn’t in the first shop you’ve gone into. 

You relax against your chair, listening to Sunmin and Vernon talk.

You’ll do your best to find your Elk inked Leo, but you suppose you can’t rush the process.

Two: 

You’re at a bar with friends when you hear a commotion just outside. As the designated driver of the night, you haven’t touched any drinks, and although it might not be anything serious, your emergency room nurse instincts kick in, drawing you to the possible danger as you quickly make your way to the front of the bar.

You catch the tail end of what’s happening, one bouncer chasing after some guy who’s booking it down the street, and another man being held back by a second security guard. 

The man being held back looks enraged, and he manages to break out of the bouncers grasp- which is when you see blood on the back of his white shirt.

“Fuck that guy,” the injured man snarles, and when he turns, you catch a glimpse of his profile.

It’s the man from the tattoo parlour, the one you assumed was the boss.

While he looks extremely pissed off, you can’t help but approach. “Excuse me,” you say quietly, grabbing his attention. “You’re bleeding.”

“Am I?” He looks over his shoulder, grabbing at his shirt where the blood is. “Fuck, he must have grazed me.”

Must have grazed him… with a knife?

“I’m uh… I’m an ER nurse, do you mind if I take a look?” you ask.

“I’ll grab the first aid kit,” the bouncer tells you, darting back into the bar.

“I’m fine,” the tattooed man tells you.

“Then there’s no harm in me taking a look to confirm that.” You try to smile softly at him.

The man looks at you, narrowing his eyes. “Don’t I know you from somewhere?”

“I think I was at your parlour last week, my friend had a consult,” you explain. “I’m y/n.”

He looks you up and down. “Seungcheol.”

You can see the anger and tension dissipating from his shoulders. 

“Why don’t you take a seat on the curb and I’ll look at your shoulder?” you suggest.

Seungcheol sighs, but does as he’s told. He sits down, grabbing at the back of his shirt. You catch him wince as he tugs the bloodied fabric off, and you’re shocked at what’s revealed.

It’s not the slight gash that makes you take a step back, it’s the Elk head tattoo on the center of his spine, with large antlers tangling up toward the back of his neck.

“Is it that bad?’ Seungcheol asks, looking over his shoulder at you again.

“No, it’s not that.” You do your best to compose yourself, kneeling down to look at the wound, although your eyes keep going back to the Elk. 

The bouncer returns with the first aid kit, and Seungcheol sits there quietly while you clean the wound. “You’re right that it was a graze, but I still think stitches would be a good idea,” you tell him.

“I’m not going to the hospital,” Seungheol responds while you press gauze to the wound, bandaging him up with medical tape. 

“Why not?”

“I just don’t like hospitals,” the beefy tattooed man says simply.

You release a sigh. “Listen, I’m going to give you my number, and if there’s any sign of infection, call me, okay?”

“You said you're an emergency room nurse, right?” he asks, standing up when you finish with his shoulder.

“Uh huh.” Words evade you as you look at his chiseled chest, and you do your best not to be too obvious at the way you’re gawking at him.

“Aren’t you going to ask me what I did to piss off the dude with the knife?”

“It’s not important,” you respond quickly. “You identified it as a knife wound, and that’s all I needed to know.”

“I was in the emergency room one time, got stabbed by some kid outside a strip club, the nurses kept pestering me about the details. It’s one of the reasons I don’t like hospitals,” Seungcheol explains.

“Well, your business is your business,” you tell him. “All I care about is that your wound doesn’t get infected, and you take care of it if you’re not getting stitches.”

Seungcheol’s gaze feels hot as he stares at you, and then he pulls his phone out of his pocket, handing it to you. “Here. For your number.”

Your fingers are shaky as you type in your digits before handing it back to him, and you can’t help but notice the way your hands briefly touch.

“I need a drink,” Seungcheol says. “You coming back inside? I’ll buy you something, as a thank you for not pestering me.”

“No thanks is necessary,” you try to assure him, but Seungcheol is already reaching for your hand.

“Don’t fight this,” he tells you. “Let me say thank you in the way that I know how.”

You allow the big burly man to guide you back into the bar. He orders himself a shot of tequila, then turns to you expectantly.

“Uh, can I get an iced tea?” you ask.

“Not drinking?”

“I’m the designated driver tonight,” you explain. “My friends are over there-” you turn and catch your whole table of friends staring at you. 

Seungcheol follows your gaze and smirks, offering your friends a small wave. “Okay, so you're a stay in your lane ER nurse, and you’re a designated driver.”

“That sums it up I guess,” you laugh.

“She’ll get an iced tea,” Seungcheol tells the bartender.

You like that he’s not pushing you. Some people pressure you to drink when you’re out, but you like to have your head screwed on straight on your shoulders. You never know when an emergency is going to happen, and your soul calling is helping people. On top of that, it’s nearly midnight, and you’ve got a shift in five hours that you need to be sober for.

“I’m trying to find red flags with you, you know?” Seungcheol says nonchalantly. “But so far, I’m not seeing any.”

“Maybe that’s because I don’t have any?” you suggest.

“I’ve been told I’m a walking red flag,” Seungcheol muses. 

“Tattoos can be deceiving,” you point out, although, studies do show that people with trauma are more likely to be inked- all your ex’s have had tattoos, and they’ve all had dark pasts. You can’t help you type, and staring at the man with the elk on his back, you wonder if this is going to be just another repetition. 

Your drinks are set in front of you and you watch Seungcheol down his tequila shot. He shakes his head out a little at the taste, and you appreciate the way his dark curls look with the motion. 

“Anyways, you’re here with friends, I won’t keep you,” he sighs.

“Thanks for the iced tea,” you smile softly.

“Don’t mention it,” Seungcheol nods.

You mirror the movement, grabbing your drink and heading back to your table.

The moment you’re seated, all your friends erupt into chatter.

“Who was that?!” one asks.

“He was hot!” another friend notes.

“Wasn’t that the dude from the tattoo shop?” Sunmin questions, looking after Seungcheol. “Is he… bleeding?”

“Yeah, it’s the guy from the parlour,” you sigh. “His name is Seungcheol, and yes, someone tried to stab him outside.”

“Jesus!” Sunmin’s eyes widen. “But… he bought you a drink?”

“I just cleaned the wound and bandaged it,” you explain. “He insisted on getting me a drink.”

“Well… that’s nice, isn’t it?” one of your friends says thoughtfully.

“I guess.” It’s clear you don’t want to talk about this further, and your friends quickly go back to discussing something else, but you inch closer to Sunmin. “He has a tattoo.”

“He has a lot of tattoos,” she laughs.

“No, he has like… this big elk head and antlers on his back.”

“What?!” 

“Don’t make a big deal out of it,” you warn her, not wanting her to raise her voice too loud so your other friends hear. You’re quite private about your spiritual leanings. Being a woman of science, and ER nurse no less, sometimes it feels like believing in fate isn’t something that works well with your job.

“We’re talking about this later,” Sunmin tells you.

“Yeah.”

You sit back, thinking about it.

Obviously your interaction with Seungcheol was short. He came off as a bit of a hot head, perhaps you’d even use the word brash- there was certainly a level of ego that radiated off of him as well, but, at the same time, he’s one of the most handsome tattooed men you’ve ever met.

You’d asked your guides for a sign, and tonight, the Elk had bared its antlered head.

Now it’s up to you to decide if you trust in fate, or if this is all just a coincidence. 

Three:

You’re about seven hours into your eight hour shift. Having started at five am, after being a designated driver and getting your friends home at three, you’re quite tired. Things were very busy for a while in the emergency room, but for whatever reason now that it’s noon, things have seemed to calm down a little.

You’re just sitting in the nurse station with your coworker Joshua when your phone buzzes in your pocket. It’s an unknown number, and at first, you’re not sure if you should answer it.

Against your better judgement, you bring your phone to your ear, “Hello?”

“Is this the stay in your lane ER nurse who’s also the designated driver?”

You let out a sigh. “Y/N.”

“Yeah, you.”

“Hi, Seungcheol.”

“Hi. So, I tried to stitch up the wound when I got home, and I’m not sure if I did a good job.”

“You tried to stitch it up?” you ask, already exasperated. “Why didn’t you ask me to do it at the bar?”

“I just didn’t,” he says simply.

“Send me a pic of the stitches,” you instruct.

“One sec.”

You wait patiently, and Joshua catches your eyes. ‘What’s happening?’ he mouths.

You quickly mute your call. “Some guy I helped at the bar last night got grazed by a knife, he didn’t want stitches, but decided to try to stitch himself up this morning.”

“What the fuck?” Joshua laughs.

“Okay, sent.” Seungcheol’s voice makes you hit the unmute button, and you open your messages to see the picture.

Joshua rolls closer, staring at your phone. While Seungcheol’s broad muscular back is a bit of a distraction, the stitch up job on the wound is sloppy, and draws most of your attention.

“Seungcheol,” you sigh. “I’m going to say this in the nicest possible way. You might be a tattoo artist, but your stitching skills are sub par at best.”

The line is quiet for a moment, then you hear a chuckle. “Someone’s in a grouchy mood.”

Joshua’s eyes widen, and he looks at you for your response. 

“You would be too if you spent all yesterday sleeping, woke up to be a designated driver for your friends, got home at three and had to be at work for five.”

“Oh… are you at work now?”

“Uh huh.”

“I shouldn’t bother you then,” Seungcheol says quickly.

“It’s no bother,” you assure him. “Look, I’m off in an hour. I’ll swing by to your shop to check out the stitching. Most stitches should be sewn within six to eight hours, we’re bordering on twelve- I just want to make sure there’s no infection.”

“You should just go home after work.”

“You should listen to your ER nurse and let her help you,” you retort, too tired to argue with him over this.

Seungcheol makes a groaning sound. “Fine.”

“See you in an hour.”

You hang up the phone and Joshua looks you up and down. “What’s his deal?”

“Honestly,” you sigh, “I couldn’t tell ya.”

Four:

You and Joshua often have the same shifts, and you carpool together to feel more green, so it’s Joshua who drives you to the tattoo parlour when you’re done work.

Seungcheol is waiting outside, arms crossed over his broad chest, and he eyes Joshua as the both of you get out of the car. 

“Hey,” Seungcheol says as you approach, “who’s this?”

“My coworker, Joshua,” you introduce them, and Joshua has the decency to hold out a hand.

You hold your breath, releasing it when Seungcheol gives him a customary curt handshake.

“He’s your ride?” Seungcheol asks.

“Uh huh, is that a problem?”

“I just don’t feel comfortable having him around while you check out my shoulder, even if he does work with you” Seungcheol explains. “Listen, I’ve got a motorcycle and an extra helmet in the shop, how about I take you home after this?”

Both men look at you, and for a moment, you feel flustered and put on the spot.

You’ve never been on a bike before- but fuck it, you’re too tired to work through Seungcheol’s weird alpha behavior and territorial mentality about you having a male coworker with you.

“That works,” you agree. “Thanks for the ride, Josh.”

“Text me when you’re home,” he warns, pulling you in for a hug.

You can practically feel Seungcheol staring daggers at the two of you when Joshua pulls away and heads back to his car.

Seungcheol’s demeanor is a bit icy as he leads you into the shop. You notice Vernon and Mingyu. Mingyu even says a loud “Hi, y/n!” and you nod politely as Seungcheol takes you into the back office, closing the door.

“So, is that dude your boyfriend?” he asks, heading to the first aid kit already open on his desk.

“No, I’m not seeing anyone right now. My last ex, uh… he did a number on me.” 

“Yeah?” Seungcheol takes off his shirt while you grab medical gloves to pull on. “Wanna talk about it?”

“I’m not sure what there is to say,” you admit with a sad laugh.

“Then you don’t have to say anything,” he decides.

“How about you?” you ask, softly prompting him to turn away from you on his spinny chair so you can assess the wound, gently removing the gauze. 

“What about me?” he counters.

“Are you seeing anyone?”

“Nope.” He’s quiet for a moment. “My ex was a bit of a shit show too.”

“Well I guess we’re kindred in that at least,” you smile, leaning close to get a better look at his shoulder. 

Seungcheol shivers slightly, and you think your breath on his throat must have set him off a little, but he stays silent. You notice his hands balling into fists on his thighs.

“I think your stitching can stay, but I’m going to clean your wound again and rebandage it.”

“Sounds good,” Seungcheol responds gruffly.

“While I’m doing this, do you mind if I ask about your tattoo? This big Elk?” You gently graze your surgical gloved pinky finger down his spine, and Seungcheol shivers again.

“Jesus, don’t do that,” he snaps.

“Sorry. It’s a pretty tattoo, I couldn’t help myself.” Your skin is heating with embarrassment, and you notice Seungcheol’s ears turning red too.

“I uh,” he swallows thickly. “My grandma was a tarot reader. She was always doing these readings, very connected to the Earth and shit. She used to tell me I had an Elk soul, like her. Something about spiritual guidance, protection, kindred souls or some shit. I’m not super into that stuff, but when she died, I kept having these stupid Elk dreams. Sort of felt like she was trying to communicate with me- if you believe in that sort of thing. Anyways, I figured if I got the tattoo, I’d feel closer to her, like she has my back.”

This is not the tattoo explanation you’d ever considered would come from a man like Seungcheol, and it takes you a few moments to register it and decide on a response.

“It sounds like you were very close with your grandma, I’m sorry that she passed.”

“It’s okay,” Seungcheol shrugs it off. “Shit happens.”

And just like that, he’s closing up again.

You wonder if you should tell him about your tarot connections, but you don’t want to sound like some crazy chick if you mention your spirit guides pointing you toward an Elk. Instead, you bite your tongue as you finish up his wound. 

“All done,” you announce.

Seungcheol doesn’t say anything as he stands up and puts on his shirt. “What’s your address?” he asks, pulling out his phone.

You show him on the maps where you live. “Are you sure you want to give me a ride? Don’t you have… clients?”

“I can get you home and be back in time for my next appointment,” he assures you. “Think of this as another way of saying thank you for fixing me up.”

So far, he’s shown two love languages. He’s bought you a drink, and now he’s doing an act of service. He’d seemed hesitant on touch today, unlike last night when he’d been drinking, and you wonder what his history in relationships is like.

It sounds like you’ve both had shitty past experiences.

You just want to figure him out.

“Have you been on a bike before?” Seungcheol asks, grabbing a small black fullface helmet off a shelf of motorcycle memorabilia. 

“No.”

“Are you scared?”

“More tired than anything else,” you admit with a laugh.

“Well, my Harley has a sissy bar, so you’ll be okay.”

You don’t even know what a sissy bar is, but you follow Seungcheol out to his bike anyways. 

“Here, we can put your stuff in my saddlebag,” he explains, opening a large additional compartment near the back tire of his bike. “I don’t always ride with these, but for whatever reason, I thought it would be a good idea to have them on today.”

He helps you put your work bag in his bike, and then, he helps you with your helmet, his fingers delicately grazing your throat as he tightens the strap there.

“If anything is wrong, just tap my thigh,” he tells you, swinging a leg over his bike and starting the engine.

Even with layers of protection over your ears from the helmet, his Harley is loud. It purrs, like a lion, and you stand in a daze for a moment before he makes a motion for you to hop on. 

You’re careful of his injured shoulder as you slowly get on the bike, adjusting yourself on the seat. 

Seungcheol reaches for your hand, settling it on his hip. He opens his visor. “Ready?”

You nod.

He nods back, and the bike roars to life. He pulls out of the parking spot, and you hold on tighter, thankful for the additional padding of a safety bar behind your back- is this the sissy bar he was talking about? 

You can’t dwell on motorcycle terms as Seungcheol gets onto the street, the bike moving even faster. The feeling of summer air is hot but pleasant on your skin as you ride between cars. You get the sneaking suspicion that Seungcheol is holding back on his driving-

You could imagine him weaving between vehicles and being a general menace on his bike, but with you on the back, he’s trying his best to be a gentleman.

You’re shocked at the trust you already have in this man. A man who a little over twelve hours ago, was a stranger.

You’ve never considered yourself an adrenaline junkie, but on the back of Seungcheol’s bike, everything else slips away.

You’re at your home before you know it, and you almost feel sad when Seungcheol pulls up to the curb. He motions for you to get off, and he joins you on the sidewalk a moment later, quickly helping you with your helmet.

“How was it?” he asks.

“That was super fun,” you tell him, beaming.

Seungcheol grins when he sees the expression on your face. “Glad you enjoyed it.”

“Listen, keep the helmet for now,” Seungcheol says. “I have your number and I know where you live, so I’ll come back for it.”

You feel your expression drop, and Seungcheol cocks his head to the side, concern written on his face.

“You good?”

“I just-” you swallow thickly. “Sorry, my uh- my ex used to say that to me. That he knew where I lived when I broke up with him. It felt like a threat, and it’s one of the reasons I had to move a couple of months ago.”

Seungcheol is quiet for a moment. “Fuck that guy.”

You nod. “Fuck that guy.”

Five:

You’ve had Seungcheol stuck in your head. After he’d dropped you off, it had been hard to sleep, your mind preoccupied with his answer about his tattoo. When you’d finally woken up hours later, you hadn’t been able to help yourself, you’d pulled out your tarot deck.

“Spirit,” you’d breathed. “I think I may have met him. The Elk. And even though you’ve given me the sign with his tattoo, I feel like I need more confirmation. I’m going to shuffle, and if this is meant for me, can you please give me a love card?”

There are numerous cards within the deck that talk about relationships, partnerships and new beginnings, and you’re hoping that one pops out.

You begin to shuffle, closing your eyes and taking it easy.

It’s about a minute before a card pops out. It’s upside down on your coffee table. 

You take a deep breath, slowly reaching out to flip the card.

The Two of Cups stares up at you, and you don’t even have to open your tarot guide book to know what that means. It’s a card of unity, of partnership. Other than the Lovers, it’s one of the most clear relationship cards you can get. 

You stare at it for a long while. The Elk may have been a coincidence. The fact that his own late grandmother had been a tarot reader may have been a coincidence. But pulling the Two of Cups, out of any other card, when seaking confirmation- this feels like fate. 

Part of you wants to be extra sure and ask for the lovers card, but you also think this might be a good time to trust your spirit team. They’ve guided you twice now, and maybe you have to look inward.

Why are you so cautious that Seungcheol might be the one?

Are you ready for a new relationship?

You’d thought you were ready- and here you are, meeting a man who fits your type-

Maybe it’s the fact that he is your type that you’re worried. What if he turns out to be a dickhead like the last ones? You’re still holding onto a lot of fear. You want to protect yourself, which you validate as a legitimate concern.

But… are you going to spend the rest of your life frightened?

Or are you going to try to let go of those fears and learn to trust again, even if it ends up biting you in the ass?

The possible risk is heartbreak, but the possible reward is endless happiness.

Fate can only do so much, this is the part where your own actions will dictate the future.

Six:

“So, how’s that dude with the tattoos doing?” Joshua asks, taking a seat next to you in the nursing station when things have finally calmed down.

“Cheol? I uh… haven’t talked to him since he dropped me off at my place two days ago.”

“Is that good or bad?” 

You shrug. “I’m not sure. We’re both busy people. I work here, and he owns a tattoo shop.”

“I guess that’s true,” Joshua nods. “Maybe you should call him and see how he’s doing?”

You quirk a brow at your friend. “What’s your angle here?”

Now it’s Joshua’s turn to shrug his shoulders. “No angle. I think, as your friend, sometimes it’s important to give you a little push. After all, your tarot said he’s your soulmate.”

Joshua’s one of your only coworkers who you’ve felt comfortable opening up to. He knows about all your spiritual inklings, and you’d filled him in on your whole Elk, Leo, Two of Cups fiasco yesterday. 

“Fine, I’ll give him a quick call,” you sigh. “Strictly as a nurse who wants to see how the wound is doing.”

“Keep telling yourself that,” Joshua grins.

You roll your eyes at him, fishing your phone out of your pocket.

Seungcheol answers on the second ring. “Hey.”

“Hi, how are you doing?” you ask, putting him on speaker phone. Joshua might be encouraging you to do this as a friend, but you know better than anyone that he also loves some good tea.

“Doing okay.”

“And your shoulder?”

“Good as far as I know… why? You worried about me?” You can hear the grin in his voice, the fact that he’s loving the concern you have for him. “I’ve had worse, you know.”

“I’d just hate for it to get infected,” you sigh.

“Look, if you want to do your due diligence as a nurse and everything, how about you get drinks with me and assess it yourself?” he suggests.

Joshua grabs your thigh, eyes widening, waiting on what you’ll say next.

“We could do that,” you respond.

“Sounds good, when are you free?”

“I’m off tomorrow.”

“How do you feel about eight o’clock?” 

“That works,” you nod.

“I’ll pick you up at eight then, and bring your helmet.”

You find yourself smiling. “Will do.”

“It’s a date. See you then.”

“Bye, Cheol.”

Your heart is racing as you hang up the phone, and Joshua immediately repeats Seungcheol’s words, “It’s a date.” 

“It’s a date,” you respond, jittery at the idea.

“Some guys are assholes and say ‘let’s hang out,’ but this one says ‘it’s a date.’”

“That’s a good sign,” you insist.

“A very good sign,” Joshua agrees. “If this dude ends up being the one, I might just have to get into tarot.”

Seven:

You’re surprised to find yourself playing nighttime mini golf with Seungcheol on your date. “What happened to drinks?” you ask as he pays for your tickets and grabs your clubs from the attendant.

He shrugs. “Figured you’re a nurse so you might not wanna get on my motorcycle after I had a few drinks, also the fact that you were designated driver last time I saw you at a bar- I thought this might be more your style. But, I’ll warn you, I’m not going to go easy on ya.”

You laugh, pleasantly surprised at how astute this man can be. “I think this will be fun.”

“Me too.”

Seungcheol’s wearing black jeans and a charcoal v-neck that shows off his strong shoulders. He’s the epitome of your type: a bad boy with tattoos. Yet, when you begin to play, he’s shockingly patient.

“Let me show you how to hold the club,” he suggests on the second hole, waiting for you to nod before he steps behind you and wraps his body around your own. “Feet positioning is key.” He also gently adjusts your hands, and your heart leaps in your chest when he breathes against your throat. “It might take some time to get used to,” Seungcheol warns, “so don’t beat yourself up if it doesn’t come naturally.”

You hit the golf ball, and it goes a lot closer to the hole than your first shot had.

“Did it take a while for you to get into mini golf?” you ask.

“Nah, I was always a natural,” he teases, flashing you a wink before he takes his own shot.

You admire the way his shoulders look with his back to you. “So what got you into being a tattoo artist? Into having your own place?” 

“Well, my grandma passed, and she left me a pretty big inheritance. She always thought I could succeed as a tattoo artist, but before that I was stuck doing blue collar type shit. I think, the money was her final way of telling me to follow my dreams. I’m kind of obsessed with ink, if you haven’t noticed.” He holds out his arms, which are littered with patchwork. “How about you? How does someone get into being an emergency room nurse?”

“I just like helping people,” you explain. “When I was a kid, I broke my arm falling off the monkey bars. I’d always been scared of hospitals, but the nurse who helped me in emergency was an angel. She made it less scary, and when it was over, I realized I wanted to be just like her. When people come into the emergency room, it’s never fun. It’s frightening, and cold- and I want to be there for people who are going through that, to be a warm, friendly face.”

“My grandma had a light worker's soul too,” Seungcheol nods. “That’s what she always called it anyways. She wasn’t ever officially trained, but in her later years she got into herbal medicine. Anytime I was sick it was lemon and garlic chicken noodle soup with bone broths and the works- always made me feel a lot better.”

“She sounds like she was an amazing woman.”

“She was,” Seungcheol agrees. “I don’t know you that well yet, but I think she would have liked you.”

You grin. “Is that an important trait you look for when taking girls to mini golf?” 

Seungcheol lets out a laugh. “It should be. My last ex wouldn’t have fit the bill, and at the time, I thought that was okay, but it didn’t end well.”

“Do you wanna talk about it?”

“I’ll talk about mine if you talk about yours,” he suggests. “You said your last boyfriend was a creep when you broke up, threatened to come to your place and shit, he sounds like a piece of work.”

“He was,” you sigh. “I’ve got this thing for big tattooed men, bad boy types. It always leads to me getting my heart broken. He would tell me I was the one and everything, but I found out he was cheating on me with some waitress at the bar he used to go to all the time.”

“So what I’m hearing is… I’m your type.” Seungcheol flashes you a wink and you roll your eyes at him. “I’m just fucking with you. I’m sorry to hear that. Cheaters are the fucking worst.”

“Sounds like you’ve experienced something like that too.” 

“Looks like both of our ex’s were cheating fucks,” Seungcheol says. “I know it’s a red flag to talk shit about your ex or whatever, but some ex’s deserved to be talked bad about.”

You nod. “A hundred percent.”

“Did you think you were going to be with your last one forever?” Seungcheol asks after a moment.

“I thought so.”

“Me too with mine, I was just about ready to get her a ring.” He frowns, looking down at his golf ball. With a sigh, he easily knocks it into the hole. “Well, this is just the way life happens I guess.”

It’s clear you both have very similar wounds. You’re shocked at how easy it is to talk about this with Seungcheol. Some people say not to talk about ex’s on dates with new people, but this almost feels therapeutic. You understand Seungcheol better, and you’re sure he understands you too.

It’s promising to know he thinks about the future, that he’s ready to settle down, not all men are.

Maybe you’re both in the same boat with all of this, and that’s a hopeful thought.

Eight: 

Seungcheol can’t seem to get you out of his head. 

He’d never thought of himself as a particularly superstitious man. His grandma had been spiritual, and he’d always loved that aspect of her. He’d enjoyed doing tarot readings and making all sorts of elixirs with her in the garden. She’d told him he’d be a successful tattoo artist, she’d seen it in the stars, and while she’d been a big part of making that premonition come true, he wonders what else she might be right about.

Seungcheol’s grandma had always told him he’d end up with a healer like her. A doctor, a psychiatrist, a nurse- she wasn’t very specific, but she’d said his soul would call in a light worker when the time was right.

He feels drawn to you, his little emergency room nurse, designated driver, light worker. 

It’s been such a short amount of time, but there’s something unexplainable about the way he feels.

“You look distracted,” Mingyu muses, coming to join Seungcheol outside the tattoo parlour where he’s puffing on his vape.

“Just thinking.”

“About your birthday party tonight, or that girl you brought through the other day?” Mingyu presses, grinning as he bumps his shoulder against Seungcheol’s. 

Seungcheol can’t help but sigh at his friend’s prying ways. 

“Look you don’t have to tell me anything, but summer is almost over and you need a backpack. My angel has been surrounded by testosterone motorcycle rides for months, and we’d all love another girl to be part of the group. You should invite her out tonight.”

Of course Mingyu’s coming at this from an angle of having a girlfriend. He and Wonwoo are obsessed with their ‘little angel,’ and Mingyu’s always talking about the joys of being in a relationship. It can get somewhat tedious for Seungcheol.

“Don’t you have a client soon?” Seungcheol sighs.

“Point taken, I’ll leave you be,” Mingyu says, patting him on the shoulder. 

As soon as his friend is inside, Seungcheol pulls out his phone. He thinks about what he’s going to say to you, before typing out an easy, “Up to anything tonight?”

He’s shocked by how quick your response is. “It’s Sunmi’s birthday this week so we’re celebrating tonight since it’s Saturday.”

Seungcheol’s mood drops, and a moment later, you’re calling him.

“Hi,” he says.

“Hi,” you respond. “How are you doing?”

“Not so bad.” He wants to tell you that it’s his birthday tonight, wants to try to convince you to come, but at the same time, he doesn’t want to guilt you, doesn’t want to mess up your plans. “What’s up?”

“I just… I know we’ve only gone on one actual date, and I only met you a week ago, but… I just want you to know, when I go out tonight, I’m not going to be hitting on anyone or anything.”

He’s taken aback for a moment. “I wasn’t really worried about that.”

“Okay! Good! I just- I know with your ex and everything- and I just, I figured I’d clarify, even though we’ve only been on one date, I’m a one guy at a time kind of girl.”

He respects that you’re so direct about this, and he appreciates your loyalty. You really are a good person. 

“I’m a one girl at a time kind of guy,” Seungcheol says finally. “Glad we’re on the same page about that.”

“Me too.” He can hear your smile, and it makes his heart swell. 

“Anyways, I’ll let you go. Have fun tonight.”

“I will, bye, Cheol.”

Nine:

You’re having a great night. The drinks have been flowing, and you’re having a fun time celebrating Sunmi’s birthday. Things are fuzzy in the best way- until you hear a familiar voice say your name.

You turn to find your ex standing close to you at the bar, and your heart sinks in your chest.

“It’s been a while,” your ex states.

You can’t even find the words to speak, suddenly getting drunk seems like a horrible idea.

You’ve just started to feel safe again, to feel stable- you’d thought being out with your friends, you could let loose, but now your ex is here and your heart is beginning to race.

“Have you been drinking?” your ex asks, coming to stand closer to you at the bar top, where you’d been sipping a gin and tonic. 

“I, uh-” your words catch in your throat, and you swallow thickly. “It’s Sunmin’s birthday.”

Your ex nods, and when you look toward your table, you see Sunmin gaping at you.

Turning away from Sunmi, your ex addresses you. “Is she still a huge bitch?”

“I-” you want to defend your friend, but you feel frozen. You can’t think- you’re completely overwhelmed, and you can hear the blood rushing in your ears, your heart like thunder in your chest.

“We need to talk,” your ex says next. “Come outside with me.”

He grabs your arm, and then a hand wraps around yours. You turn to see Sunmi standing there, glaring at your ex. “What do you think you’re doing?!” she asks.

“Y/N and I need to have a chat outside,” your ex sighs, being very dismissive.

“She doesn’t have to go anywhere with you,” Sunmi insists. “Honey, do you want to go with him?”

You quickly shake your head, moving closer to your friend for safety.

“She doesn’t know what she wants,” your ex rolls his eyes, tightening his grip on your arm to the point where it almost hurts.

“We’re going to the bathroom,” Sunmi insists, somehow successfully tugging you away from your ex. 

“Run away, but I’ll be right here to talk to her when you’re done.”

It feels like a blur as Sunmi races you to the woman’s washroom. “Y/N,” she helps you to the sink, looking at your face. “Are you okay?”

“I-”

Sunmi pulls you to her chest, hugging you deeply. “We’re going to sort this out,” she promises.

“How?” You feel like crying. All the emotions come flooding back, the fear, the helplessness-

“We’re going to call Seungcheol.”

“What?” You’re in shock. “We can’t do that!”

“We can, and we will. Men like your ex only respond to other men. We’re calling him. Give me your phone.”

Reluctantly, you hand Sunmi your cell, turning on the sink to splash your arms with cold water.

“Hi, Seungcheol?” There’s a pause. “No, this is Sunmi. I’m out with y/n, we’re at a bar on Elm and fifth street, her ex just showed up- okay, okay, yeah, we’re in the bathroom in the back.”

She hangs up and you look to her for an explanation.

Your friend lets out a sigh. “As soon as I said your ex was here, Seungcheol said to give him five minutes. I’m going to keep you here and he’ll come get us, okay?”

You nod. “I’m sorry to ruin your birthday.”

“Honey, you’re not ruining anything,” she assures you, pulling you in for another hug. 

You hold back tears while you wait with Sunmi, and in no time at all, there’s a knock on the bathroom door. Seungcheol pokes his head in, and you see his expression drop when he sees you.

“What happened?” he growls, coming to join you.

“Her ex was trying to drag her outside-” Sunmi tries to explain.

“He touched you?” Seungcheol asks, anger laced in his words.

You nod, pointing to your forearm. 

“Grabbed is more like it,” Sunmi breathes.

“Okay,” Seungcheol nods. “Okay, I’ll get you out of here. Just hold onto me and we’ll get out of here.”

You nod again, allowing Seungcheol to gently take your hand. He guides you out of the bathroom, and you huddle close to his side as he walks you through the bar- you almost think things will go smoothly when your ex steps in front of you.

“Who’s this, you’re new boyfriend?” he asks, venom dripping from his words.

Seungcheol stops in his tracks. “So you must be the dip shit ex.”

“Say that again, asshole,” your ex growls, eyes narrowing.

“You must be-” Seungcheol broadens his shoulders, “the dip shit ex.”

Your ex releases a laugh, and then he’s taking a swing. It feels slow and fast at the same time, Sunmi tears you away from Seungcheol, who dodges the punch easily, only to land a blow to your ex’s stomach-

“Y/N! Sunmi!” Mingyu’s voice appears out of nowhere, and suddenly two strong arms are wrapping around you and your friend. “Outside!”

Mingyu keeps you close as he gets you and Sunmi out of the bar while a commotion ensues in your wake. Four motorcycles are pulled up on the curb. You recognize Vernon, and there’s another man you’ve never seen before.

“Cheol’s starting shit,” Mingyu tells his friends quickly.

“We heard your ex was here?” Vernon offers, giving you a sympathetic look.

“He threw a swing at Cheol when I got inside,” Mingyu tries to explain. “Y/N, we’re going to get you out of here, Wonwoo pass me the spare helmet from the saddlebag.”

“What about Seungcheol?” you ask, watching the men fuss.

“He can take care of himself,” Mingyu assures you, helping you put on the helmet.

“Cheol will meet us at our place,” the new man, Wonwoo, says. “When he gets hot like this, he doesn’t drive very safely.”

“Trust us,” Mingyu pleads. “We just gotta get you out of here, your ex made the first swing, and nothing good can come from this now.”

You turn to Sunmi and she squeezes your hand. “It’s okay, get out of here. I’ll text you what happens.”

You can’t even think as Mingyu gets onto his bike and you awkwardly take the seat behind him. You can’t comprehend how things happened the way they did- how fast the altercation had been before your ex had taken a go at Seungcheol.

As you leave the bar, heart thundering in your chest, it’s the most you can do to try to slow your breathing, your body still carrying the trauma that you’d endured with your ex, the wound you’d thought was healed now torn open.

Ten:

“Are you sure this is okay?” you ask as Mingyu covers you with a large fluffy blanket on his couch. “I mean- you just said your girlfriend is four months pregnant and sleeping in the other room-”

“It’s fine,” Mingyu assures you.

“I’m sorry if I ruined your night.” You’d found your ability to speak again once you felt safe and in Mingyu’s apartment, and now, you can’t help the anxiety bubbling inside of you. You feel like a burden- and it’s an all too familiar feeling from your time with your ex.

“You didn’t ruin it, we were almost done anyways,” Wonwoo notes. 

“Are you sure?” 

“Y/N, deep breaths,” Mingyu tells you, sitting on the couch next to you, offering your calf a reassuring squeeze.

“Is Cheol going to be okay?” you ask.

“He’s going to be fine, that man has never lost a fight,” Mingyu explains, smiling softly.

In the distance, you hear an engine revving, and Wonwoo sighs. “There he is.”

Not even five minutes later, Seungcheol is practically bursting through the door. His eyes find you on the couch, and you’re quick to stand, allowing him to envelop you in a hug. His heart is racing in his chest, he’s clearly panicked, and when he pulls away, he looks down at you with wide eyes.

“Are you okay?” he questions, cupping your face as if checking you for injury.

“I’m okay, are you okay?” you retort.

“Just a few bruised knuckles,” he assures you. 

You find yourself laughing, and as you laugh, your eyes well up with tears. Now that he’s here, you finally feel like you can take a deep breath, and he’s quick to tug you back to his chest as you cry.

“I’m going to give you a moment, then I’m going to take you home,” he tells you, hand smoothing up and down your back.

You stay in his arms until you feel a bit better, and when you pull away, Mingyu is offering you a tissue. You clean yourself up, say your goodbyes, then Seungcheol walks you out with the spare helmet in hand.

He doesn’t say anything on the way down, but at the bike, he hands you his fullface. “Want you protected,” he tells you, grabbing the bucket helmet from your grasp.

You nod, putting on the helmet and allowing him to help you fasten it up. 

You’re quiet as you both get onto the bike, and Seungcheol adjusts your hand to his hip, squeezing gently. 

The bike roars to life and you take off.

It’s a different feeling to be on a motorcycle while still a little drunk, and you find yourself throwing your head back to look up at the night sky. 

You’ve seen the stars before, but on the back of Seungcheol’s bike, it feels like you're experiencing them for the first time. 

You lose track of time doing this, and the ride is done sooner than you’d like when he pulls up to your building. “Come on, baby,” he says softly, helping you take off your helmet. “Let’s get you upstairs.”

He holds your hand, helping you with your keys to get into the apartment complex. The elevator ride is quiet, but his hand is a reassuring constant, warm and large wrapped around your own.

He’s never been to your place, and you feel a little self conscious as you open up your door. It’s a modest apartment, one bedroom- there’s really nothing to be insecure about, but you think maybe your anxiety from the bar incident is just making you a little crazy.

“How about you sit down, and I’ll get you some water?” he suggests, helping you to the couch.

You kick off your high heels, curling up on the cushions while Seungcheol putters around your kitchen. He already looks like he belongs here, and for a brief moment, you can forget about your ex.

Seungcheol rejoins you on the couch, handing you the cup. “Here.” 

“Thank you.”

You sip on your water, trying to breathe properly again.

Seungcheol gives you the space to unwind. He doesn’t pester you with questions about the altercation with your ex at the bar, and you’re grateful for it.

“You’re not hurt, are you?” he asks finally.

You shake your head, your eyes dropping to his hands. “You’re hurt though.”

“Just bruised knuckles,” he assures you. 

“There’s blood,” you insist. “I’ll-”

“Tell me where your first aid kit is and I’ll grab it.” 

You direct him to the cupboard in your bathroom, and he returns with it, setting the case onto your coffee table. 

“How’s your shoulder?” you ask as you take out the tools you’ll need.

“Almost better, I heal fast,” he says softly.

It feels good to focus on his wounds rather than your own, and you gently clean the scrapes on his hand. His right fist is pretty badly bruised, and you do your best to treat it. Then you begin to slowly wrap his knuckles, taking your time. Two wraps around his wrist, diagonal across the top to his pinky, under the hand, to the pointer, diagonal- 

It’s a nice repetition of motions, and when you’re all done, you lift his hand to your lips, gently pressing a kiss to his knuckles. “All better.”

You look up at Seungcheol, and he stares back.

Then, he slowly moves in, carefully watching your expression. He stops just an inch from your lips, and you can feel his breath on your face. He’s waiting for you to make the final move, for you to be the one with control.

With one last look at your beautiful, dark protector, you close the distance.

It’s a soft kiss, not the kind of first kiss you’ve ever had before. Seungcheol doesn’t immediately try to dominate you like men in the past have, he lets you set the pace. You lean in closer, grabbing his shoulders to stabilize yourself as you deepen the kiss. 

Seungcheol’s arms wrap around you, and it’s a somewhat awkward position on the couch like this, so he simply pulls you onto his lap. 

You lose yourself in the kiss, allowing all your anxiety to dissipate while you enjoy the safety Seungcheol provides. 

After a while, Seungcheol pulls away, and you’re both breathing heavily. 

“How… how do your knuckles feel?” you ask.

He laughs, looking down at his hands. “I might black out my fingers when this is all healed,” he admits. “I get into too many barfights. My grandma used to say it was the Leo in me.”

“The Leo in you?” you repeat, heard thumping wildly in your chest.

“Yeah, I uh…” he lets out a soft chuckle, “I didn’t wanna pressure you to come out or anything after I heard you were at a friend’s birthday party, but it’s sort of my birthday today.”

You’re frozen for a moment. “Happy birthday.”

“Thanks.”

“You’re a Leo,” you say again.

“Uh huh. You’re not about to tell me some weird zodiac rule about our signs not being compatible, are you?”

“No, it’s not that.” You take a deep breath. Just a short time ago, you’d decided not to tell him about the Elk tattoo meaning, and now here you are, about to tell him everything. 

You’re not sure if it’s the adrenaline from the bar situation, or the slight tipsyness, but you think fuck it, if he could tell you about his tarot loving grandmother, you can tell him about this.

“A few months ago, I did a reading,” you begin to explain.

“A tarot reading,” he clarifies.

“Yeah. And I asked my guides to show me a spirit animal card that would be a tattoo on the person I’m supposed to be with. The card came up as an Elk- and before you tell me it’s a very common tattoo, I know it is, which is why I asked for further clarification with them telling me the zodiac of this person too-”

“And they said Leo,” he breathes.

You nod. “Then, when I met you, the Elk lined up, but I still wasn’t sure, so I did another reading on us, and the Two of Cups came out, it’s a love card. So with those two cards, and now the fact that you’re a Leo-”

“Is this your way of telling me you think I’m your soulmate?” Seungcheol grins.

“God, I should have guessed you’re a fucking Leo,” you roll your eyes.

“Don’t be rude,” he tuts, gently pinching your hip. “If it’s any consolation, my grandmother always told me I’d end up with someone in the medical field, and you’re an ER nurse.”

“She really said that?” you ask.

“Uh huh.” Seungcheol’s gaze dips to your lips then back up again. “I wonder if she saw this future.”

Your heart melts. After your last relationship, where the lovebombing came on fast, you’d promised yourself not to get burned by that sort of thing again- but here you are, falling for Seungcheol way quicker than you ever have with anyone else in the past.

Even so, something about this feels so right.

You let out a breath. “One time with the Elk may have been coincidence. Two times with the Two of Cups card was a little odd. But three times with your Leo Zodiac-”

“I guess the question is, do you believe in fate?” Seungcheol moves closer.

“I think you know that I do,” you laugh.

Seungcheol’s hands squeeze your hips, and he doesn’t say anything else as he brings his mouth to yours.

You kiss him eagerly, wrapping your arms around him, pressing your chests together. His tongue glides against your own and it feels like magic- there’s a bulge growing in his pants, and you can’t help but begin to grind down against him.

Seungcheol releases a small groan and it’s music to your ears, prompting you to apply more pressure to his cock when you wriggle against him.

With a sigh, Seungcheol pulls away. “Baby,” he says softly, “you’ve been drinking and I don’t want to take advantage tonight-”

“I swear that whole situation with my ex sobered me up,” you admit. “Besides, maybe I want to give you a birthday present.” 

“A birthday present?” he repeats with a chuckle.

You nod. “Cheol, I haven’t even kissed anyone in months- I’m already practically drenched from making out, you won’t make me wait even longer, will you?”

He studies your face, and you can see the moment he folds. “We can do this, but at any point if I think you look drunk, we have to stop. I don’t want you to regret this being our first time.”

“I could never regret this,” you promise, leaning in to press your lips to his throat.

Seungcheol throws his head back, his fingers digging into your hips again. The low moan he releases tells you that he has a sensitive neck, and you enjoy simply teasing him for a minute while you mentally prep yourself for what’s to come next.

You do want to move on, and this is one of those steps.

You’re not afraid of it. You had been frightened about intimacy with someone new, but Seungcheol makes you feel more safe than you’ve ever felt in your life.

You want this. 

You shift a little on Seungcheol’s lap, reaching down to cup his cock with your palm. 

Seungcheol swallows thickly, his hands smoothing up and down your hips. “Are you sure?” he asks. “You don’t want me to take care of you?”

“It’s your birthday,” you point out. “And you took care of me at the bar, I think it’s my turn to show some appreciation.”

He doesn’t argue with you, and you can feel the tension leaving his shoulders. He lets out a deep breath. “I know it’s early,” he says, “but… if we do this, I don’t want any confusion. I want you to know that you’re mine, and I’m yours.”

“Honestly? I’ve been yours since practically the moment I saw you take your shirt off so I could clean your shoulder wound.”

Seungcheol releases a chuckle. “Really?”

“Uh huh, you make me fucking feral.”

He lets out a groan of appreciation. “It’s been hard to control myself too. That day at the studio, when you touched my back tattoo- I was so close to breaking. Wanted to throw you onto my desk and make you feel good.”

You imagine what that would have been like, and it makes you moan. “Why didn’t you?”

“I could tell you had a past, and I didn’t want to scare you off,” he admits. “I’ve been… trying to be a good boy.”

Your bad boy trying to be good to make you comfortable. You really hit the jackpot with Seungcheol.

“Cheol, I’ve told you I have a thing for bad boys,” you tease.

“So maybe I should take control right now,” he suggests with a grin.

“Let me suck you off, and then you can take control,” you tell him, pulling away. “I’m going to get on my knees now.”

Seungcheol watches you slip onto the floor infront of him, and your hands find his belt. You try to focus on your task of getting his pants off, but you enjoy sneaking glances at him, seeing his pretty face as he tries to keep composure.

He lifts his hips to help you tug his jeans down, and his cock slaps up against his lower abdomen, hard and already leaking.

He’s a decent size, somewhere between six and seven inches, and his cock is as girthy as the rest of him. You lick your lips, grabbing the base so you can adjust him toward your mouth as you lean in.

“No teasing,” Seungcheol warns, voice softening when he says, “please.” 

“Wouldn’t dream of it.”

“Liar,” he laughs, reaching out to stroke your head.

You slip the tip of his cock into your mouth, swirling your tongue. 

“And that’s the teasing I was talking about,” Seungcheol muses. “Feels good though.”

You sink further down onto him, beginning to suck as you move up and down.

“Fuck, that feels even better,” he groans.

When you were with your ex, blow jobs were an expectation, and because of that, you never really enjoyed them. There’s something powerful about doing this of your own volition, about making the conscious choice to pleasure Seungcheol.

You close your eyes, getting lost in the motion of providing this for him. Hallowing your cheeks, you suck hard when you’re near the tip, and Seungcheol groans loudly, shifting further down on the couch so you’re not bent over him in such an awkward position.

“You’re good at that, baby,” Seungcheol says. “But there’s only one birthday present I’d enjoy more than this.”

You let out a “hmm?” sound, an inquiry.

“When I’m balls deep in your pussy, watching you writhe under me, listening to your pretty sounds- that will be the cherry on top of this birthday,” he explains. “Thank you for wanting to make me feel good, but- usually, baby, I like to be the giver.”

Your pussy throbs at his words, and you increase your speed on his cock, letting out a moan of appreciation. 

“Yeah? You like that?” he asks. “Say the word, baby, and I’ll make it happen.”

You pull off of him, your hand smoothing up from base to tip to pump him while you address your beautiful dark protector. “I just want to make you feel good a little while longer.”

His expression softens. “Making me feel really good.”

You grin, returning to your task. 

Seungcheol’s hand is gentle in your hair. He caresses you while you suck him off, never applying pressure or trying to get you to deep throat him. It’s an ever constant, soft touch, and you’re shocked at how much of a gentleman this heavily tattooed, bar fighting, Leo can be. 

“Baby?” His voice draws you from your thoughts. “I know I said you could say the word and be done, but- this feels too good, and I don’t wanna bust the moment I begin to fuck you.”

You pull off of his cock with a pop, smiling up at him. “Okay.”

“Okay?” He lets out a shaky breath and grins. “Where’s your bedroom, gorgeous?”

“Right there.” You point at the door adjacent to the living room.

“Come on, baby, it’s my turn to take care of you.” He helps you to your feet, pulling his pants back up, and you’re shocked when he throws you over his uninjured shoulder, carrying you to your bedroom while you erupt in a fit of butterfly fueled giggles.

Seungcheol lays you softly onto your bed, staring down at you. He takes in your silky shirt and your dress pants, you like to be more classy when you go out, to keep up with your reputation as a nurse.

The two of you are very different people. He’s black ripped jeans, plain tshirts and tattoos. And you’re classy outfits, scrubs, and a healer’s touch. Somehow, even with these differences, the two of you work. Like Yin and Yang, complementary forces, light and dark.

“Can I take these off for you?” he asks, tugging at your pant leg.

You nod, watching the way he begins to undo your button and zipper. He’s slow with his motions, precise. It’s not a rush to get you naked, it’s an enjoyed exploration, and you love the way his eyes glow when you lift your hips to allow him to pull the fabric off your lower half.

“You’re so pretty,” Seungcheol muses.

“Yeah?”

“That day you were in my shop with your friend, doing a consult with Vernon- I was trying to act like I was watching my newest apprentice work, but… I kept looking at you. And then, outside the bar, when you showed up again-” Seungcheol shakes his head, his hand smoothing along your leg gently. “Baby, you’re going to turn me into a believer.”

“Invisible string theory, perhaps,” you grin.

Seungcheol chuckles. “If that’s what you want to call it.”

He takes off his own shirt, and you watch the way his muscles move under his skin. He’s littered in tattoos, patchwork on his arms and chest. There must be a hundred small to medium sized tattoos, and you want to know the story behind each and every one.

But there’s a time and a place for that, and right now, you’re eager for something else.

Seungcheol gets on top of you, and you immediately thread your fingers through his soft dark hair, pulling his lips to your own.

Your free hand explores his muscular shoulders, careful of the bandage still on his bar wound, and you’re practically tingling with how attracted you are to this man.

He kisses you deeply, cupping your face while his other hand braces him to the bed over top of you.

Your legs wrap around his hips, pulling him closer, and he grinds against your panty clad core.

The pressure on your clit has you moaning, and Seungcheol responds by kissing down your throat. He licks at your collarbone, and then his hand moves from your cheek to your shirt. “Can I take this off?” he asks.

“Uh huh, there’s a tie at the back.”

Seungcheol pulls off of you, and in one motion, he flips you onto your stomach. His warm hand smooths over your shoulder, toying with the tie there.

You hold your breath in anticipation as he begins to undo the corset style back of your slinky top. He leans over you, pressing a kiss to the nape of your neck that makes your body erupt in goosebumps. 

You enjoy the way he takes his time with your shirt, and he slowly helps you slip it off. You’re laying flat on his bed, your tits pressed to the comforter, while Seungcheol explores your back with his hands. He traces the curvature of your sides, pressing kisses along your spine. Soft curls tickle your skin, and you’re grinning like the Cheshire Cat at how good this feels.

Seungcheol flips you over again, and his gaze dips to your exposed breasts. “You’re so pretty,” he muses, gently groping your chest, his thumb grazing over your nipple. You watch him swallow thickly, and then he’s leaning over, taking the sensitive bud in his mouth while you tangle your fingers in his curls again.

With his mouth on your breast, his free hand slips down your body, and he tugs your panties down just enough for him to access your core.

Two digits rub between your pussy lips and you feel him smile against your nipple. “You weren’t lying about being wet, baby.”

“Would never lie to you,” you breathe out shakily.

“No?” He circles your clit and you moan loudly. 

“Never,” you repeat, pushing your hips up toward his hand, needing more friction.

Seungcheol rewards you by slipping both of his digits into your wet core, pressing his palm to your clit as he begins to finger fuck you. He sucks on your breast while he does this, and you’re lost in the sensations he provides.

“Fuck, Cheol-” you whimper when his teeth graze your nipple, your pussy clenching tight around his fingers.

“Wanna make you cum,” Seungcheol says, pulling away from your breast to look down at you.

“Then make me cum,” you respond, nodding at him.

Seungcheol presses one last kiss to your lips and then he shifts down the bed, pulling his fingers from your core. He gets onto his knees at the foot of the mattress, dragging you toward himself and pulling your panties off.

He spreads your thighs. “So pretty,” he muses. “Everything about you is so fucking pretty.”

Your skin heats, it can be hard to take a compliment, but something tells you that Seungcheol will get you used to this kind of praise.

He leans forward, eyes meeting yours as he presses a kiss to your clit. You jolt at the small contact, releasing a shaky breath.

No one has eaten you out in months, and your core is already throbbing with anticipation. 

“Gonna take care of you,” Seungcheol promises, and you know that this promise extends far past the sexual setting you’re in right now.

He moves forward again, capturing your clit in his mouth while his digits easily slip into your pussy again.

You throw your head back, enjoying the sensation of him worshiping your cunt. He’s gentle with his motions at first, kitten licking your sensitive bud. You know he’s getting used to your sounds, figuring out what pressure works, what you enjoy, whether thats sucking, or more gentle stimulus.

“Feels good,” you tell him. “Like the way you crook your fingers.”

He responds by applying more pressure to the ‘come hither’ motion he’s making, and you release a whine at how good it feels.

“Just like that,” you whimper.

He sucks your clit harder too, and you moan louder, hips bucking toward his face.

Seungcheol’s free hand finds your lower abdomen and he pins you to his bed, keeping you still while he works on your pussy.

You can feel your walls clenching around him, and Seungcheol releases a groan of pleasure. It adds to your own feeling of euphoria that clearly he’s enjoying this. He hadn’t been lying when he said he’s usually a giver, and the fact that he doesn’t see this as a chore has you able to enjoy it fully, unlike certain past experiences where men had to be begged into eating you out.

Sex with Seungcheol - even foreplay like this - feels so natural. You’re not as in your head as you usually are, with his nonverbal communications and moans, you can be certain he’s enjoying this as much as you are, and it gives you the confidence to give yourself over completely to the pleasure.

Sex should always be like this, you realize.

There’s no pressure, no worrisome thoughts, it’s just two souls connecting physically in a way that’s mutually beneficial. 

Having not been eaten out in a long time, it’s not surprising that you’re extremely sensitive, and Seungcheol works you all the way to the edge before you can even comprehend what’s happening.

“Cheol-” you whimper, threading your fingers in his hair, “I’m gonna-”

You don’t get to finish your sentence, he sucks harshly on your clit, and your words become moans as your orgasm surges through you.

His hand on your abdomen keeps you steady as he works you through your high, sucking on your clit until your legs are shaking on his broad shoulders.

Seungcheol pulls away, and you open your eyes to watch him wipe the back of his mouth, licking his fingers clean. 

“Still want this?” he asks, hooking his fingers in the waistband of his jeans.

“More than anything,” you smile.

A moment later, Seungcheol is as naked as you are, and he gets between your thighs again, lips returning to your own. He doesn’t immediately slip his cock into you, instead, he grinds against your core, teasing your sensitive clit and driving you wild.

You kiss him eagerly, threading your fingers through his hair and groping his muscular shoulders, enjoying the feeling of him despite the need growing inside of you.

You’re reminded again that there’s no rush.

You can take pleasure in this without feeling like you need to be getting fucked to be worth something.

You’re a hundred percent sure that if you’d told Seungcheol you’re not ready for sex, he would have stopped, cuddled you, and not taken it personally. There’s this feeling that Seungcheol is going to be around for a long time- and as crazy as it is with how short of a time you’ve known him, you know that your connection runs deeper than your physical attraction.

Seungcheol shifts slightly, grabbing at his cock. You bite at your lip while you wait for him to line it up with your core, and you break your kiss, panting. Your eyes meet as he slips the head of his length into your wet hole, and you both groan at the feeling.

“Fuck,” Seungcheol moans, sinking in inch by inch. “You feel so fucking good.” 

“You feel better,” you retort, kissing his cheek and nuzzling his nose.

“Impossible,” he grins, burying his face in your throat as he begins to fuck you.

You claw at his shoulders, crying out with each thrust. He fills you so well- he has probably one of the biggest cocks you’ve ever taken, and the way he stretches you out is like heaven, like he was made to be in your pussy.

The sounds he’s making are unlike any other pleasured noises you’ve ever heard.

Nothing has ever felt this right.

Seungcheol’s uninjured hand finds your own, and he laces your fingers, squeezing you reassuringly as he fucks you harder, his speed increasing.

His lips are hot on your neck, and it feels delightful. You love just laying back and taking everything he’s giving you. He’s so big, like a warm, weighted blanket covering your form.

Your toes are already curling at how deep he’s hitting, and your thighs shake desperately around his hips.

“Cheol-”

“Yes, baby?” he asks.

“You just- fuck, this feels so good-”

“You deserve to feel good,” Seungcheol tells you. “You work so hard for others, I’m lucky I get to be the guy working for you.”

Your heart swells at his words. Past boyfriends’ haven't ever truly appreciated how hard it is to be an emergency room nurse. You spend your whole shift taking care of others, and that high pressure, intense mentality bleeds into your personal life. It's a sweet relief to be the one on the receiving end, to relax and know that you can fully give yourself up to the pleasure and desire you feel, without feeling obligated to return this favour with future sexual gratifications.

Seungcheol’s lips meet your own, and you get lost in him, moaning desperately as he works your pussy open.

His thrusts slow, and he stays completely still inside of you for a moment, then pulls away.

“Can you shift onto your side for me?” he asks. “One leg straight on the bed, the other thigh pulled closer to your chest.”

It’s a position you’ve never tried before, but you trust Seungcheol, and you’re quick to adjust. You lay half on your side, one leg stretched between his knees while you bring your other toward your breasts. 

Seungcheol’s warm hand finds your thigh, and he helps bend you, his free hand guiding his cock to your pussy again.

When he pushes in this time, it feels even deeper, and you let out a squeak at the stimulation.

“You like that?” he asks, hand moving from your thigh to your breast, where he gently pinches your nipple.

“So deep- I feel so full-” you whimper.

Seungcheol only grins, and he’s an absolute vision in this position. He’s practically on his knees, and his chest is all exposed and gorgeous. His tattoos are beautiful as he massages your breast with one hand, the other on your thigh, anchoring you while he fucks you.

You’re not sure if it’s the sideways angle or what, but he’s hitting a spot that has your toes curling tight, your pussy clenching.

“Fuck-” you moan.

“Shit, I should have asked this before-” Seungcheol says, voice shaky, “do I need to pull out or-”

“I’m on birth control,” you assure him. “You can cum inside.”

“Fuck,” Seungcheol groans, rutting into you even harder. 

“Kinda want you to fill me up,” you admit.

“You’re way too sexy, baby, holy shit-”

You can tell your words are doing a number on him, and it makes your core throb with pleasure.

“Can you rub your clit?” he asks. “Want you to cum with me. I hate cumming alone.”

“Yeah.” Your hand slips between your thighs awkwardly, and Seungcheol decreases his pace  to give you a chance to catch up to his pleasure.

His movements are slower now, more precise, his cock hitting that spot deep inside that has you crying out again.

“You look so good like this,” Seungcheol tells you. “My pretty little nurse.”

For some reason, his words just do something to you, and your core throbs even harder. “Cheol, I’m close-” you warn him,

“Tell me when you’re almost there and I’ll go fast again.”

You focus on the sight of him, on the tattoos and muscles, his strong features and the pretty dark curls. His small groans egg you on, and you’re at the edge in no time, giving him a nod. “Okay-”

He releases your breast, using both hands on your leg now to steady himself as he fucks you stupid, your whole body jolting with each motion. You let out a desperate whine, rubbing your clit even harder-

“Fuck, fuck-” Seungcheol groans. “Feels so fucking good- fuck, cum with me, baby, cum with me-”

You moan in response, your core clenching down desperately on his cock as your orgasm explodes through you. Your whole body shivers with endorphins, heart racing in your chest.

Seungcheol throws his head back, releasing an extremely sexy groan as he cums with you, fingers digging into your skin as he thrusts slowly and deeply, working you through your orgasms.

You rub your clit until you can’t take it anymore, tearing your hand away.

Seungcheol slumps forward, stilling completely, and you greedily grab at his shoulders. He collapses half on top of you, and you thread your fingers through his hair, panting hard.

His forehead rests against your own, and you both just try to catch your breath.

You’ve never felt connected to someone the way you feel connected to Seungcheol in this moment. It’s all consuming, and it makes you emotional as you come down from your high.

Seungcheol must notice your shaky breathing because he opens his eyes and looks at you. “You okay, baby?”

“I’m just-” you swallow thickly. “I don’t know-”

You can’t voice it, can’t voice the way you’re feeling. There are so many thoughts swirling around in your head, so many past traumas rearing their ugly faces and making you second guess yourself-

“I’m yours, and you’re mine,” Seungcheol breathes, pressing a kiss to your lips. “I’m not going anywhere.”

And just like that, he can clear all of your anxieties, as if he was able to read your mind and see your fears. 

You’ve always been drawn to bad boys, to men who you envision as some kind of dark protector- and now, you think you’ve finally found the right one. 

☀️ mlist + an. Thank you so much for reading! this fic is written in conjunction to my other story 'crossroads,' read more about Mingyu, Wonwoo, and their y/n here

🍭 support me by. sending a tip here or here - or become a patron to access monthly bonus content and extensions for fics like this one :) find the Patreon teaser below! 

🔮 preview. Seungcheol’s thrusts get faster, and he rests his forehead against your spine while he rails you into the blow up mattress at a campsite where anyone could walk by. His baby fever is at an all time high, and he’s fucking you like a man who means every word he’s saying.

cw/ tw.  Unprotected sex, sex in a campsite, exhibitionism, staying quiet during sex, pussy eating, fingering, large/muscled/tattooed Cheol, quickie, baby fever, dirty talk, breeding kink, praise, breast worship, etc…

👹 rating. 18+ explicit I wc. 2.6k I teaser wc. 180

🌙 starring. Choi Seungcheol x afab!Reader

 bonus

It’s been just under a year since you started dating Seungcheol, and through him, you’ve found a family. Many trivia nights, and bowling excursions have been spent with Seungcheol, his friends, Sunmi, her sister, and her sister’s boyfriend Jeonghan. Once you’d met everyone face to face, it had been much easier to track Sunmi’s convoluted explanation of her connection to the tattoo parlour, and it’s been a joy to become so close with so many wonderful people.

Sunmi’s sister’s boyfriend, Jeonghan, is cousins with Mingyu and Wonwoo’s girlfriend, who’d had a beautiful baby girl this past January, and now, it’s the baby’s first summer. You don’t mind the shift of hang outs to be more baby inclusive, and now, you find yourself at a campsite with the whole gang.

While everyone is quite enamored with the little baby girl, Haesoo, no one is more obsessed than your boyfriend Seungcheol. You always get to see him coddling her while out and about as a group, but in the past three days at this campsite, you’ve contracted a serious case of baby fever.

☀️ to read the full fic AND 2.6k bonus NOW, subscribe to my Patreon, then click here

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[sobbingscripter]

⋆⑅˚₊୨🌼wc. 1943🌼୧₊˚⑅⋆

“College break doesn’t start until Monday.” Debbie chirps, eyes following the way William so easily navigates his way through the kitchen, three mugs lining the kitchen counter.

“Gotham U’s aware of the crime rates. So, they give you a year planner with the curriculum and they give you the semester’s topics and stuff.” William hums, continuing to carefully dust cinnamon across the top of frothy white foam.

“And if you finish your tasks prematurely, you get to go home afterwards.” You explain, before plugging the vacuum cleaner into the wall, glossy lips pursed in concentration as a soft silence fills the lounge.

Nobody’s ready to address the elephant in the room. The fact that it’s been months since you’ve spoken to Mark, having saved his name as Gotye in a clever and sleep-deprived haze because he was, in fact, somebody that you used to know.

William places Debbie’s mug in her awaiting palms, a plate of pastries in her lap before he hums softly, lips pursed.

“Are the gutters clean?” He questions and Debbie shakes her head. “Mark didn’t get around to it before he left for college.”

And William lets out a sound, like a huff but he makes no comment.

“Like Eve’s vagina is amazing enough to neglect your mother.” The low hum of the vacuum acts as the sweetest ambience, Debbie’s attention on the book in her grasp as you continue to quietly seethe about Mark and his stupid, stupid choices.

“I don’t know. She’s got like… a whole feminine hygiene label named after her.” William shrugs his shoulders, standing on one of the kitchen stools to clean as he begins to dust at the light fixtures, gloved hands carefully unscrewing at the cover.

“What?” Your brows scrunch.

“Summer’s Eve.” William answers and there’s a quiet silence, only filled by the bubbly and airy laughter that slips from Debbie, her face obscured by the hard cover of what you can only assume, looks deviously innocent.

“Man, fuck you.” You huff, but the corners of your mouth twitch with amusement.

And before Debbie can reprimand you, you’re already sliding a dollar into the swear jar in the centre of the coffee table.

“It looks empty.” You hum softly.

“You two stopped coming around as much and after Nolan…” Debbie trails off. “Safe to say, no one cusses much anymore.”

There’s a sad silence that fills the once warm home, and you swallow, the corners of your mouth tugging downwards just a bit before you inhale.

“I’m… Sorry about Mr Nola—”

“He can suck a dick.” William slides a dollar into the jar. “I never trusted him. He’s got a porn stache.”

You cup your mouth, trying to stifle your giggles.

“Dollar.” Debbie points at the jar. Pretty, peeling flowers painted by cheap acrylic, and you make a mental note to fix it.

“I didn’t swear twice.” William defends.

“You said ‘pornography’.” Debbie hums.

“I didn’t say ‘pornography’, I said ‘porn’.”

“We can’t say ‘porn’?” You question.

“No. And a dollar.”

And you purse your lips, before sliding a 20 dollar bill into the jar, gaze averted.

And Debbie grimaces.

“Why have you spoken about pornography 20 separate times?”

“Miss Debbie, I don’t know why I speak about half of the things I do.”

Debbie let’s out what can only be called a low groan, a headache brewing but for the first time in a long time, she doesn’t feel like she’s out of her depth with a teenager.

⋆⑅˚₊୨🌼୧₊˚⑅⋆

“Eve, you’ve met my mom.”

Mark ushers Eve into the lounge, their shoes swapped out for the slippers that sit comfortably at the door and Debbie gives Eve a sweet smile, crinkles at the corners of her eyes.

“It’s nice to see you, Eve.”

Mark glances towards the jar on the coffee table, brows scrunching in confusion at the cash that nearly spills over the edge, stuffed haphazardly and he stares towards the blossoms. Freshly painted baby pink peonies and snowy tulips, staring back at him. Almost menacingly and he glances back at Debbie. Eyes narrowing.

Watching her and Eve before he hums. Almost offhandedly.

“M’gonna go shower.”

Mark trudges up the staircase, speedy steps as he makes his way towards his room and he feels almost… nostalgic.

All of this, all of the easiness was before it all happened.

Before he felt what it’s like to choke on your own blood, to see his father’s fists stained red and that… Crazed, empty look in his father’s eyes.

Before it all when to shit. And he takes a breath.

Walls littered with Seance Dog posters, shelves stuffed with comic books and figurines, a small mirror on the wall, and Mark hates the way his gaze lingers on your features, pretty face encapsulated by film and stuck on his mirror. Cheeks sucked inwards, glossy lips pouting cutely and a bedazzled cowboy hat on your head. He remembers the way the three of you clamoured into that tiny, crammed photo booth.

And much to his dismay, he had found himself on William’s lap, despite the fact that he really, really wanted to have you on his lap instead.

“Why do I have to sit on William’s lap?”

Mark grumbles, arms folded across his chest, brows knitted into a frown as he watches you readjust your bearings. Both of them, making sure you’ve got just the right amount of cleavage for the picture. He makes an active effort not to stare.

And you gasp. “Is it because he’s gay?”

And Mark groans.

“It’s because he has a dick.”

He tries to bite back that memory, as well as the painful burn behind his eyes and he runs his tongue along his plump bottom lip, before hopping onto his bed. Face planted into the pillow and he takes a heavy breath.

“Fuck me.”

Your smell is strong on his pillows, his bedding. And he almost feels stupid that it took him so long to smell that sweet scent that he’s basically had a lungful for all of his life. The smell that clung to his clothing so comfortably. And his heart clenches, hands moving out of their own accord and he pulls one of his pillows towards him, wrapping muscular arms around the cushion before letting out a breath.

You’re everywhere.

His walls: “This colour would look really good. It’s in Séance Dog’s palette, so nothing should ever clash.”

His floors: “You fucking animal. Why do you even have coffee stains on your floor?”

His ceiling: “Maybe we should put a mobile up there. Since you’re such a giant baby.”

Fuck, even his shelves were lined with things that reminded him of you. Paper crafts, those stupid little seashells and turtles that would line your For You page, framed pictures of you and William. Comic Cons, fan signs and even a stupid talent show.

“You guys look gay.” You snicker, hands tucked into pockets of your fuzzy onesie, the black dot on your nose and drawn on whiskers made it obvious you were a cat.

“Fuck you. Magic’s cool.” William defends and Mark nods. “Yeah! Besides, what are you even supposed to be doing?”

“An interpretive dance, duh.”

A laugh slips past Mark’s lips when he recalls the hesitant applause that came from your performance.

You basically just sat in the centre of the stage, contemporary music playing from the speakers and you licked your leg. Mimicking a cat washing itself.

He thinks of the way you had to defend him and William from bullies because magic is, in fact, pretty gay. Especially with the amount of glitter on William’s cape and his waistcoat.

Mark takes a deep, shaky breath to steady himself.

⋆⑅˚₊୨🌼୧₊˚⑅⋆

Biting down on his bottom lip, Mark rifles through his drawers in the dead of the night. Muscles flexing, body tense and so, so wound up and he’s downright embarrassed by the way his body loosens at the sight of cotton.

A flash of violet, accompanied by lavender lace and Mark fists the fabric, veins raising on the backs of his hand because of his iron clutch and he glances towards the tent in his boxers.

Shuffling back to his bed, Mark props himself up on his pillows, before he lowers his waistband.

His cock leaks copiously, translucent trickles down onto his tightly toned belly, abs flexing with each breath as he brings the cloth to his nose, taking a deep whiff.

He used your fabric softener. So the smell of you clings to it but not in the way he wants, not in the way he needs.

He needs to smell your cunt after a long day, he needs to lick a stripe up your slit before pressing down on your clit, all while his eyes are on yours. Watching, learning what you like. Before he gives it to you. God, the way he’d give it to you.

Mark fists his cock, beads of precum running down the length of his cock, pooling in the crook of his thumb, before he swipes the pudgy digit along the edge of his flared tip. A stuttering breath slipping past his lips and his brows furrow in an attempt to keep quiet.

His room is dark but fuck, the moonlight soaks his bedroom, his window open and whispers of icy wind makes his skin prickle and he’s just so fucking sensitive.

He misses you. Bad.

He misses the way his cock would nestle in the crease of your ass when you spooned, separate by layers of fabric that did fucking nothing to hide how warm you actually are. He misses his nose being buried in the curve of your neck, the way he’d subconsciously push your tits up when he wrapped his arms around your body, pushing them up just a bit. And he likes how you never noticed his peeking.

Mark thumbs at his flushed tip, brushing just along that divot and he stuffs your panties into his mouth.

He really doesn’t wanna get caught by his mom and his teammate with his best friend’s panties in his mouth.

And motion in the corner of his eye catches his attention, and Mark’s head whips at the sight of you walking past your window, before doing a fucking double take.

A double take and your gaze meets his.

And Mark’s fucking expression crumples, but not with sadness. No….

Mark’s eyes roll back, drool soaking through the fabric of your panties and he knows that you watch the way pearly cum shoots out of him, lazy ribbons coating his chest and abs.

Mark’s panicking through his pleasure-filled haze, especially at the way your mouth is agape and the corners of your mouth twitch upward. A wide ass, open mouthed smile. You’re looking at him like you’re about to call him a dirty dog and slap his arm.

“Uhhh…”

He doesn’t know why he gets up, but he hates himself for it when he does, his cock still hard and glistening and it’s actually in your eyeline, your hand moving to cover your mouth, your head turning away and fuck, that flash of vibrant satin on your head makes his cock twitch.

“Shit, shit, shit.” He breathes out, panicked as he grabs his sheets, fumbling to wrap them around his waist.

His chest is heaving, his cheeks are flushed and raven strands are tousled. He hope the Earth swallows him.

But he also wishes you’d swallow him too. The way your tongue would rove over his skin, and the way you’d clean it up.

And yet another ribbon shoots from him, this time, all the way up to his jaw.

“Mark! Stop cumming!”

“I’m trying!”

T🌼A🌼G🌼L🌼I🌼S🌼T

@lucky-beheaded ; @queen-of-gotham ; @coldvirginbitch ; @wittyjasontodd ; @a-n-a-n-a1 ; @dearlyya ; @broicouldjustbuyyousomekombucha ; @jasontoddswhitestreak ; @daydreams-and-peace ; @misstyy12 ; @fruticake ; @httpstes ; @waterflowersblog ; @glowinthedarkjellyfish ; @vm4879bb-blog ; @monaekelis ; @radlovesfics ; @allycat4458 ; @bigbodycity ; @feral010 ; @anesthesia-4rizzle ; @princesstrunkz ; @blackfox774 ; @sh1d0uryus31 ; @your-lovely-rose26 ; @slugstarzz ; @ripcolel0l ; @strawbiemilk420 ; @verysynical ; @kikiiguess ; @missam ; @luvvfromme ; @luvvcharxo ; @alma-ru3 ; @mxvoid26 ; @urfriendlyfrog ; @the-good-kooshe ; @troublesome-nara ; @secretaccountlol ; @syubseokie; @atanukileaf ; @im-nowhere-but-also-somewhere ; @i-love-frensh-fries ; @love3vivian ; @boyofroyo1 ; @tamaranblaze ; @supersecretxreadersideblog ; @etphonehome0623 ; @markgraysonlover ; @icanmeltanigloo ; @itzmeme ; @buckturd

[eversnark]

Shut Up I'm Talking: Dan and Phil Patreon highlights

Weird fan interactions: Fans lurking outside Jack's neighbor's house by accident. People waiting for Tommy in his local park. Dan and Phil staying at an Air B&B where the owner asked them to keep the door unlocked so her daughters could say hi (they just left). Phil’s new therapist having watched his videos before, they decided not to continue therapy together.

Tom, Jack, and Dan are basic names. Martin Lester = M.(o)Lester 

Tom and Dan and standup vs Youtube

Explaining twink death to Tommy. Tommy is still a twink, Jack is more twunk. Jack can’t grow a beard, Tommy shaves daily.

Phil hated being told what to do on the BBC “It felt like raising someone else’s child” “No regrets, but I wouldn’t do it again”

Dan called Phil babe (?) in the context of a squirrel bite

Phil’s parents were always supportive of his weird career

Phil keeps fixing Dan’s mic position

Dan knows nothing about the Dream drama, Phil watched Tommy’s newest video. They are both Team Tommy even thought they don’t understand the lore

Tom and Jack like to have nice long chats

Jack had a dream that he and Timothee Chalemet were friends so now he calls him Timmy

Dan thinks Nosferatu is hot. Tommy judges him severely. Phil was scared

Favorite movies: Dan says Kill Bill v.1, Phil says that’s his as well so one of them has to pick v.2. Jack has only seen v.1. Tommy’s favorite movie is UP

The Lion Guard trauma. Jack voiced 3 lines of a video game

Tommy comes back 5 minutes later to argue on behalf of UP

Dan calls Tommy an old soul

Being tall, mention meeting Ranboo

The people that live with Tommy are called the G-squad bc they all have Godzilla pants from Japan. The flat is called the G-spot

Dan’s Mario Kart rating is 12,000

Tommy is terminally offline and gets all his slang from Harry. He doesn’t know who the Rizzler is.

Jack is supportive of Dan and Phil for having Millennial humor.

[buckysleftbicep]

for better or for worse (4) 𐙚 b.b

pairing: new avenger!bucky barnes x fem!reader (fake marriage au)

warnings: nsfw, 18+, minors, dni, oral sex (f rec), unprotected sex, creampie, unresolved sexual tension, jealousy, possessive!bucky, slow burn-to-explosion, angst

summary: you and bucky are forced to play newlyweds at a luxury honeymoon resort. he’s controlling, you’re reckless, and now you’re sharing a bed. the problem? it’s getting harder to play pretend. and you’re not sure either of you will survive what comes next.

word count: 4.6k

author's note: hi my loves! i hope you enjoy this chapter!! 💓

series masterlist

The sun poured through gauzy curtains, brushing golden light across the silken sheets—but the space beside you was cold. 

Empty.

At first, your half-asleep mind tried to explain it away, maybe Bucky was in the bathroom. Maybe he’d gone for a walk. Maybe he was on the balcony again, brooding over the ocean like he had the first night you got here. 

But minute after minute ticked by in silence, and each one carved deeper into the pit of your stomach. Your pulse climbed. The soft rustle of sheets as you sat up sounded impossibly loud in the stillness.

You pushed the covers back and rose to your feet, the cool tiles shocking against your bare skin. Something in your chest thudded—not quite panic yet, but close. You tried the comms, voice low and clipped.

“Yelena? Ava? Anyone?” Nothing.

Just a crackle of static, followed by silence. No signal, no voice.

Your heart rate kicked up, you tapped again, harder this time. “Come on. Don’t do this now.”

Still nothing.

Your hand hovered over the emergency line. It was protocol, something you’d never had to use—a last resort tether. You didn’t want to overreact, but your jaw was clenched, throat thick, fingers trembling faintly.

Because he didn’t just disappear.

Not without a word. Not after last night.

You were about to hit the button when the door clicked. You froze, breath caught in your throat, heart pounding.

It creaked open slowly, 

You froze.

Bucky stepped through the threshold with a tray in his hands. He didn’t look rushed or rattled, just composed, like he’d never been gone at all.

Your panic collided with a rush of anger. But all you could do was stare.

“I, uh…” he started, glancing at you as he shut the door behind him. “Got us breakfast. Figured you’d be hungry.”

Your chest heaved once with a breath you didn’t know you’d been holding. You nodded stiffly, not trusting yourself to speak. He stood there awkwardly for a beat longer, then gestured vaguely toward the en suite.

“I’ll wash up.”

The silence that followed wasn’t comfortable. It was thick. Dense. It wrapped around your throat like humidity in a storm, and you hated that he could still do this to you, could disappear and leave you unraveling like a live wire. You turned sharply on your heel and walked to the bathroom, shutting the door behind you a little too hard.

The marble was cool beneath your feet, the steam from the last shower still faintly fogging the mirror. You stared at your reflection, cheeks flushed, lips parted, eyes too wide. Still shaken.

You hated it. Hated that one quiet morning could break your control like that. That you’d woken up in that soft bed and your first instinct had been dread. 

That it hadn’t been just the mission anymore. 

That it was him.

Not of him. Never of him.

But for him.

You gripped the counter edge with both hands and closed your eyes. Inhale, then exhale, deep and even. He was fine. He brought breakfast. 

This wasn’t Kabul. This wasn’t Madripoor. You weren’t losing your mind.

A soft buzz crackled in your ear.

“Sweetheart? Comms were down. Sorry. Bob fixed it.” Yelena’s voice chirped in casually, like you hadn’t just been seconds away from spiraling. “You okay? What happened last night? You two sounded…off”

She let the sentence trail off—not coy, exactly. But definitely fishing.

You swallowed. “It was fine,” you said too quickly. Too sharp. “Nothing happened.”

A pause. Then the unmistakable crunch of something in her mouth.

“Mhm. Sure,” she said flatly. “If you say so honey.”

You pulled the robe tighter around your waist and sighed.

By the time you emerged, Bucky had already set the table on the balcony. The scent of coffee and warm syrup hung in the morning air, soft and too domestic for the state of your chest. 

The sun cast golden slants across the plates, silverware gleaming under the soft breeze. Bucky stood with his back to you, one hand braced on the railing, gazing out at the horizon like he hadn’t just sent you into a tailspin.

When you joined him, he turned and offered you a plate.

Omelettes. Sausages. And chocolate chip pancakes.

Your throat caught.

“I… didn’t know you remembered these.”

He gave a half-shrug, avoiding your eyes. “You said it once. When Walker got diner duty in New York. Thought you liked ’em.”

You sat down slowly, the chair cool beneath your thighs. Appetite gone, you stared at your plate, twisting the tines of your fork into the edge of a pancake you didn’t touch. The silence stretched again, thicker now, tinged with something raw.

It was you who broke it.

“About last night…”

Bucky didn’t flinch, but you caught the way his fingers tightened just slightly around his coffee mug. His expression didn’t change, but something in the way he held himself shifted.

“Yeah?” he said finally.

You hesitated. Then: “I didn’t mean for it to get, I don’t know. That close.”

He met your eyes over the rim of his cup.

“Neither did I.”

You waited, hoping he would say something more. That he’d reach across the table or crack a smile or offer something, anything, that might give you clarity.

Instead, he cleared his throat and looked away.

“We should stay professional,” he said, voice even. “Makes things less complicated.”

The words hit you square in the chest. Your stomach dropped. Your hands curled under the table.

“Is that what I am to you?” you asked, quietly. “Complicated?”

He blinked. His brow furrowed, just slightly. “I didn’t—”

“Just stop, Bucky,” you said, cutting him off, your voice barely holding together. “Let’s just finish the mission and go home.”

He didn’t respond.

And for the second time that morning, silence swallowed you whole.

The rest of the week was a lesson in discipline, in restraint. You and Bucky slipped into your roles like second skin—Mr. and Mrs. Barnes, honeymooners flush with love and lust. 

Your movements in public were seamless. Your interactions, flawless. To an outsider, you were enamored, addicted. The kind of couple that made heads turn in envy.

But behind the perfect facade, every glance, every touch simmered with unspoken tension. The silence that stretched in private was deafening, unbearable in its weight. It was a performance—a painfully convincing one. And it was starting to eat you alive.

At breakfast the following day, you sat on the open-air veranda with a glass of fresh juice sweating between your fingers. The sea breeze tousled your hair, and Bucky sat across from you in his crisp white button-down and sunglasses, the picture of effortless masculinity.

You were midway through pretending to laugh at something he said when Andrei strolled past your table.

“Morning, lyubimaya (darling)” he purred, espresso in hand, his grin oily and practiced. He didn’t even look at Bucky when he said it.

Before you could speak, Bucky’s arm slid around your shoulders, dragging you in until your body pressed tight against his side. His fingers flexed possessively along your collarbone.

You barely had time to react before he leaned in and pressed a kiss to your temple—slow, deliberate, searing.

His lips lingered just a second too long.

Your throat went tight, pulse thrumming at your neck. The moment passed, but the phantom burn of his mouth remained. Andrei didn’t stop, but you felt the weight of his stare as he moved on, the air behind him thick with suspicion and something darker.

Moments like that repeated themselves.

At the pool, when Fred and Layna struck up a conversation about the spa packages, Bucky played his part perfectly. You listened and laughed on cue, legs dipped in the water, sunglasses perched on your nose. 

And every now and then, Bucky’s hand found your waist, casual, proprietary, his thumb brushing slow, idle circles against your bare skin beneath the thin fabric of your wrap.

When Fred made some bland, slightly flirtatious comment about your laugh, Bucky didn’t say anything. But his hand slid higher, fingers splaying across your ribs like a silent warning. A boundary. His grip wasn’t rough, but it lingered, just firm enough to remind everyone who you belonged to, at least in front of others.

You didn’t pull away. But your breath hitched all the same. He smiled as the conversation continued, but it didn’t reach his eyes.

That night, you walked with him hand-in-hand along one of the garden paths that wrapped around the west wing of the resort. The lanterns overhead cast dappled shadows along the stone walkway. 

You tried to breathe in the scent of sea salt and hibiscus, tried to lose yourself in the illusion of warm intimacy. Your dress clung to your body from the heat, and his hand in yours felt both grounding and suffocating.

A group of guests passed by—loud, laughing—and among them,

Andrei.

His gaze caught yours, amused. Expectant.

You barely lifted your chin to acknowledge him when Bucky stopped short.

Before you could say a word, he turned and backed you into the nearest marble column.

Then his mouth was on yours.

There was nothing polite about it. No finesse. Just heat and pressure and a clash of teeth as his hands pinned your waist, body flush against yours like a shield. The kiss was possessive. Aggressive.

You could hear Andrei’s footsteps fading down the path—but your brain couldn’t process anything but the way Bucky’s body felt pressed tight against yours, the way his tongue curled hot and angry into your mouth.

When he pulled away, his lips hovered near yours, breathing hard.

“Just doing my job,” he muttered.

You didn’t respond. Couldn’t.

You stood there in silence as he turned and kept walking, leaving you trembling against the column with your mouth still tingling and your knees barely steady.

The act continued.

Holding hands at dinner. His fingers trailing down your bare back as you leaned over a blackjack table. Kisses to your shoulder while you lounged by the pool, sunglasses hiding your eyes, heart pounding with every brush of his lips.

His hand would often rest on your thigh beneath the linen tablecloth. His voice would drop low when others were near.

Every contact was calculated. Every movement choreographed.

But the ache growing inside you wasn’t.

And the worst part? He was so good at pretending, it almost broke you.

Because sometimes, sometimes, it didn’t feel like an act.

Like the way his hand would tighten when someone else looked at you too long. Or the way his jaw flexed when you wore something a little too revealing. Or the way his gaze lingered on your lips when you weren’t talking, like he wanted to kiss you but didn’t trust himself to stop again.

He didn’t say anything. He never did.

But you could feel it, thick and heavy in the space between you.

And then he’d pull away. Go cold. Professional.

It made you want to scream.

That night, you lay in bed beside him, facing the opposite direction. The sheets were warm from his body, but the distance between you felt like a chasm. You stared at the ceiling, counting the sound of the waves outside. 

One. Two. Three.

You remembered the way he’d said, “You looked good today,” after your cover-dance with Layna. The way his eyes had dragged down the slope of your shoulder when your dress slipped during the mock twirl. The way he looked like he might burn through you with the heat in his stare.

And yet, he hadn’t touched you since. Not when you returned to the suite, not when you changed, not when you climbed into the same bed.

He hadn’t even looked at you.

You hated him for it. For being so cruelly good at making it feel real, only to take it back the second the curtain dropped.

But not nearly as much as you hated yourself. Because you wanted it again. Wanted him again.

And the worst part?

You didn’t know if it was because of the mission… or in spite of it.

The evening air buzzed with the low hum of the resort’s ambient music, barely audible through the floor-to-ceiling windows.

You sat on the edge of the bed, still in your silk cover-up from earlier, legs tucked beneath you as the comms unit clicked to life on the table. Bucky stood beside it, arms crossed, eyes fixed on the screen.

The moment Val’s image flickered into focus, you felt the static tension in the room shift— like the crackle before lightning strikes.

“Well, it’s about damn time,” Val snapped, lips pressed in a tight line. “You two have been living in luxury for ten days now, and you’re telling me you’ve got absolutely nothing?”

You straightened instinctively, fingers curling against the fabric of your robe. “We’ve been gathering patterns, watching contacts. Andrei’s circling. He’s brought up Raskovic a few times, but nothing concrete yet—”

“I don’t want patterns,” she bit out. “I want results. Raskovic hasn’t slipped. No suspicious transfers. No hard evidence. You were supposed to be our in.”

Bucky’s jaw twitched, but he stayed silent. You pushed on. “We’re trying, but things are delicate. Too much too fast and they’ll get spooked. They’ll know—”

Val leaned forward, her eyes sharp, voice clipped. “You call this trying? Sounds to me like you’re not pushing hard enough. Not doing your damn part.”

You flinched. The words hit harder than they should’ve— because some part of you feared she was right. The days were blurring into each other. The mission was dragging. And maybe, just maybe, you were letting your emotions compromise your focus.

But before you could speak, Bucky’s voice cut through the silence, low, even, laced with steel.

“Back off.”

Val raised an eyebrow. “Excuse me?”

“I said back off,” Bucky repeated, stepping forward, arms still crossed but posture charged.

“She’s done everything you asked. She’s played her part, charmed half the inner circle, and kept her cover airtight—despite having to flirt with these smug bastards. So if there’s a problem with our progress, maybe it’s the shitty intel we were given. Not her.”

The silence that followed was deafening. Even Val blinked, momentarily thrown. You stared at Bucky, something coiling tight in your chest. The protectiveness in his tone had been fierce. Unflinching, almost intimate.

He didn’t even look at you. Just kept his gaze trained on the monitor, breathing steady.

Val’s expression shifted. She leaned back, mouth pursing. 

“Fine,” she said after a beat. “You want to run interference for your partner? Go ahead. But get something, Barnes. I don’t care if both of you have to fuck your way through the entire guest list—I want names. Accounts. Routes. Do you hear me?”

“We’ll get it,” Bucky said flatly. “You’ll have it soon.”

The comms clicked off.

For a long moment, neither of you moved.

Then, quietly, you murmured, “Thanks.”

He turned then—just slightly—enough for his eyes to meet yours. And the look there made your stomach drop.

He remembered.

You could see it in the way his shoulders tensed, the way his throat worked as he swallowed hard. He remembered the night in the elevator—how close it had gotten. 

Your back against the wall, his mouth inches from yours, his hand gripping your thigh like he couldn’t help it. He remembered the way your voice had trembled when he whispered in your ear, the way you’d touched him and how he hadn’t stopped you.

You didn’t answer. For a moment, you weren’t sure you could. The air between you had gone still, thick with something raw, unresolved, something too close to everything you were both trying to avoid.

“And, you’re not complicated,” he adds, so quiet you almost missed it.

You blinked. “What?”

He shook his head. “Forget it.”

“No.” You stood slowly, closing the space between you, the silk of your robe whispering against your thighs. “Say it again.”

His jaw flexed. He didn’t step back, but his whole body went still. That flicker of hesitation in his eyes, that crack of something hot and dangerous—it only pushed you forward.

“Say I’m not complicated. Say it’s all pretend,” you whispered, chin tilted up. “Tell me you haven’t been thinking about it. About me.”

His hands clenched into fists at his sides. “Don’t do this.”

“Why not?” you pressed. “You scared I’ll make you feel something?”

That was all it took.

Bucky crashed into you like a breaking dam, hands gripping your waist and the back of your neck as he kissed you like he was furious. His mouth claimed yours hard and hot, tongue pushing past your lips as he backed you toward the nearest wall. 

You gasped into it, fisting the fabric of his shirt, barely keeping up as he devoured every breath like it belonged to him.

He broke away just long enough to rasp, “You have no idea how long I’ve wanted this.”

“Then do it,” you hissed. “Stop pretending.”

He dropped to his knees in front of you without a word.

Your breath hitched as his hands gripped your hips, strong, purposeful, sliding up the curve of your waist. One sharp tug loosed the sash of your robe, and the silk fell open with a whisper. You hadn’t bothered with underwear underneath, and when his gaze dropped to your bare skin, he made a sound you’d never heard from him before, low, almost desperate.

“Fuck,” he muttered, dragging the fabric down your arms and letting it pool at your feet. “Look at you.”

Then he hooked one of your legs over his shoulder and leaned in.

The first stroke of his tongue was like setting fire to your nerves.

You gasped, one hand bracing against the wall behind you as his mouth latched onto your clit, no hesitation. He groaned into you, tongue flicking and circling before sliding lower, licking through your folds like he meant to memorize every inch. His grip tightened on your thigh, keeping you spread wide, open to him, helpless as he devoured you.

“Fuck—Bucky—”

Your voice cracked as he sucked harder, tongue pressing into you, he was relentless, obscene with how messy he got—spit and slick dripping down your thighs, his beard glistening, his fingers digging bruises into your hips to keep you steady. You were panting, shaking, already so close you could barely breathe.

He flattened his tongue and dragged it up slowly, groaning like he was addicted. “This pussy’s been mine all fucking week,” he said against you. “You just didn’t know it yet.”

You didn’t even get a response out, just a shattered moan as you came hard, thighs trembling, back arched off the wall as heat exploded through your core. 

He didn’t stop, kept licking and sucking through it, until your legs threatened to give out and you were clawing at his shoulders to get away.

When he stood, his mouth was wet, his pupils blown wide. He grabbed your face and kissed you again—deep, filthy, tongue fucking into your mouth with the taste of you still fresh on his lips.

Then, rough and breathless, “Bed. Now.”

You stumbled to the mattress, dazed, still high from your orgasm. Bucky followed, shoving his pants down far enough to free his cock—thick, hard, the flushed tip leaking.

You moaned at the sight of it, spreading your legs for him.

He climbed over you and pressed the head of his cock through your folds, dragging it along your soaked slit.

“Goddamn, baby,” he growled. “You’re fucking dripping.”

He pushed in slowly, inch by thick inch, until he bottomed out. You cried out, the stretch perfect and brutal all at once.

“Fuuuck—”

“You kept pushing,” he rasped. “You knew what it’d do to me.”

“So stop holding back,” you whispered.

He snapped his hips forward.

You gasped, fingers clawing at his back as he started to move—hard, fast, deep, his cock slamming into you like he’d been dying for it. He fucked you like he wanted to ruin you, dragging you up the bed with every thrust, his hands gripping your thighs as he drove into you with mindless, brutal rhythm.

“Bucky—” you sobbed. “God—Bucky, I’m—”

“That’s it,” he gritted out. “Cum for me sweetheart, I wanna feel you.”

He reached down between you and rubbed tight circles on your clit, matching the punishing pace of his thrusts. You came fast, harder than before—your body locking up, eyes rolling back as your orgasm ripped through you.

“Fuck—fuck—”

“Good girl,” he groaned, fucking you through it. “Taking it so fucking well.”

Your walls fluttered around him, soaking his cock, and he cursed under his breath, hips stuttering.

“I’m not gonna last,” he gritted, voice ragged. “You feel so fucking good—”

“Come inside,” you gasped. “I don’t care. I need it. Please—”

That was it.

Bucky slammed into you once, twice, then buried himself to the hilt with a raw, guttural groan as he came—hot and deep, his cock twitching inside you as he filled you completely.

He collapsed on top of you, breathing hard, his mouth pressed to your neck.

For a long time, neither of you spoke.

Then, after a beat, he whispered, voice raw:

“This isn’t just a mission to me.”

You turned your head just enough to see his face, still close, still flushed with heat.

And you didn’t say a word.

Because for the first time since this mission started—you finally believed him.

You didn’t move and neither did he. The moment held, delicate and loaded, like a breath neither of you dared to let go.

The hours that followed passed in a kind of hush—not silent, but suspended. 

Bucky didn’t pull away, not right away, he stayed close. His hand remained on your hip while your heartbeat slowed beneath his touch. You lay tangled together in the warm hush of the suite, moonlight pooling on the sheets, the ocean crashing far below like a distant pulse.

At some point, he brushed your cheek with his knuckles and murmured, “We should get some rest.”

You didn’t argue.

He pulled the duvet over you both, and you curled into his chest without hesitation. The lines between real and pretend had already blurred past recognition. 

There was only the feel of his body next to yours. The weight of everything unsaid. The quiet terror that maybe this was temporary—a consequence of proximity, adrenaline, heat.

And yet, you fell asleep to the sound of his breathing, steady and close.

The next evening arrived with little warning.

You dressed in silence, but it wasn’t the silence from before. It wasn’t cold or stiff, it was charged, waiting. Your eyes met in the mirror as you adjusted the delicate straps of your black slip dress, and Bucky’s lingered just a second too long. 

The secure tablet buzzed against the nightstand. You crossed the suite and tapped the screen, perching on the edge of the armchair as the brunette adjusted the cuffs of his charcoal shirt in the mirror.

“Copy,” you said quietly when the line connected. “We’ve got movement. Andrei’s going to be at the restaurant tonight. We’ll be there too, we need to get closer.”

Yelena came in first, her voice even but alert. “You think he’s testing you?”

“Feels like it,” Bucky said, stepping into view behind you. 

“He initiated contact?” Ava asked.

“He did,” you confirmed. “This afternoon, said he was going to be at this dinner thing, told us to come.”

There was a pause. Then John chimed in. “You expecting Raskovic?”

“We don’t know yet,” you said. “But it’s possible. Andrei’s acting like someone’s watching him.”

“Then assume someone is,” Ava said flatly. “If Raskovic wants to get a read on you, he won’t make it obvious.”

“We’ll be careful,” Bucky said.

“We’ll scan the floor from our end,” Yelena added. “No chatter from the VIP suites yet, but Bob flagged some encrypted calls coming in from offshore.”

You met Bucky’s eyes for a moment before replying. “We’ll stay close, just keep eyes on the exits. If anything shifts—”

“We’re already listening,” Yelena cut in. “Stay sharp.”

Bucky ended the line with a quiet tap. Silence fell again—not heavy, but loaded.

You stood, smoothing your palms down the sides of your black dress.

“Let’s go,” you said, voice steady.

He looked at you like he had something else to say.

But he didn’t. He just nodded.

The restaurant shimmered like something out of a dream.

Carved teakwood latticework framed the walls, filtering the amber glow of chandeliers strung like starlight above velvet-covered tables. 

It smelled of seared wagyu and truffle oil, the air humming with soft jazz and the faint clink of cutlery. Waitstaff in gold-threaded uniforms moved like dancers across the polished marble floors. 

You sat across from Bucky in a secluded alcove, half-hidden behind lush tropical plants, a private view of the moonlit ocean beyond the arched glass doors.

Bucky looked unfairly good in that collared shirt, open at the throat, sleeves rolled to his forearms, veins in his flesh arm flexing as he sipped from a glass of Yamazaki. 

He hadn’t said much, but his eyes had barely left you all night. Not with the way your leg crossed over the other and the way your lip wrapped around the rim of your tequila cocktail.

You hadn’t meant to torture him. Not entirely.

“You know exactly what you’re doing,” he murmured finally, his voice quiet beneath the music, laced with something darker.

You sipped again. “So do you.”

His mouth twitched—not a smile, not quite. Just the smallest hint of tension breaking through.

That’s when the shadow fell over your table.

Andrei wore a custom-tailored suit in midnight navy, the lapel pinned with a gleaming insignia you didn’t recognise, some blend of family crest and blood-stained money. His cologne hit before his voice did, expensive, overwhelming, suffocating.

“You two make quite the pair,” he said, lifting a crystal glass of something dark and expensive. “Mind if I interrupt?”

Bucky’s jaw locked, but he said nothing.

You gestured smoothly to the empty seat beside you. “By all means.”

Andrei took it with a smile that didn’t reach his eyes. “My boss has noticed you,” he said, eyes flicking between you and Bucky like a predator scenting blood. “James and his beautiful bride.”

Bucky leaned back slightly, one arm draped over the chair behind you. He was projecting calm, but you felt the tension vibrating through him. His fingers ghosted over your bare shoulder, a subtle but unmistakable move. You didn’t move away.

Andrei continued. “He’s… curious. Interested in what you might offer. In what kinds of partnerships you and your husband are open to.” His lips curled. “So he’s invited you both to a private dinner. Just the four of us. Tomorrow night at the penthouse wing.”

“Four?” Bucky asked, voice edged in steel.

Andrei nodded. “Myself. You two. And Raskovic.”

The name landed like a gunshot.

Raskovic, the ghost in the mission file, the man they’d only seen from a distance, always flanked by guards or hidden behind reflective glass. 

The boss. The target.

You felt Bucky’s posture shift beside you, not outwardly, but enough. Enough to know he was already calculating, adjusting, preparing. His hand squeezed your shoulder just once, barely noticeable to anyone but you.

“Tell him we’d be honoured,” you said, smiling as you reached for Bucky’s hand and laced your fingers through his, projecting everything they expected of you. “We’ve been dying to meet the man pulling the strings.”

Andrei’s grin widened, sharp and knowing. “Good,” he said as he stood. “I’ll have a car sent.”

He left as swiftly as he came, disappearing into the velvet-draped crowd.

You stayed frozen for a moment, your fingers still threaded with Bucky’s under the candlelight. Then, slowly, you turned to look at him.

“This is it,” you whispered.

“Yeah,” he said quietly, eyes locked on yours, like he wasn’t sure what came next.

But even then, you could tell—something had changed.

a/n: and that's chapter 4! i am halfway through proofreading chapter 5 and i'm so excited to have it posted! please remember to leave a comment or reblog, it keeps me motivated! thank you!

taglist: @hughjackmanadict @vxllys @f1padfoot @mortallydistinguishedwolf @midnightvitality @starglory @benbarnesprettygurl @biggestfangirl @lexavalon52 @harrietandcats @cjand10 @loganficsonly @kqliie @kitkatyap @buckyslefttooth @its-in-the-woods @yessebastianstanus @buckysgirl27 @lokisgirlie @furiousprincesskingdom @keira-kaz2y5 @amatiswayland @emilyswortwellen @samanthaw16 @bobscucumber @rrosiitas @alicetesser @morphoportis @polkadot-567 @w-h0re @c3iiaaaaa @mouseratface @biaswreckedbybuckybarnes @that-daughter-of-hephaestus

[shares-a-vest]

'Steve Harrington – Actual Babysitter?' (Drabble Prompt: Fluff)

Eddie walks into Family Video expecting to find Steve lolling on his swivel chair behind the counter and flipping through a magazine instead of doing... Well, whatever actually is written on that clipboard Robin is typically flapping about for fear of the wrath of Keith.

But Robin isn't in today and the store is quiet. Aka, it's the perfect opportunity for Eddie to come in with Steve's lunch, where they sit together and chat. No, he doesn't bring it every Wednesday like clockwork. And no, he isn't bringing along his own lunch so he can pretend it's a date or anything.

No – definitely nothing like that.

Even if there is some banter that some people (Robin) might describe as flirting.

It's just that he has to take what he can get lately when it comes to his kinda-sorta big, fat, dumb crush on Steve. Especially now that the guy is disappointingly incommunicado on their no-longer Sunday Night pizzas.

Steve insists he isn't dating anyone – and he sure is complaining about that fact enough. But, well...

Eddie does worry.

And he damn near panics at the sight of an empty Family Video. The store is eerily silent too as he steps inside and looks around.

"St – "

"– Oovie!"

Eddie jolts with a yelp as the babbling yell of what could only be the shrill tones of a whole-ass human child reverberates around him.

"Yes, buddy," comes Steve's voice from behind the counter, "Oh – well, maybe not Rambo."

Eddie tip-toes forward and places his hands on the counter before he peers over the edge, where he finds Steve surrounded by the parts of a dismantled VCR. In his lap is indeed a human child, a boy with chestnut brown hair who couldn't be more than two.

He doesn't know all that much about kids, really, but Eddie is pretty certain the little squirt shouldn't be waving around a videotape with such force Steve might get clomped in the head at any moment.

The boy yell-babbles again and Steve swerves away from a side swipe to his beautiful noggin.

"Okay, maybe we shouldn't play with this one," Steve says, gently placing his hand on the tape and giving it a light tug.

The boy squirms, and in doing so makes direct eye contact with Eddie. They both startle, and Eddie thinks if anyone was watching, they might say his eyes look as wide as the kid's staring up at him.

The boy points at Eddie and coos with a big, toothy grin.

"Stee!"

"Can you stop –" Steve grumbles, cutting himself off as the boy begins to tilt them sideways. He looks up and gasps, "Oh!"

Steve scrambles upright with the boy, who makes an (admittedly, adorable) wooshing sound as he is swooped up and bundled into a pair of burly arms that today appear to be bursting out of the confines of a navy blue polo shirt.

Eddie blushes, looking back at the boy in an attempt to regulate his heart rate.

"What's with the baby, Steve?" he says, trying to sound biting rather than flustered as Steve props the kid on his hip like it's second nature.

Steve takes the boy's hand and bounces him a little as he tries to encourage a wave, "You know Angie, my mom's best friend? This is her kid, George."

George finally waves and Steve grins, all proud in a way that makes Eddie's cheeks blush. Shit, he really wasn't prepared for something like this to happen today.

Or maybe like ever, really.

"George," he nods, offering a two-finger salute.

"Angie stopped by and realised she forgot something over at Melvad's," Steve explains, swaying now as George looks around the store, "So I'm taking care of little Georgie for a minute."

Georgie?

Eddie scrubs a hand over his face.

"I s-see," he splutters as he comes up for air.

"And we are fixing VCRs today, aren't we, Georgie?" Georgie tee-hees at that and oh goddamn it, now the little gremlin is trying to get his tiny, pudgy arms around Steve for a hug, "Then we're gonna pick a movie for Sunday Funday."

"Oovie!" Georgie cheers.

Wait.

"You're babysitting on Sundays?"

"Yeah," Steve shrugs before looking down at George with a fond smile, "I kinda like it, y'know?"

[chrissssssmut]

Hi hello sir, I kindly ask a story with popular girls Asa and Ahyeon asking shy+nerdy mreader for help studying. No smut obviously and no need for yandere. Just fluffy stuff

Perks Of Being The Nerd

Asa & Ahyeon x Nerdy Male Reader

You didn’t expect much out of sophomore year.

Not fame. Not a girlfriend. Definitely not two.

Your goal was simple: survive AP Chem and keep your manga collection hidden from the occasional hallway tormentor. You were painfully good at blending in—until they happened.

Asa and Ahyeon.

The reigning queens of the junior class. Known for their looks, wit, and tendency to dominate literally every school event. Asa was sharp-eyed, tomboyish, and had a habit of chewing gum like it owed her money. Ahyeon was sweeter, mischievous, and occasionally so charming it felt like she was glitching the simulation.

And somehow, through some cosmic joke, they were now sitting at your kitchen table, flipping through your perfectly highlighted notes like they belonged there.

“Okay, so explain covalent bonds again,” Asa said, squinting at the textbook like it had personally wronged her.

“They’re the ones where atoms share electrons,” you muttered, pushing your glasses up and refusing to make eye contact. You could feel both of them looking at you.

“That’s so cute,” Ahyeon said suddenly.

You blinked. “...Covalent bonds?”

“No,” she giggled, “you. When you explain things like you’re afraid we’ll break.”

“I—I'm not afraid,” you said, then immediately regretted it. “I mean, not of you. Just, like. Talking. In general.”

Asa smirked and leaned forward, resting her chin on her palm. “You talk more when you’re passionate. Like, just now. You went full anime professor mode.”

Your heart skipped.

You were going to die. Right here. In your kitchen. Surrounded by girls way out of your league and a stack of flashcards.

It all started three days ago when Ms. Kim paired you up for peer tutoring. Apparently, Asa and Ahyeon were “slipping” in chemistry. You’d expected them to blow you off immediately.

But instead—

“Hey, you’re that smart kid, right? The one with the cute notes?” Asa had said, cornering you after class.

“You have the best handwriting I’ve ever seen,” Ahyeon added, eyes twinkling. “Can we study at your place?”

You said yes before your brain could stop you.

Which brings us back to the present.

“You make this stuff sound easy,” Asa said, tossing a pencil up and catching it. “I swear, if teachers explained things like you do, I wouldn’t be failing.”

“I-it’s not really hard,” you mumbled. “Just patterns and logic, mostly. Like code.”

Ahyeon tilted her head. “You code too?”

You nodded. “A bit. Mostly games. Visual novels, sometimes.”

“You’re like, the most interesting guy here and no one knows,” Asa said, stealing one of your erasers.

“Maybe because he’s hiding behind his bangs and hoodies,” Ahyeon teased, leaning toward you slightly. “We’re gonna fix that.”

“Fix what?”

“You,” they said in unison.

Somehow, “study sessions” became a regular thing.

They always brought snacks. Ahyeon liked lying on the floor with her feet up on your bed, whining about reaction rates. Asa always claimed the desk chair and spun in it until she got dizzy.

You tried to stay professional.

Tried.

But sometimes, Asa would lean over your shoulder and ask about a formula, her breath warm against your ear. Sometimes Ahyeon would rest her head on your arm while you explained things, and it was impossible to focus when your heart was beating like a drumline.

“You’re blushing again,” Asa said one afternoon, grinning like a shark.

You immediately buried your face in your hoodie.

“No fair,” you mumbled. “You can’t just say stuff like that.”

“But it’s cute,” Ahyeon chimed in. “And you never tell us what you think.”

“I—I do!”

“Okay,” Asa leaned in, eyebrow raised. “What do you think of us?”

You froze.

“I—I think you’re both…” You swallowed. “Very…good at learning?”

They stared at you.

“Wow,” Asa said, snorting. “That’s the nerdiest compliment I’ve ever received.”

“I love it,” Ahyeon said.

You peeked up at them.

And found two girls smiling at you like you’d just given them the moon.

“Hey,” Asa said quietly, after a silence. “You ever think about, like…dating?”

You choked on your juice box. “W-what?!”

“Not like that!” she added, laughing. “Okay, maybe like that. It’s just—we were talking, and you’re…kind of great?”

You blinked.

“You help us study, you’re smart, you make the best snacks, and your dog loves us.”

“And,” Ahyeon added, sliding closer to you on the couch, “you make me feel calm. Which almost never happens.”

Your face felt like it was on fire.

“Are you saying… you like me?”

“We like you,” they said in unison again.

“I—I don’t know how to—”

“You don’t have to do anything,” Ahyeon whispered. “Just let us hang out with you more. Maybe hold your hand sometimes. That okay?”

Your voice came out small. “Yeah. That’s okay.”

So that’s how it happened.

One minute you were the quiet nerd with an anime wallpaper and a carefully curated pen case, and the next you were dating the two most popular girls in school.

Well. “Dating” might be a strong word. It started with long tutoring sessions that turned into movie nights. Hand-holding during breaks. A cheek kiss here, a forehead bump there. Soft “good luck” messages before tests and chaotic selfies from their classrooms.

Sometimes you caught people whispering when you walked down the hall with them on either side.

But then Asa would glance at you, bump your shoulder, and smirk.

Ahyeon would flash you a grin like you hung the stars.

And suddenly, you didn’t care what anyone thought.

Because somehow, impossibly—you were their favorite nerd.

End.

(But they definitely make you teach them anime intros next week.)

[crazy-hazy-sims]

PLEASE READ THE UPDATE AND THE REPLIES AND THE LAST REBLOG BEFORE I TURNED OFF REBLOGS BEFORE ACCUSING ME OF SPREADING MISSINFORMATION!!!! this post was written before steam realized they had the wrong tags on i agree though pirate EA games <3

As someone who knows alot about piracy please Pirate the sims 1 and 2 because the new rerelease has denuvo tacked onto it and that mf will kill your computers and drain your wifi

let me explain what denuvo is

in short its "anti cheat" code thats only purpose is to complicate the game code so badly that it makes it near impossible for pirates to reverse engineere the game and pirate it, ofc this is not true and Pirates can crack many versions of denuvo it just takes time

so essentially it does nothing but ruin your computer

how?

This extra slop code is integrated into the code of the game so it runs every single time you launch the game and on top of the code slop that games are made of that make your compute heat up and use up ram denuvo code is running ON TOP, using more ram AND internet, forcing offline games to go fully online When the games previously didnt need an internet connection at all.

It has been proven so many times that it cause issues from longer load times to frame rate drops, denuvo's code slows everything down and almost always performance improves by like 50% after denuvo is removed by developers.

There are games that were completely unplayable like they wouldn't even launch because of denuvo, and the company claims this is not their fault and that people should upgrade their computers so this wont happen.. yeah right

Essentially with the reveal that EA didn't fix anything about the sims 1 and 2 and just released them as is but with denuvo attached they literally sold you code to keep you Connected to their servers and force you to not be able to share anything with anyone and forcing the games to preform 50 times worse than their 25 year old selves...

So please dont buy a program that will kill your computers and ruin your games and allow EA to be permanently Connected on your computer thats posing as the sims 1 and 2!!!!

Please please just pirate these 2 games!

Also even though sims 4 is free also Pirate that shit its not worth paying over 1k dollars in dlcs when hslf od them do not work

Update the denuvo tag on steam was a mistake on EAs part it has been confirmed that they dont have it (proof in the REBLOGS) my point still stands though :

PIRATE EA GAMES PEOPLE its literally the better choice for your poor computers

[missadangel]

⊱ AMOR MEUS AETERNUS ⊰

(Marcus Acacius x Ofc)

II. Tensio

prev chapter series masterlist next chapter

Chapter Summary:  You’re making Marcus regret bringing you, and he’s considering a decision you won’t like. Chapter W. Count and warnings: 11k; romantic comedy, ancient rome, using drugs (tranquilizer), anxiety attacks, violence, power imbalance, a little angst, mention about marriage. authors note: conubium: Roman law; the right to intermarry. pater familias: He is the oldest living male in a household. Pairing: Marcus Acacius x Ofc!Reader (Her name is Rose, and her hair is dyed) Rating: Explicit, 18+ MDNI, Smut General Warnings: Harsh, cold, grumpy Marcus, and the reader is NOT innocent a little bitchy, Lucilla is mean, Lucius is a jerk(but falls in love with reader), its Septimius Severus' era but Geta and Caracalla are the prince of Rome, time travel, modern-ancient era travels, falling in love, slow burn, rough sex, smut, sex, oral sex (both f&m receiving), all sex, dirty talk, gladiators, battle, war, violence, blood, ancient time language, fluffy, injury, forced marriage, arranged marriage, sexism, haters to lovers, first love, angst, vestal virgins, vestal priestesses, age gap; reader is 25 Marcus is 42, reincarnation my masterlist

gif by nicolethered

chapter theme (sorry tumblr didn't let me to add this before)

A searing headache throbbed in your temples, reminiscent of the intense pain that often accompanied your period. Oh, right—your cycle was just around the corner. Thankfully, you had taken your painkillers from the pharmacy and stashed them in your bag alongside your depression medication. You should taken it immediately because this was unbearable.

And that smell—

Wait, was that a horse neighing?

With a jolt, you realized something was pressing against your face. You blinked your eyes open, only to find your head resting on a shaggy bale of hay. A massive horse loomed inches away from you, its large, dark eyes fixed on yours.

This wasn't a dream.

“Aaaaah!” you screamed, your voice piercing the stillness of the small stable, the sound reverberating off the wooden beams. Startled, the horse reared back, its powerful hooves striking the ground with a resounding clatter that echoed like thunder in the confined space.

“Why are you screaming?” an irate voice demanded.

And there he was.

Him.

That psycho.

The source of all your frustrations.

“Why are you looking at me like that?” he asked.

A tremor of rage coursed through you as your anger bubbled up. The surrounding scene intensified your fury, and you asked, “Where the hell am I?”

“I had to carry you here after you lost consciousness,” he replied.

Wait a minute—what were you wearing? Had he draped that black robe over you?

“Why am I dressed like this, and why are we in this… place?”

"Wearing your usual unconventional attire may attract attention. Besides, I need to make sure your legs are covered properly."

“That sounds rather bigoted,” you grumbled.

Marcus let out a troubled sigh, the annoyance stretching across his face. "Could you rise if you are feeling capable? I need to proceed to the villa now."

With hands pressed into the dirt-strewn floor for support, you attempted to rise but staggered, the earth beneath you gritty and unpleasant. “It stinks! Everything stinks!” you whined, finally managing to stand upright.

He had the audacity to not even offer a hand to help you up.

Rude bastard.

The flowing black robe cloaked you entirely, brushing the ground with each step. Marcus’s expression remained stoic as his gaze raked over you from head to toe. "At least you're less conspicuous now. Let’s pull this over your face,” he instructed, tugging the hood down to obscure your features.

“What’s wrong with my face?” you frowned.

“Your hair looks a bit odd compared to the other women around here,” he explained.

You let out a hysterical laugh, incredulous. “I just dyed it a salted caramel color. Do you have any idea how expensive that is?”

He paused, seemingly baffled. “I wonder why a woman would choose to change her hair color at all?”

“What do you know anyway? You’re practically a caveman,” you muttered beneath your breath.

He didn’t understand your sarcasm, as usual. “I need to lay down some rules, and I ask that you please follow them, alright?”

You shrugged your shoulders, noncommittal.

“First off, in your time, I may appear as a nobody, but here I possess some dignity. When with my family, you will refer to me by my title, not by my name. You will not speak disrespectfully to them, and foul language is strictly off-limits. If you’re asked a question, I’ll take care of it. It’s best if you just keep your mouth shut unless it’s absolutely necessary.”

Crossing your arms defiantly, you retorted, “Why should I abide by any of this? Why did you drag me here if your reputation means so much to you?”

Marcus rolled his eyes, his expression hardening. “It’s going to be more difficult for both of us if you don’t comply. I’m trying to help you.”

“Hah! Help! Of course!” you scoffed.

“Stop it,” he warned, his tone low and menacing. “Act like a woman.”

“What did you just say?”

He let out a deep sigh. "You’re acting like a child. Can't you show a little more maturity? I truly regret what’s happened to you, but I need you to trust me. I promised I’d do everything I could to find a way to send you back."

“You’d better find it,” you shot back, narrowing your eyes defiantly.

“I will,” he replied.

“Ugh, let’s hurry up and get out of here. The stench is making me want to hurl,” you said, your face contorting as a wave of nausea struck.

“Follow me closely and quietly,” he instructed, stepping cautiously out of the stables first.

You clutched your -his- robe tightly around you and trailed behind him. However, it was a bad idea, as you walked, your foot suddenly squished down onto something soft, warm, and utterly revolting.

“Aaaaaaaaa! Damn it! Ugh!” 

Marcus pivoted sharply, rushing back to you and clamping his large hand over your mouth. “Didn’t I tell you to keep quiet?” 

Muffled protests escaped you, anger bubbling within. He removed his hand to understand what you were saying, but he regretted it. “I just stepped in something disgusting! What do you expect? My Converses are ruined! It's all your fault!” You lifted your shoe, revealing the smeared evidence of horse manure that now coated it.

“What kind of woman...” he muttered through clenched teeth. “You’ve never encountered horse manure before?”

“Do you think I would react this way if I had?” you yelled at his face, frantically attempting to wipe the muck off your shoe against the ground.

Marcus shut his eyes tightly, exhaling a deep breath as he pinched the bridge of his nose. “Gods, have mercy on me and grant me the patience I need. Just be more careful with your steps,” he scolded, exasperation lacing his tone. “You can clean them once we reach the villa, but for the love of all that’s holy, keep it down until then,” he said, turning away in annoyance.

With gritted teeth, you followed behind him, your eyes narrowed with frustration. 

As you walked through the gloomy, dark streets of the ancient city, your jaw dropped in disbelief. You still couldn’t fathom it—you were truly in ancient Rome. Shops lined the streets, their facades adorned with elaborate carvings, while majestic temples loomed in the distance. The rich fabrics draped across the citizens—very few of whom were out at this hour—were a stark contrast to the modern world you knew. It was as if you had stepped onto a film set, and part of you desperately wished it were just that. Tears began to form in your eyes as you fought the urge to scream. How did you end up in this bewildering situation?

The structures surrounding you took your breath away. Many of them existed only as crumbling ruins back home, yet here they stood tall and resplendent, as if freshly crafted by artisans. You felt as though you were walking through a living, breathing history lesson, and the sheer beauty left you trembling. 

You desperately wanted to retrieve your calming medication from your bag, anxious to ward off the looming threat of an anxiety attack just at the fringes of your mind. It was maddening that Mr. Psycho clutched your bag as if it were something undesirable. Of course, if you carry it yourself, your robe would come undone, leaving your legs exposed.

What a true gentleman, indeed!

After what felt like an eternity of walking, your feet began to protest, aching with each step. Finally, he stopped and surveyed the surroundings. “Here we are,” he announced, casting a glance about.

You followed his gaze, taking in the imposing wall that surrounded the area, shadows dancing along the surface of the torch-lit stone. He pushed open a heavy wooden door, gesturing for you to enter.

As you stepped inside, your breath hitched in your throat. It was a stunning ancient Roman villa, far more magnificent than anything portrayed in virtual re-enactments. The centerpiece was a grand fountain, water glimmering in the dim light. Towering columns of white inlaid marble reached for the sky, while lifelike statues adorned the space, all framed by a beautifully landscaped garden. A film crew would have gaped in awe at such splendor—if only you had thought to capture a picture with your phone.

“Domina!” 

You were pulled from your reverie by a woman's voice echoing through the spacious hall. She appeared to be in her middle years, her eyes wide with a blend of anxiety and hope as she called up the polished marble stairs. Clad in a modest dress that whispered of simpler times, she was a vivid reminder of the era—this was ancient Rome, a place where the specter of slavery loomed large. You had made a dress like that before, back when you were crafting costumes in the set.

Before long, a couple more men and women showed up, and then an older woman made her way down the stairs. Her silver hair gleamed like moonlight, and despite her age—perhaps seventy—she carried herself with an air of vitality. “Acacius! My son!” she called out, her voice filled with both worry and relief.

Wait, what? *My son?*

You couldn't help but stifle a chuckle as you leaned closer to Marcus, whispering behind him, “So the great Mr. General lives with his mother.” 

He shot you a stern look from the corner of his eye, a silent warning that made you quickly redirect your gaze.

As the old woman carefully descended the stairs, Marcus stepped forward to greet her. Just then, a tall, good-looking guy walked into the courtyard, his eyes wide. “Brother,” he said, wrapping Marcus in a warm hug. “It’s really you! Where have you been?”

The old lady placed her hands on Marcus’ shoulders, concern etched on her face. “We feared the worst, dear son. We couldn’t find you anywhere.”

Marcus let out a weary sigh. "I was attacked, but I'm alright, truly. I was meant to be away from Rome.... for a while," he said, casting a sidelong glance in your direction.

Suddenly, every eye shifted toward you with curiosity. You raised a hand slightly. “Hi.”

“Who is this young man?” the woman inquired, her brow furrowed in confusion as she took a closer look.

You raised your eyebrows, letting out a laugh that turned hysterical. The woman's eyes widened as she realized you were a woman after removing your hood and revealing your face.

“This woman will stay here for a while. She will be our guest,” Marcus interjected, his voice firm and assertive.

“*This woman?*” you echoed incredulously. “I have a name, you know.”

Marcus shot you a warning glare, his patience thinning.

The old woman, along with the handsome man, exchanged perplexed glances. 

“Is she outlander? Barbarian? Or a savage?” the woman questioned, her gaze roving over you with a scrutinizing intensity. “Did she brought here as a prisoner of war? Or Gods forbid... a whore?”

“Hey!” you snapped, your indignation flaring.

Marcus raised a hand, silencing your protest. “She’s neither. Rather, she’s an outlander who helped me. She will be residing here for a few days, after which I will ensure her safe return to her homeland."

The old woman and the other man shared a look that hinted they weren’t completely convinced. “Very well, if that’s what you believe. Let the girls take care of her,” the woman said, nodding toward the two young girls. “You need rest too my son; you must be tired.”

Marcus nodded and turned back to the other man.

The two girls gently took hold of your arms, urging you to follow. “Come with us. This way,” one of them said.

You turned to look at Marcus again, but he wouldn’t even glance your way.

Bastard.

“Hey! Psycho! Where are they taking me?” you called out, frustration spilling over.

Your shout caught his attention, and he finally turned around, annoyance flashing across his face. The girls exchanged glances, trying not to laugh.

“Calm yourself; a room will be provided for you shortly,” he replied, a hint of indifference in his tone. With a dismissive wave, he signaled to the girls and turned back to the other man, leaving you fuming with annoyance.

What an asshole.

The girls pulled you into a cramped little room, and one of them quickly untied your robe, letting it slide off your shoulders. Their gazes widened in astonishment as they took in your short shorts and halter top—garments that were completely foreign to them. 

“This is quite peculiar, the attire you wear,” one of them remarked, her brows furrowing in confusion. 

“It resembles what the tribes don,” another mused, tilting her head as if trying to figure it all out. 

You kicked off your Converse sneakers and tossed them aside, feeling a bit annoyed when one of the girls reached out to help you. “I got this, okay?” you snapped. 

“Just trying to help—” she began, but you cut her off.

“No thanks, I can handle it,” you said, pushing her hand away. 

Her expression shifted to one of surprise, and she shared a glance with the other girl, whose head bobbed in agreement. 

After a brief moment of consideration, the girl returned, a cloth draped over her arm. “Here, dress yourself then,” she said, her tone soft but firm.

“How am I supposed to change with you all just staring at me?” 

They looked at each other, clearly not getting it. “Alright, fine, but where can I take a shower?” you asked, a little desperate for some privacy.

“Shower?” one of the girls echoed, disbelief etched on her face.

Right, that slipped your mind. “I mean a bath,” you corrected, feeling a wave of embarrassment wash over you.

“You can go there during the daytime. Didn’t you know?” she replied, bewilderment lingering in her voice.

“Where are you truly from? You’ve obviously never set foot in Rome or heard of it. You’re a total outlander,” she continued, her eyes searching yours for answers.

Well you had been living in Rome for many years, but it was the Rome of the future.

How ironic.

“How did you come to meet the general? What was your purpose in coming here?” they probed, their curiosity unyielding.

“Isn’t it funny how, regardless of how many centuries I travel back, women’s curiosity remains unchanged?” you giggled.

But their expressions remained serious, their eyes reflecting concern as if you had just shared a bewildering riddle. 

“That guy forced me here,” you explained, taking off your shorts and blouse as they gasped at the sight of your underwear. They had no clue what it was. 

“It’s, uh, an accessory,” you tried to make sense of it, but you knew they wouldn’t get it. After slipping on the weird dress they gave you, you realized it was just way too revealing. Your black bra was sticking out, and you were feeling a little odd. 

“I think you should remove that... thing,” one of them suggested, a slight frown marring her features. “It looks strange.”

“Yeah I agree,” you muttered, you couldn’t judge them for their confusion, so you took off your bra. But the panties? No way you were parting with those. How did they get around without them, anyway? It was a question you couldn't shake.

In the morning, you jolted up at the sound of a rooster crowing and birds chirping. It felt just like your alarm clock going off. You jumped out of bed like you were shot out of a cannon. “Grab the fabrics, get the drawings approved by the head designer, make sure the stuntman’s suit is done by five, and don’t forget to take your meds.” Those words had turned into a daily mantra you whispered to yourself each morning, coming out without a second thought. But the place around you was nothing like the chaos those words suggested. It felt like you were stuck on a movie set with no way out. A sudden pain shot through your back, prompting you to pat the aching spot. “Ugh, what kind of bed is this?” you complained as you hopped out. This tiny room looked like some slave quarters you’d seen in a museum in Rome. Tears threatened to spill and you buried your face in your hands. “Is this real? Wasn’t it all just a nightmare? Wake up! Please wake up! Why, God, why? What have I done to deserve this?”

A chill swept through you, and panic set in. You had to find your meds. Oh no, your bag was still with that psycho.

You bolted out of the room, your bare feet hitting the cool marble—it was at least clean, not gross dirt. How many rooms were in this place? The courtyard was so bright now, the complete opposite of last night’s darkness. You squinted against the sun and ran to the expansive courtyard. If you weren’t already anxious, you might have taken a moment to appreciate the view, but all you could think about was your meds. Where were all the people?

“Psycho!” you shouted.

As soon as you stepped into the courtyard, a few girls and guys in matching clothes and necklaces turned to stare at you. Of course, that look again—the stunned expression. But maybe it was because you were yelling; well you didn’t shout just for fun.

But where was he?

You spotted one of the girls from the previous day and sprinted toward her, desperation in your voice. “Hey! Have you seen that psych-? I mean, Marcus?”

Her eyes widened in alarm before she glanced apologetically over your shoulder. Confused, you turned to find the old woman from yesterday, seated upon a throne-like chair that seemed to hold both authority and menace, giving you a piercing glare that could shatter glass.

“Hello,” you offered, lifting your hand in a tentative greeting as you approached her cautiously. “Um, you’re Marcus’s mother, right? I’m looking for him. Have you seen him?”

She raised a gaunt finger, stopping you in your tracks. “What kind of disrespectful girl are you to address the general by his name? Your mother or father clearly never instilled any manners in you.”

“Look, I—”

“How dare you interrupt Domina!” a man beside her growled, his voice like thunder.

“You truly lack decorum. Weren’t you taught how to show respect patricians where you come from? Acacius may be kind, but I will not tolerate this insolence.”

Kind? That psycho? Seriously?

You suppressed a laugh.

“Cicero, take this girl away from my sight,” she ordered. 

What the fuck?  Were you an object? 

“But you don’t understand, I need my meds. I have anxiety, and my bag is with that- General.” 

She sighed, gestured Cicero who grabbed your arm and started to drag you away. “Look, this is a tough spot for me too, but I really need my meds.”

He clearly didn’t care; his grip tightened as he pulled you toward inner courtyard, barking the two girls from yesterday. Keep a close watch on her,” he warned, his tone brooking no argument. “She is strictly forbidden from stepping foot in the main courtyard. If anything goes awry, I’ll ensure Domina hears that it’s your fault.” 

The girls nodded frantically, clearly afraid.

What on earth was this madness?

“Seriously, how could you stand up to Domina? Are you insane?” one of the girls whispered harshly.

“I wasn’t-- I just want to find Marcus. He has my bag!” You felt frustration bubbling within, the absurdity of the situation overshadowing your growing fear.

“Refrain from using his name. It’s simply not appropriate here; such disrespect is utterly unacceptable,” another girl scoffed.

With an exasperated huff, you retorted, “Fine! But where is he? Where can I find him?”

“He must have left early for his duties. He won’t return until nightfall,” one of the girls informed you.

“What?” you squealed, the panic rising in your throat. “I can’t wait that long! Just tell me where his room is—my bag must be there.”

Their eyes widened incredulously as if you were proposing the most outrageous act. “Are you mad? They warned you not to go into the courtyard, and now you want to invade the general’s chambers?”

“This girl is truly a savage! Are you a member of a barbarian tribe?” another girl chimed in, shaking her head in disbelief.

“Just please, stay in your room and wait quietly for evening. Do not provoke Domina; she has no tolerance for disrespect.” 

They warned you as they led you towards the room. They closed the door and left.

This room was just like a prison cell. Small, bare, and totally lacking a window, it felt stifling. As someone who struggled with anxiety—unable to even ride in an elevator without freaking out—you knew this wasn't going to last long. How on earth would you manage to spend the whole day like this? It was a miracle you got any sleep last night. Now, with the sun creeping in—was it maybe 8 or 9 a.m.?—the idea of being stuck here until evening twisted your stomach.

And Lizzie... what was she going to think when she found out you were missing? Just 17, still a kid really, and you were all she had. What about your dad, the hospital, your job, the rent and all those bills?

Life is moving on out there but you trapped here, this world and you can't do anything to go back, unable to return your time.

Was time different here?

You recalled the fantasy worlds depicted in movies, such as Narnia. In Narnia, time doesn't align with Earth; it generally moves much faster. Another example is the movie "Interstellar," which is Lizzie's favorite. In it, there is significant time dilation—one scene features a difference of around 23 years!

Suddenly, a wave of panic surged within you, your burried your face in your hands—“Oh my God!!!”

You had to escape before you lost it completely, just like Jack Nicholson in "The Shining." Bursting out of the room, you gasped for air. Your stomach growled angrily—how could they not provide food or water? 

You loathed it.

Fortunately, the area seemed eerily deserted. From the distant clatter and murmur of voices, it was evident the kitchens were bustling, filled with the sounds of life beyond this cold corridor. You needed to find the stairs leading to the upper floors where the owners probably stayed.

“Looking for the general's chambers?” A voice interrupted your thoughts. You turned to see a woman about your age, dressed like she belonged to the upper crust.

“Well, I am, yes,” you managed to reply, your voice steadier than you felt.

“Head upstairs, turn right down the hallway, and you'll find it,” she said, her smile curving with an unsettling warmth that sent a chill racing down your spine.

Why was she aiding you?

You had no time to ponder motives though; you needed to get to your bag. 

“Thanks,” you answered, forcing a smile as you extended your hand, “but who are you? My name is Rose.”

She scrutinized your offered hand as if it were tainted. “Lydia. How did you and the General meet, and what's going on between you? No one has ever seen him with a woman before.” 

“Oh, it’s nothing like that, really. It’s complicated and very strange.” 

Lydia squinted, taking a moment to consider your words. “Hmm, I see. Walk quickly before someone notices you.” 

Nodding, you rushed upstairs, completely unaware of the cruel smile that crept onto her lips as you turned away.

Upon entering the room, you were struck by its grandeur—everything looked rich and authentic, but it felt more like a woman’s chamber than a general's.

“Domina! Mother! This is unacceptable!” Lydia's voice rang out, startling you. Before you could react, she grabbed your arm and dragged you back down the stairs. 

“What are you doing?” you protested, bewildered.

“Shut your mouth! How dare you enter Domina's room? You there! Come back here this instant!” 

Your expression morphed into one of shock and disbelief.

She had trickd you, but why? 

The tension swelled around you as they had gathered in the stairs below. 

“Lydia, my daughter, what in the world was all that commotion about?” 

“I caught this brazen girl trespassing in your room!” Lydia exclaimed, her voice sharp. “Who knows what her intentions were?” 

“Hey, no! She's lying! You told me it was the general's room!” You interjected, desperation rising in your throat. “She's deceiving you—believe me! She’s a liar!”

Out of nowhere, the old woman’s hand flew across your face, delivering a stinging slap that left you momentarily speechless. A sharp pain erupted on your cheek, and reflexively, you pressed your palm against it, feeling the heat radiate from the spot as tears blurred your vision. “How dare you call my daughter a liar?” she thundered, her voice cracking like a whip. “What right do you have to step foot in my room after I told you to stay out of my sight?”

“I didn’t know it was your room—” Before you could even finish your sentence, she gripped your hair with surprising strength, yanking it as if trying to pull you closer. “Shut your mouth,” she commanded, her voice low and threatening, leaving you feeling both powerless and shocked. “Bring the whip at once. Apparently, this is how I must teach you rules and manners. Bring the girls responsible for this girl here too.”

Did she just say 'the whip'?

No, that couldn't be right; they couldn't be so primitive, so cruel.

Could they?

They brought the whip along with the other two girls. They fell at her feet, begging for forgiveness. It broke your heart to see them in such a state. This was a consequence of your own foolishness and Lydia's deceit. 

She looked at you and the girls, smiling cruelly. 

What a bitch.

So, even in ancient Rome, there were undoubtedly cruel individuals. Why were you surprised anyway?

Such people have always existed and will continue to exist in the world. 

“It’s my fault,” you suddenly said. “These girls didn’t know, they're innocent. I will take the punishment; please spare them.” 

Lydia almost laughed and felt cheerful as she looked at her mother.

"Very well." Domina signaled to the slaves and two of them came to you and turned you around. One of them stripped off your dress exposing your back. You were trembling with fear; you had never felt so scared in your life.

“Grab her arms,” she said, adding more fear to your fear. Your body shook uncontrollably, and your tears flowed like waterfalls.

All those movies came to your mind, depicting scenes of whipping and wounds.

“Oh, God, please,” you murmured, pleading, hoping for something to happen.

In that moment, a masculine voice shouted, “Mother!” It was filled with anger and warning, but it was too late. You felt the blow of the whip on your bare back with a great reverberation. You gasped, as if your ribs had been crushed from back to front and your heart was about to jump out of your throat. And the pain came later than the sound, searing, crushing, so strong and sharp that your brain stopped functioning. If they hadn't been holding you tightly, you would have collapsed violently to the ground already. You couldn't feel your feet; all you could feel was the wound in your back as if they had cut you with a knife.

Your cries reverberating in the courtyard. That voice you just heard, the commanding voice of a man, echoed around you, likely directed at his mother, but the words were drowned out by the buzzing in your ears. Every thought focused on the searing pain from your wound, and your vision blurred, turned murky as if shrouded in fog. Just as you felt yourself slipping away, strong arms enveloped you, preventing your fall before you could collapse to the ground. 

Looking up, you were met not by the face you had expected, it wasn't him, it was his brother. Suddenly, it was as if the world sharpened around you, and you could hear his voice cutting through the haze. “How dare you treat my brother's guest like some common slave? What are we going to say to him now?” he snapped at his mother, his tone laced with indignation. 

He lifted you with unexpected gentleness, surprising both you and the onlookers around you. The weightlessness was brief as he carried you to a different room, where he gently set you down on a luxurious lectus. His demeanor shifted; he hesitated to touch you, yet he grasped your chin with careful fingers, lifting your gaze to meet his. “Are you alright?” he asked, a storm of concern evident in his eyes.

How could you even answer that?

You were far from alright; you were in terrible pain, feeling paralyzed by it. 

He glanced away, frustration flickering across his features. “Damn it. My brother Acacius sent me to check on you, and look what I found. Oh mother, why did you do this?” His voice softened as he urged, “Lie down here. I'll find the medicus and come back shortly.” 

You could barely catch his words; your eyelids were heavy, and all you could focus on was that soothing hum in the background.

When you finally opened your eyes, the rough texture of the wall met your gaze as a low murmur pierced the haze of your mind. A voice drifted to you from behind. “Fortunately, the whip’s blow wasn’t deep; the bleeding has ceased. If she applies the ointment I prepared, it will mend in a few weeks.”

You closed your eyes again, the ache in your back still pulsing. When you opened them again, a familiar voice drifted in, but it felt far away. “You may hold the title of Domina in this house, but remember, I am not your trueborn son. As the paterfamilias, it is I who commands, and everyone under this roof must heed my authority.”

Closing your eyes again, you felt the weight of your own anger seep into every fiber of your being. A hand brushed against your back, the coolness of an ointment container sending a shiver through you. When you turned, his face was stark against the dim light, concern etched on his features.

“Are you awake? Stay still while I apply the ointment,” he said, his tone laced with an authority you found infuriating.

So frustrated, you propped yourself up and slapped him across the face, tears of anger stinging your eyes. “This is all your fault! Why did you just disappear and leave me with these people? Where the hell have you been?”

He didn't even flinch. “Are you still in pain? I heard Julius arrived just in time.” His tone was even, but the lack of sympathy ignited the fire within you.

“I’m in pain, yes, but not because of my wound. It’s the humiliation—the way they treated me,” you spat, turning your back on him in frustration. He continued to apply the ointment quietly, a reminder of your wounded pride.

“Is it always like this? How one person tie up another like an animal? Do you have to be the daughter of someone important for anyone to care about what you say? Nobody takes a slave an outlander seriously, but if a noble girl lies, everyone believes her, right? Is this what Rome is like?”

Ignoring your questions but contemplating about them at the same time, he stood and placed the pot of ointment onto the nearby table. “Can you stand?” 

“Why do you ask?” 

“I thought that if I could take you there and you read the words inscribed in the parchment. Maybe this time it might open a path for you to return to your own time at last”

“First, give me my bag.” 

He nodded, calling out, “Julius!” 

Moments later, Julius entered with your bag in hand, his expression solemn. “Do you feel well, now?” he asked as he handed it over.

“Yes,” you replied, accepting it with gratitude. “Thank you for saving me,” you muttered, your anger dissipating slightly.

“No. I’m sorry I wasn’t there in time to prevent her,” he said, extending his hand toward you. “How is your wound?”

“Better, and it will be well,” Marcus answered for you, his voice firm. “We should leave now.” 

You eagerly rummaged through your bag, relief flooding over you as you confirmed everything was intact—reminders of your life, your comrades. A smile tugged at your lips when you found the painkiller. “I need some water, psycho. I have to take this pill,” you murmured.

Julius chuckled lightly, while Marcus shot him a disapproving look, his brow furrowed with annoyance.

What was that?

One of the slaves trembled as he offered you water. 

“Oh right, I asked the great general for water. My bad,” you said, popping the pill into your mouth.

“It’s not that you asked for water; it’s that you called me that peculiar, disrespectful term,” Marcus hissed.

You rolled your eyes, sipping the water. “I’m not from here, I am an outlander, so I can say what I want.” 

“No, you cannot,” he retorted sternly. “I hope this time it works—so you can leave soon,” he added before turning to exit the room.

“I want to return more than you want me to!” you called after him.

Julius burst into laughter. “I’ve never encountered a woman like you before. You’re truly something else.” 

“Believe me, you haven’t,” you laughed back as he extended his hand to help you up.

“Besides, I’ve never seen my brother so anxious in the presence of a woman before. In fact, no one has. Perhaps it’s because you traveled from another time.”

That caught you by surprise.

“True, he shared everything with me. Don’t worry, nobody else knows.” 

“So you just believed him right away?”

“My brother never tells lies; I trust his every word. He’s a man of honor.” 

You examined his face, noting the softer features that set him apart from Marcus. He looked a decade younger, his skin caramel and hair tousled, a perpetual smile illuminating his countenance. He exuded warmth and friendliness that drew you in, and despite the chaos around you, you found yourself liking him.

"Why, why, why, why?"

You were stuck on those words in the parchment, reading them over and over, but nothing happened. It felt like you were running in place, just trying to grasp something that slipped right through your fingers.

"You spell it like this last time, and... the... path... opened...?" Julius inquired, his voice laced with uncertainty as he leaned closer, his brow furrowed in thought.

“Yeah,” you murmured, your gaze drifting toward Marcus. "Was anything different when you traveled to my time that night? Has anything changed compared to tonight? Was the place altered somehow? Please, just one detail could make a difference! Try to remember."

Marcus crossed his arms, a stark figure of calmness that only fanned the flames of your frustration. "I wasn't here that night."

Shock rippled through you. "What? You weren't here?"

‘He was in the barracks,’ Julius interjected.

Marcus nodded. "They attacked me there, and I… died. When I opened my eyes, I found myself in your time."

Your heart raced, eyes widening as the weight of his words sank in. "What did you say? Died? Why didn’t you mention that before?"

"You wouldn’t have believed me," Marcus replied, adjusting the lethal strips of his armor with casualness. "You kept addressing me with words I didn’t know the meaning of and never believed what I was saying. Would it have made any difference if I said it?"

You sighed, lips tight. "But seriously? You’re dead? Dying and coming back… how does that even work? This is just... bullshit." You ran your fingers through your hair, feeling totally lost. "I can’t wrap my head around this. I don’t even know where to begin." Then a wild thought popped into your head. "Wait, do I have to die too? Maybe that’s how I’ll wake up there. What do you think?"

Both men stared at you like you’d gone off the deep end. 

Marcus then responded, a hint of sarcasm in his tone as he kept his serious look. "Are you really considering ending your life? If it doesn’t work, you die for nothing? That idea is completely unreasonable."

"Well then, Mr. General, what do you suggest?" 

"This parchment is a prayer. If we can find who wrote it, maybe we’ll have a clue," Marcus murmured.

"Priests and priestesses, they who inscribe the sacred symbols of the divine, much like on your own bulla... brother." Julius hesitated at the end of his sentence, a flicker of apprehension crossing his features as if he regretted speaking at all.

Suddenly, a shadow crossed Marcus’s face—pain or anger, or both, you couldn’t tell for sure. 

Wait a minute, can they see those symbols? Katie didn't notice them last time.

What the fuck?

"So? What does that mean?"

"Tomorrow, I’ll go to the temple and speak to the pontifex maximus (the high priest)," he said, his voice cracking. Marcus wrestled with unseen emotions before regaining his composure; you wondered what caused this change in him. "We need to move forward promptly, night is approaching. I can’t take you back to the villa in case something happens while I’m away. So, I’ll take you somewhere safer."

‘Wait a minute,’ you stopped him, an idea sparking in your mind. ‘To the barracks? If I can read the words there, I can—’

"No, you can’t set foot in there," he growled, turning sharply away.

You furrowed your brow in frustration. "Why is he so angry?"

"It’s no place for women," Julius explained, falling into step beside you as you both trailed after Marcus.

"So, where are we going?"

"To the house of the second person my brother trusts most in this life," he replied, his voice softening slightly as a hint of familiarity entered it.

“Who is it?”

“Lady Lucilla.”

"There's no way I'm riding that!" you exclaimed, your voice tinged with disbelief as you stared at the majestic horse before you. 

“Have you never ridden a horse before?” Julius asked, his eyes widening with surprise.

“We drive in cars, not horses. Sure, I know some folks ride in the countryside or for sport, but honestly, I've never even sat on one before,” you admitted, your heart thumping in rhythm with your anxiety as you eyed the large beast with trepidation.

“It is quite a distance to our destination, and walking may be time-consuming and exhausting," Marcus said, mounting the horse expertly. “Julius, help her get on my back.”

Julius nodded, extending his hands toward you. “Just give me a moment!” you protested, halting him with outstretched palms, eyes locked on the horse. “I need to prepare myself mentally first.”

He chuckled. “Don’t be scared, I’m here. Just place your foot here.” He motioned to the stirrup while enveloping your waist with one steady arm.

Marcus rolled his eyes, a flicker of annoyance crossing his features at the sight of Julius’s unguarded touch lingering on you. “Take my hand,” he urged, his voice resolute and sounding like a warning, extending his hand toward you.

You complied, gripping it tightly as you placed your foot in the stirrup. Julius supported you as you clambered onto Marcus's back, mindful of the wound on your back. Once seated, you instinctively wrapped your arms around his torso, clutching him tightly. In your fear, you closed your eyes, unaware of how uncomfortable you were making him. His breath hitched in his chest, and he felt your warmth pressed against him, the thin fabric of your black robe a mere barrier between you.

“How can I breathe when you cling to me like that?” he grumbled, wrestling your hands free to ease the pressure.

Opening your eyes, you replied, “It’s my first time on a horse! Can’t you be a little understanding? Aaaah!”

With a sudden jolt, he urged the horse forward, and your grip tightened once more, this time eliciting an unexpected smirk from him. As your initial panic began to fade, he turned the horse around to gather his thoughts. Casting a glance back at Julius, he said, “You go on ahead. I will ensure her safe arrival there and return to the villa."

“What? You’re going to leave me and return?” you squeaked, incredulous.

Julius smiled at you. “I hope to see you again.”

Before you could grasp the gravity of his words, Marcus kicked the horse into motion again, this time heading down the road. You squeezed your eyes shut and buried your head against his back. 

“Does your back hurt?” he asked over the rhythmic pounding of hooves.

“A little, but it’s nothing serious. Why do you ask?”

In response, he kicked the horse's flanks, propelling it forward at a faster pace. A small scream escaped your lips. “Goodness! Don’t ride so fast, you psycho! Are you trying to scare me to death?"

He chuckled softly, clearly enjoying your dismay. “Cover your head,” he instructed as you approached a grand garden and a tall gate. He pulled the horse to a halt, and the sight of a man in polished armor standing by the gate captured your attention. 

“General,” the armored man saluted.

As the gate swung open, you couldn’t tear your gaze from the intricately designed metal armor. Its craftsmanship was astonishing, far beyond anything you had ever seen or created in your costume design endeavors. It all felt surreal.

Marcus stopped the horse by a beautiful fountain, where bystanders began to approach, their curious gazes lingering on you. Dismounting, he turned to face you, his expression now serious. “Now, I want you to lower your foot off the horse.”

You nodded hesitantly. “What if I fall?”

“I won’t let you fall,” he assured you, holding out his hand. “Trust me.”

“Better catch me, or—” you began to protest as you attempted to swing your leg around. “Why is this dress so long?” you exclaimed, lifting the fabric only to realize it was inching dangerously close to revealing more than intended. 

Fortunately, Marcus caught you as you slipped, his grip firm yet gentle, but his hands inadvertently brushed against the back of your thighs.  He quickly set you down, maybe a bit more forcefully than he intended, his hands clenching into fists like he was trying to shake off the awkwardness of that brief touch. “Stop fiddling with that dress. Do you take pleasure in revealing your legs?  Be more careful!” he scolded.

“Revealing... What? What can I do about it? It’s too long!” you shot back, still trying to manage the fabric.

“General Acacius,” a woman said with a tone of respect and authority.

You both turned and looked at the owner of the voice. It was a tall blonde woman who looked exactly like a Roman noble lady. Just like the statues in those museums. She was beautiful and charming despite her age.

Marcus bowed his head. "My lady."

Her jewelry clinked as she approached. "Who is this girl? To what do I owe the honor of your coming to my villa at this hour?" She looked you up and down and you smiled nervously.

“Forgive me, my lady, I wouldn't bother you at this hour if I didn't need help.”

You looked at him with your eyes wide open. That rude, grumpy, cold man had suddenly become a kind man.

"Why don't we talk inside?" she said, inviting you in. "Leta! Serve wine to our guests," she said to someone at the couryard and turned away so you can follow her inside.

You leaned toward Marcus as you walked together behind her. "Is she your girlfriend or something? Beautiful woman, congrats dude."

He looked at you sharply. "Cease your nonsene, never talk like that in front of her. Remember what I told you before and don't disrespect her. You'd better keep your mouth shut and let me do the talking."

"Do you want me to leave you two alone?" you taunted playfully stretching out the word 'alone.'

His expression hardened even more. "You truly are a shameless woman with no respect."

“And you're a caveman with no sense of humor,” you muttered.

The woman invited you to sit at a table. There were fruits and something bread-like on it. Finally something to eat. As soon as you sat down, you grabbed the apple from the fruit plate, ignoring Marcus' judgmental gaze on you as you ate it, looking at her and smiling. “I'm sorry, but I haven't eaten since this morning, thanks to some people.” you said, squinting at Marcus.

Lucilla laughed and looked at the woman serving wine. “Leta, bring her some proper food.”

"Thank you very much, ma'am, um my lady."

The food they brought was very good, but you were eating a little too fast because you were starving. "You could eat a little more politely," Marcus hissed.

"I'm famished," you grumbled. "And I can't get better if I don't eat properly," you said with your mouth full.

Marcus turned his head away, obviously embarrassed by you.

“I’m truly sorry I couldn’t attend the banquet,” she said to Marcus, stifling a laugh at your unapologetic behavior.

"My lady, please rest assured, there was nothing of interest anyway."

"I heard about that you were attacked. Did you find out who did it?"

"Yes, and I punished them, but I couldn' let them talk."

“Could it be Severus?"

"Emperor Severus? I doubt it. Why do you think he would?"

Lucilla smoothed her dress and adjusted herself more comfortably in her ornate chair. “He might harbor resentment towards you for helping Lucius. Never place your trust in him, Acacius.”

They both turned to the sound of your coughing. Marcus handed you some wine. "I told you to eat slowly," he scolded.

Lucilla looked at you both and stood up. "Acacius," she said, calling him to her side.

They walked slowly towards the fountain, a distance you couldn't hear.

“She is a little odd, an outlander maybe? I have never seen her before.”

"My lady, this is a difficult thing to say. I can only say that I promised to send her back and she needs to stay somewhere until I find a way."

"Lady Balbina and your sister Lydia have obviously been difficult on her. Since you brought her here."

“You are correct, my lady. If her presence is an inconvenience, I will take her elsewhere; I certainly do not wish for her to cause any disturbance.”

“Of course, she is welcome to stay. I must express my astonishment though, I've never seen you with a woman since...”

Marcus paused and looked directly at her. “It's not like that, I assure you, my lady. I only made a promise and I must fulfill it, there is no other meaning.”

"Well, it would be good to see you with a woman rather than always grieving. I thought for a moment you had opened your closed heart to this woman that you couldn't even open to me."

Marcus looked away, his expression dark, gaze cold as ice. "As I’ve already stated, there’s no hidden meaning behind it. I ask you to endure this for just a few days; you may confine her if it eases your mind. I will now take my leave," he nodded to her and turned to leave.

"I'll return tomorrow evening, so there's no need for concern. Please don't create difficulties for Lady Lucilla during my absence; behave yourself and wait for my return."

Marcus’s words echoed in your mind as he rode off into the distance, disappearing, leaving you alone in this unfamiliar and somewhat unsettling place. Lady Lucilla appeared to be kind, but there was an air of strangeness that had settled since your arrival. Still, she was certainly a relief compared to Marcus’s cruel stepmother and evil sister, and you were allowed to wander through the sprawling courtyard.

Now, nestled in the soothing warmth of your tranquilizer pill, a wave of comfort enveloped you. Morning light filtered through the grand windows as you pulled your phone from your bag, only to be met with a frustrating ‘no network’ error. What had you expected? This was ancient Rome, devoid of GSM or Wi-Fi. With your battery at 67%, you decided to turn it off, conserving it for later.

But your chill vibe was quickly ruined by the awful smell of horse manure in the air. You really needed a shower; it was like a craving. Based on what you knew about Roman villas and their grandeur—this one was way bigger than Marcus's place—there had to be a bath somewhere. And sure enough, Lady Lucilla had mentioned you could use it, which brought a wave of relief. Once you were inside, you almost jumped for joy. The space was huge, with stone walls and steam rising everywhere, like a fancy bathhouse rather than just a simple pool. But then it hit you: no soap or shampoo—those were luxuries that hadn’t been invented yet. A little panic set in at the thought of dirty hair, but then some slaves brought you flower essences and oils that surprisingly smelled good.

As you soaked in the hot water, the pleasant smells revitalized you. Just when you were starting to unwind, a sharp pain shot from the wound on your back—a reminder that you’d forgotten to use the ointment Marcus gave you. You cursed yourself for not including a proper first aid kit in your bag; instead, you made do with only hand and face cream.

Then, amidst the tranquility, you heard a whistle—sharp and unexpected. A deep, unfamiliar, masculine voice followed, cutting through your moment of solace. "Gods above. What have we got here? Am I dreaming or what?" You instinctively crossed your arms over your chest, a sudden wave of vulnerability crashing over you.

What was a man doing here?

You froze in panic. When you turned to see who was talking, there was a man close to your age, with a playful grin o his face, his head tilted to the side as he clearly enjoyed the sight.

Frustration bubbled up inside you. “What are you staring at? Turn around and get lost!”

Instead of leaving, he laughed hard, stepped closer, a predatory gleam in his eyes. In a panic, you sank deeper into the water, the heat now a fierce contrast to the throbbing pain in your back. “Don’t come any closer or—”

“Or?” he challenged, his grin widening.

“Or I’ll scream!” You could feel the rising tide of emotion pushing to break free.

He chuckled, undeterred, and crouched before you, curiosity dancing in his gaze. With no choice left, you screamed at the top of your lungs, "Lady Lucilla! Leta! Help!"

“Oh, stop squealing like a damn rat,” he growled.

Within moments, a bunch of slaves rushed in, looking both concerned and annoyed. Lady Lucilla soon followed, glancing between you and the guy. “Lucius! My son!”

Your heart raced—her son? You watched them hug, the warmth of their family bond hitting you hard while your anxiety spiked. Lucius turned your way, curiosity painted on his face. "Who’s this girl? She doesn’t even look like a slave."

Lucilla sighed, focus returning to you, as she commanded one of the slaves, “Leta, get her dressed and get her out of there. Enough with the bath.” Her demeanor softened as she turned back to Lucius. "When did you arrive? I didn’t expect you so soon. I couldn't even speak to Severus."

“I arrrived this morning. Acacius' men brought me,” he replied.

Lucilla paused for a moment, a hint of worry flashing across her face before she focused back on the situation. "Come, I'll feed you. You must be hungry."

“Oh my god! It’s Marcus Aurelius.” 

The moment your eyes landed on the bust of the emperor, which was Lizzie's favorite in the grand courtyard, your heart raced as if it might leap from your chest. Just last month, you had marveled at the original in a museum, but this one looked absolutely amazing, with a brighter contrast to the original.

“That girl is really disrespectful; she talks like she’s met my grandfather,” Lucius remarked, swirling his goblet of wine. 

Lucilla, lounging gracefully in her chair, rolled her eyes. 

Did he just say grandfather?

No way. 

A wave of anxiety washed over you again.

“Your name is Lucius Verus Aurelius, and your name is Annia Aurelia Galeria Lucilla. Is that true?” you ventured, not quite believing what you were saying. 

Lucius flashed a roguish grin. “Even a five-year-old knows that. Why are you so surprised?” 

“My sister admires him—well, your father, my lady,” you corrected quickly.

Lucilla reclined back, a soft smile dancing on her lips. “My father was a very wise man, a good emperor. Many still hold him in high regard.” 

“I wish we could say the same about the current emperor,” Lucius muttered, his voice dripping with disdain. 

Lucilla shot him a warning glance that could silence a storm. 

Right, the current emperor.

You couldn’t ask about that directly. You could already feel the awkwardness creeping in. You racked your brain, trying to recall your Roman history. It couldn’t be Commodus; it had to be after him. Oh, those years with all those emperors. Which one was it again? You figured it was best to talk to Marcus when he showed up. But he didn’t come. It was dark now, and he was still missing. 

Living in this ridiculous, twisted reality without him was nearly unbearable. Being around living versions of those historical figures you only knew from books and museums felt surreal. You needed something to take the edge off, another pill.

“I wouldn’t do that,” a voice drawled from the corridor, making you jump. 

Lucius approached, his presence both imposing and oddly captivating, as he leaned casually against the stone pillars. 

“You wouldn’t do what?” you asked, confused.

“I mean I wouldn’t venture out into the courtyard,” he explained, his gaze drifting over the stone wall. “They’re here.” 

“Who?” you followed his line of sight.

In the shadows of the courtyard, illuminated by flickering torches, two young blonde men sat facing Lucilla. One was tall and striking, exuding an air of authority; the other, shorter and clearly overwhelmed, seemed to shrink under the weight of expectation. When you caught sight of the golden crowns atop their heads, panic seized your gut. “Who are they?” you stammered.

“They are Geta, the cunning one, and Caracalla, the mad one."

Your eyes widened in disbelief. 

“The sons of Emperor Septimius Severus?” 

His silence confirmed your fears. 

“Oh, no. Fuck. Why? Why?” you moaned, pressing your hands against your temples, feeling the heat of dread seep into your bones. 

“What’s wrong with you? Your face has turned pale,” Lucius observed, his smirk painting an amused picture against your turmoil. 

You sank your head into your hands. “How much worse can this get? I just want this nightmare to end. That psycho is nowhere to be found. He promised he’d come,” you lamented.

“General?” he chuckled. “You actually believe he’ll return?” 

You eyed him suspiciously. “What do you mean by that?” 

“He must want to be rid of you if he brought you here,” he replied, a mischievous glimmer in his eyes. 

"Stay out of stuff you don’t get."

“This is a prison,” he said. “Once something enters these walls, it rarely escapes. Just think about it—my mother, Lucilla, hasn’t seen the outside world since that day—only allowed out for the Princes’ birthday celebrations. She was practically coerced into attending that damned banquet.”

"But she’s the princess, right? She’s kind of important, and there are soldiers—"

“Praetorians,” he corrected, his voice dripping with disdain. “And they’re the emperor’s dogs. They do whatever he says."

“So your mother is being held here against her will, like some form of house arrest?” you asked.

“Yes, because of her importance and me, and also because of the general.” 

“What do you mean?"

"The general serves the emperor, not my mother. Severus didn't deserve the throne. After my uncle's death, everything became chaotic. Severus manipulated the military to seize power over the Senate. It could have been different if Acacius had assisted me, but he didn't. Unlike Severus, he has no interest in politics, Acacius is a man of war, eager for battle—though I know the real reason behind that."

"What reason?" Your heart raced, curiosity fighting against your unease.

He grinned, brushing his finger against your cheek. His touch made you uneasy. “That one thing that bothers all men.” 

You recoiled, pushing his hand away, your pulse quickening. “Anyway, I believe he will come—he promised me.” 

“Keep waiting then, flower.” 

You stood there, eyes wide, watching him walk away, his words ringing in your head.

The only thing that bothers all men. 

What could that possibly mean?

Or was he alluding to love or something equally absurd? That cold, grump guy—love? What could he possibly know about any of that?

It felt like the most absurd joke ever.

“We must do this to eliminate Acacius.”

You turned your head, it was Geta. You were curious about what he was talking about. And why did Lucilla seem so unfazed? Then you remembered Marcus’s earlier words: “Someone betrayed me; I need to find out who.” 

Was it Lucilla?

What kind of outrageous nonsense is this?!

This was all beginning to feel like one of those dramatic soap operas—full of intrigue, even in the world of ancient Rome.

You reached into your bag, fingers grazing the familiar contours of a pillbox, but just as you grasped it, an unexpected yelp rent the air. A quick flicker of movement caught your eye—a creature, not quite human, darted past you with astonishing speed, snatching the pillbox from your grip. It leaped away with the agility of mischief incarnate.

A fucking monkey? 

For a moment, you froze, utterly astonished. Then instinct kicked in, propelling you into a chase. “Hey! Come back here, you little thief!” you shouted, your heart racing as you pursued the nimble primate. It was a ridiculous pursuit; the monkey, far too agile, danced and dodged your every effort, leaving you flustered.

“Dondus! Where—” 

Before you could figure out who shouted, you collided with someone and fell to the ground.

“What the hell?” the person exclaimed, clearly annoyed.

You rubbed your head where it bumped against his. “Watch where you’re going!” you shot back, realizing too late you just insulted a prince—probably Caracalla.

“How dare you!” he bellowed, scrambling to his feet, his garments slightly askew. Perched on his shoulder was the very monkey you were still trying to catch, nibbling curiously on your pill box.

You pointed accusingly at him. “That’s mine!”

“Brother, what’s happening here?” Geta called out, approaching with Lucilla by his side.

“This insolent wretch dared to throw herself at me, sending me sprawling!” Caracalla’s voice dripped with indignation.

Your blood boiled. “I didn’t mean to! The monkey stole my medicine!”

Geta wrinkled his nose, scrutinizing you with a mixture of disdain and curiosity. “How dare you treat my brother, your prince, with such disrespect?” His sudden grip on your hair made you gasp, panic surging as you felt his intimidating presence. “Do you wish for your life to be snuffed out?” The menace woven in his tone made you swallow hard.

“Who is this? A slave of yours?” he tossed at Lucilla.

Lucilla rolled her eyes at you, her lips parting to speak when the thunderous neigh of a horse interrupted. 

“My Lady!” 

All eyes turned toward the sound, and relief washed over you as you spotted Marcus. In a flash, you elbowed Geta, urgency driving you to escape from his grasp. He groaned as you dashed toward Marcus who leaped down from his horse. You huddled behind him, a barrier against the escalating tension. Marcus nodded toward the princes, a mix of confusion and caution shadowing his posture.

“Acacius?” Caracalla narrowed his gaze, suspicion oozing from his words.

“You whore!” Geta thundered, clutching his side where you had elbowed him earlier. “General Acacius, I insist you tell me—what is your connection to this insolent girl? Speak up immediately!"

"Do you know her?” Caracalla asked.

Marcus glanced at Lucilla, then swiftly nodded. “Yes, your highness, I do.”

“I swear I didn’t do anything,” you whispered to him, desperation crystallizing your words. “His monkey took my medicine. He started it!”

“Do not say another word, girl or I'll cut off your tongue,” Marcus snarled through clenched teeth, clearly tense, startling you.

You pressed your lips together in response, a wave of fear silencing the words that lingered on the tip of your tongue.

It became clear that you had both landed in a perilous situation. 

“There’s one more thing I’m curious about: Do you visit Lucilla often?” Geta's tone dripped with dry sarcasm, a predator circling its prey.

Marcus's eyes hardened. "I was surprised to find you here at this hour. I thought you might be with your father, who told me you weren't joining him for dinner and asked if I could help. It seems I was right to look for you here."

“Are you demanding an explanation from us, general? We can go wherever we please!” Caracalla retorted, anger flaring in his words.

“Of course, you may, it is not my place to tell you otherwise. However, as I mentioned, the emperor is concerned, and it is my duty to serve him,” Marcus replied, steady and resolute.

"Looks like you're dodging the real issue here, Acacius," Geta said, shooting you a pointed look. "I wonder why..."

With a gesture, he signaled one of the guards standing by the fountain. The guard bowed his head and approached you, reaching out to grab your arm. Marcus’s muscles tensed, an uncertain battle waging within him as he watched, powerless to intervene.

The piercing sound of metal as the guard unsheathed his sword reverberated in your ears, but when it was pressed against your throat you felt your heart beating right there.

You gasped and screamed.

“Please! I didn’t do anything!” Your heart raced with fear, body trembling.

"Do you hold any concern for this woman? No? If she’s merely a slave, I assume you find it acceptable for her to suffer the consequences of this defiance against your prince."

What the hell is this?

'Suffer the consequences…'

You looked at Marcus, your eyes wide, but he didn’t even flinch—just cold and blank. Then it hit you: everyone else was the same, totally chill like this kind of thing happened all the time. Was offing someone part of their daily routine? Panic shot through you because you had zero plans of being a victim. “Do something, you psycho! Tell him I saved your life!” you shouted, feeling the guard shake you hard in his rage. Caracalla’s laughter sliced through the air, wild and menacing, like a predator enjoying the hunt.

“Is that even true?” Geta said, clearly amused.

“Come on! Tell them you forced me here! Why aren’t you saying anything? Are you really just going to let them kill me? After everything I’ve done for you? What if I hadn’t come to get you from that police station—”

“Shut…” he growled, then went on in a quieter tone. “…that mouth.”

Geta and Caracalla traded glances and burst out laughing.

"Do you have feelings for this girl, general? Our father will be deeply affected when he finds out about this; was she the cause of your rejection of the unions he proposed for you?" Geta teased, still chuckling at Caracalla.

Lucilla crossed her arms, all of them looking at Marcus, waiting for an explanation. 

With a heavy exhale, Marcus gathered himself, the weight of the moment pressing down on him. “This woman...” He swallowed hard, searching for the right words, but found there was no escape from the truth. “It’s all true...” His gaze flicked to you for a heartbeat and then fell away, as if he couldn’t bear the intensity of the moment. “I brought her here because...” He closed his eyes, letting out a pained breath. “She is the woman I love.”

There was silence, you stood there with your eyes and mouth wide open, almost forgetting the sword pressed against your throat.

“I ask you to release her. I promise you that nothing like this will ever happen again. Forgive me for everything that has transpired. My lady, I beg you to forgive me as well. I have caused you trouble.”

Wait a minute — that “trouble” was you?

With a dismissive gesture, Geta motioned to the guards, who stepped back to release you. “So the rumors had a kernel of truth. My father will certainly be surprised to hear this, Acacius,” Geta chuckled, his grin widening as he ambled towards the waiting carriage in the garden. Caracalla snatched the medicine box and threw it in your direction. “Don't appear before me again."

You squinted at him, relief flooding through you as he returned your medicine box. Lucilla’s gaze lingered on you as their carriage rolled away. “Did you lie to me, Acacius? I never took you for a dishonest man. You’ve disappointed me.”

Marcus bowed his head. “My lady, I implore your forgiveness.”

“Regardless, it’s not suitable for this woman to remain here now that Lucius is present. Please, take her and leave.” With a casual wave of her hand, she turned and strode back inside.

I didn't like staying here anyway, you thought to yourself.

Marcus turned and walked to his horse, where a slave was holding the reins. The slave gave a quick salute, he then grabbed the reins, and hopped on without hesitation.

“Are you really going to leave me here?” you wailed, jogging to catch up with him.

He glanced over his shoulder, a flicker of annoyance in his eyes, then extended his hand. You reached for it, trying to pull yourself up onto the saddle, but stumbled and landed hard on your butt. “Aah, shit,” you groaned, wincing at your clumsiness. 

With a deep sigh, Marcus dismounted. “You really are a troublesome one,” he remarked, and before you could protest, he grasped you by the waist, effortlessly lifting you and placing you onto the horse like you were as light as a feather. He swiftly mounted, took the reins, and urged the horse into a gallop. The wind whipped through your hair as you wrapped your arms around him tightly, exhilarated to escape from this place, though a wave of nervousness washed over you about what awaited next.

Julius was waiting for you near the Pantheon in the distance. Marcus dismounted, gently lowering you to the ground before turning back to guide his horse toward his brother. You rushed after him, your bag slung over your shoulder, urgency in your steps as you looked up at his face. “Hey, are you mad at me or something? It was not my fault, I swear. As if it wasn’t enough dealing with that Lucius guy, then that monkey came along and stole my medicine. How was I supposed to know it was Caracalla’s monkey? I still can’t believe he’s the real Caracalla. Do you know how significant he was in my time?” Despite your frantic words, he remained silent, his focus ahead, lost in thought as he strode forward.

“Um... did you mean what you said back there? Were you serious? I mean, I was really surprised. You don’t exactly seem like the love type, and you’re always so grumpy with me. You won't even look me in the eye. Seriously, you’re still not making eye contact.” He turned his head, when you were stealing a glance at his face. “Look, you’re still avoiding my gaze.” 

He picked up the pace, and you hurried to keep up. “Honestly, I’m mad at you. It was dark, you didn’t show, and that Lucius guy said you weren’t coming, and I—” Suddenly, he grabbed your wrist, spun you around, and pulled you in close, your body bumping against his shoulder. “Never approach someone with a sword from behind. And never touch him without warning. If you do, your hands will be cut off immediately.’" Then he shoved you forward, and you stumbled, nearly losing your balance. Anger bubbled up inside you as you shot him a look—still rubbing that sore spot where his hand had grabbed you. “Wow, you’re seriously rude! You’ve got zero sense of humor."

“What I said earlier...” he started to explain.

“Yeah, I get it,” you cut him off.

He blinked, looking caught off guard. “Get... what?”

“You had to say it; I get it. I’m not stupid. And honestly, I don’t care. I’ve got no interest in arrogant guys like you. Let’s just say I didn’t hear a thing.”

“Good,” he muttered, his voice barely making it out.

Feeling a sudden jolt of courage, you stepped in closer, put your hand on the corner of your mouth, and whispered playfully, “But too late; I’ve already heard everything,” nudging him with your elbow before darting off toward Julius, who was standing on the steps of the grand temple. Marcus just stared after you, his fingers still lingering where you nudged him. 'Gods. Among all those people from her time, why did it have to be her, why?' he thought angrily.

Once again, the night had turned out to be a total bust. Even though you had put in the effort to spell out the ancient parchment's inscriptions, nothing had changed. A wave of despair washed over you as the thought crossed your mind: 'What if I never make it back home?' Your thoughts lingered on your sister and father; your work felt minuscule compared to family. You longed to escape this bizarre, anachronistic world that felt so alien.

While you journeyed through your thoughts, the horse abruptly halted, jolting you back to reality—you were at Marcus’s villa. The thought of entering sent a shiver down your spine. “That woman won’t want me here,” you mumbled, dread twisting in your gut.

Marcus looked at you with unwavering eyes. “No one will ever harm you again, you have my word,” he said with a conviction that defied doubt.

“Why are you so confident? That woman—and her daughter—they scare me,” you admitted, anxiety clawing at your insides.

“Trust me,” he asured you before stepping into the courtyard.

You looked at Julius, whose gentle smile offered slight reassurance. “Trust my brother,” he insisted.

What was he insinuating? 

You didn’t have many options left but to take a leap of faith; you were stuck here, after all.

As you stepped into the grand courtyard, the old woman and her daughter regarded you, their eyes widening in surprise. They rose from their seats, gliding toward Marcus, and your nerves instantly tightened with memories.

Marcus surveyed the gathering, as if to ensure that every ear was attentive, preparing them for something significant. His gaze darted to you momentarily, then he composed himself, taking a deep breath as he addressed everyone. “I’m going to say this just once, so listen carefully. As the eldest living male in our family, I’ve reached a decision that you all must honor.” He paused, his gaze lingering on you with a mix of contemplation and determination. Then, with a commanding gesture, he continued, “This woman will now be considered part of our household, treated as if she were our own kin. Any hint of disrespect towards her will be viewed as a direct affront to me.”

A grateful, warm smile emerged on your face, yet the anger brewing inside Balbina was evident, prompting you to suppress a mocking laugh.

“Acacius, my son,” she began, her voice laced with scorn. “What title will this woman have while she is here? Considering that Julius is a widower and you are an unmarried man, her staying here might raise questions about propriety and attract unnecessary gossip. You are aware of how individuals can be quick to judge, especially in your position as a general. Such circumstances could potentially jeopardize your reputation. Furthermore, I want to remind you that she is not a citizen.”

“Do you think I’m unaware of these implications? I will petition the Emperor for special permission to grant her conubium,” he declared.

Gasps erupted from the residents of the house. 

Lydia fumbled, dropping the glass in her hand, her jaw hanging open in disbelief. Balbina pressed a trembling hand against her chest, shock evident on her face. Julius's expression mirrored the astonishment shared by everyone present. Even the slaves froze, exchanging wide-eyed glances, as though witnessing something very rare.

You, however, were completely lost. The word “conubium” escaped your mind entirely, leaving you confused as you tried to remember its meaning.

“Preparations will commence tomorrow,” Marcus continued, his voice assertive. “Prepare one of the other rooms for her, she shall stay there until then.” With that, he strode purposefully up the stairs, leaving the courtyard in a hush of murmurs, disbelief, chaos.

Lydia steadying her flustered mother, they were still caught in shock, trading looks of disbelief.

“What’s going on? Why is everyone so surprised?” you asked Julius, your eyes still on Marcus, who was ascending the stairs without looking back at you or anyone else.

“Don’t you understand?” 

You shook your head. “I mean, I’m not certain what that word means.” 

He sighed, a hint of bewilderment slipping through. “Honestly, I’m surprised too; I never guessed my brother would do this.”

“What? Why? What did he just say?” 

“He conveyed his intention to marry you,” he revealed softly.

In that fleeting moment, the meaning of “conubium” surged back into your mind, and it was your turn to freeze, caught off guard by the situation.

hope you enjoyed the chapter babies, thanks for reading ❤️

taglist

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[noodleincident]

as i’m sure many of you know, “fertility” rates are my, uh, one too many drinks cause, bc the following things (inter alia) piss me off:

calling it fertility rate

saying women aren’t having kids bc lack of good parental leave and health policies in the U.S.

saying women aren’t having kids bc scary future and bad present

saying women want more kids but aren’t bc, see above

here’s some fun graphs and excerpts from an article in the economist that i know i’ve posted before but you can never see them too often

govts have tried just giving new parents straight cash: “The thinking behind [financial incentive policies of giving new parents straight cash] dates back to the entrance of women into the workforce en masse, which happened at around the same time as birth rates started their long decline. “ but these policies “have a relatively small impact [and are] fabulously expensive, as lots of cash goes to parents who would have had children regardless of the financial incentives available. Each child that resulted from Family 500+, in the years from the Polish financial-bonus scheme’s introduction in 2016 to 2019, cost $1m. In France each extra child over the past decade has cost twice that.” so…it ain’t money

male economists remain incapable of understanding parenthood: “Gary Becker, a Nobel-prizewinning economist, suggested in the 1960s that the best way to consider children is as goods that parents purchase according to how many they can afford, both in terms of time and money. Easing the burden of a career and expanding household budgets should therefore boost childbearing, he concluded.” 😒

drop of fertility is bc we functionally fixed teenage pregnancy (for now): “More than half the drop in America’s total fertility rate is explained by women under the age of 19 now having next to no children. Around a third of the missing births would have been unplanned, and the majority of them would have been to women on low incomes. . . . “Similarly, in Britain women born in 2000 had half as many children before they were 20 as those born in 1990. Unlike their rich counterparts, these women will probably not compensate by having more children later in life.”

maybe women just don’t want kids!: “Meanwhile, there is little evidence that middle-class women wish they had many more children, which would at least suggest they might be open to official persuasion. Today, at the age of 24, college-educated American women want on average 2.2 children—roughly as many as previous generations. They will now have these children a little later than before, with the first arriving at the age of 30, compared with 28 in 2000. Although trends suggest that they will fall short of their ideal family size, the gap may be the same as for women in previous generations, who missed the target by an average of 0.25 children.”

“[S]ome programmes are now beginning to explicitly target [low income and/or younger women]. Zhejiang, a province on China’s eastern border, is offering newly married couples a lump sum, but only if the bride is below the age of 25. In Russia women who have a child before they turn 25 will soon be exempt from income tax. Hungary offers a similar benefit to mothers who have their first child before 30—one of only two policies in Viktor Orban’s pro-natal push that economists at the Central European University think has created additional births. Although small families are becoming more common almost everywhere, women who start young still tend to have more children over their lifetime, which is why Messrs Orban, Putin and Xi are focusing on them.” nightmare blunt rotation

“young mothers laugh when asked if $7,500 would be enough of an incentive to encourage them to have another child; after all, low-income American households typically spend $20,000 in a baby’s first year of life. But such money may well have an impact at the margin. As one mother puts it, extra cash “might make me keep one I wasn’t sure I was going to have”. In America poor women are much more likely than middle-class women to cite financial hardship as a reason for an abortion.” cool society we live in

can we please built a society that doesn’t depend on women having children they don’t want: “extra children produced by targeted policies will probably not turn into the productivity-boosting professionals that governments most desire. Only 8% of the children of American-born non-college-educated parents are themselves expected to obtain a bachelor’s degree, and during his or her adult life the average high-school graduate boosts the public finances by less than a tenth of the net contribution of a college graduate. Therefore the financial benefits of pro-natal policies aimed at working-class women would probably be overwhelmed by their costs, given the expense associated with even well-targeted programmes.”

see also: “A first-time American mother in her mid-30s will earn more than twice what she would have earned had she had her first child aged 22. Women who give birth aged 15 to 19 are more likely to develop health problems; their first child is more likely to drop out of high school and to grow up without having both parents at home. In Flint many mothers express regret that they did not manage to “get things sorted” before they started to have children. “Hang on,” says one outside a community centre. “The idea is that I get paid just enough to make me have another kid? But that’s all that changes? Where doing it [raising a kid] right, later on, it’s all me? That doesn’t seem right.” The 26-year-old mother of three leans back, and laughs.”

anyway

[himbosandhardwear]

Steddie I pre-S4 I secret relationship AU I rated M I 3.9 k I angst I S4 fix-it I time skips

This was going to be a fully fleshed out story but I lost the umpf to finish, it just felt unnecessary to commit to an entire fic, so here's the rough draft for anyone interested.

July 10th, 1985

Eddie answered the door to find Steve Harrington standing off the porch, one foot on the bottom step, looking a bit like mangled raccoon roadkill, with somehow still an immaculate head of hair.

“Whoa, man, who'd you piss off this time?”

Steve slow blinked up at him. “I don't wanna talk about it. You open for business?”

He didn't normally take house calls but they weren't in school right now - Steve never would be again, the lucky bastard - and Eddie was saving up for a new amp, so yeah, he was open for business today.

“For you, Moneybags, always.” He held the door open wide.

Steve walked in, mumbling, “Not sure Moneybags is accurate now that I'm unemployed.”

“Well, then your money is even more precious. You could've spent it all on Budweiser but you chose me.” He fluttered his eyelashes at Steve.

“Don't know any other drug dealers,” he pointed out.

Eddie scowled. “C'mon, man, give me the illusion of being special.”

Steve's lips quirked, playful, even though it must've been stretching that cut painfully. “Oh, Munson, only your steller ditch weed can save me!”

Eddie would never admit it but the fact that he played along, albeit sarcastically, made him give Steve an extra pre-roll for free.

***

Aug 16th 1985

“And I said to her, ‘You can't expect me to tell you that. It's against the bro code or something,’ not that we were ever actually bros, it's the principle, right? But then she gives me the fuckin’ wet eyes, like I'm killing her-”

Eddie wasn't really listening, he was more focused on the task at hand, but Steve was a talker and Eddie had made peace with that weeks ago, so he politely hummed and nodded as needed to keep him going.

“Shit.”

“What?” Steve stopped monologuing to ask.

“Nothin’, just didn't have as much in this bag as I thought.” He put the tray aside and got up to grab another sack. There should be enough to round out Steve's usual six joints in his dresser stash.

“Anyway,” Steve continued on, unperturbed by the interruption, “I said to her-” He continued to wax about Nancy fucking Wheeler while Eddie dug through his top drawer. Ridiculous man couldn't wait thirty seconds, no, had to follow Eddie into his room. “Like Byers has the balls to cheat on her, ya know? And what the fuck am I supposed to do about it if he did? Fly to California and… Huh.”

“What?”

He was so wrapped up in looking for the right strain, he didn't turn to look until Steve's continued silence became weird.

He should've just given Steve five joints and charged him less.

“Uhhh. I can explain?”

Steve looked up from the skinmag on Eddie's side table and laughed. Actually laughed. “Oh yeah? I'd love to hear it.”

Why did he look so happy about it? Christ, he was literally bouncing on his toes.

“You're being weirdly chill about this,” he pointed out when Steve continued to grin.

“It's just funny, I guess. I have that same one.”

Time stopped. It started back up of course but not in any way that made sense. Because Steve was giving him that look, that open faced ‘See anything you like?’ look, with the steely eyed determination of a man who knew what he was doing. He'd seen that look before, in clubs, on the street. The problem Eddie was trying to work out wasn't so much ‘Could Steve Harrington really be queer?’, it was ‘Could Steve Harrington really want to fuck around with me?’

“What the fuck does that mean?” He asked, sure he was reading this wrong.

Steve cocked his head. “It means exactly what it sounds like.”

He turned to give Steve his full attention. “You, Steve Harrington, own the August edition of Drummer magazine.”

“Yes.”

“The gay porn mag.”

“Yes.”

“Why?”

He watched as Steve's face turned a lovely shade of pink. “To look at pictures of naked men and jerk off,” he said calmly, despite the blush. “Also the articles are well written and informative.”

That shocked a laugh out of Eddie. He crossed his arms and leaned up against the dresser. “Uh huh. What was your favorite one?”

“That story about the military rites of passage. Something about being told what to do gets me going.”

It could've just been a good guess, Eddie supposed, but he didn't think so.

“Oh yeah, private?” He said, all bravado. “Drop and give me twenty.”

The bravado died a soldier's death as he watched Steve hit the floor, on his knees, and then begin doing actual pushups. He watched up until twelve or so - the play of muscle under that blue and white polo was really something - before stopping him with a laugh.

“Get up, you fuckin' jock. We get it, you're in great shape.”

Steve did stop but only so he could sit back on his heels, hands placed firmly on his thighs, to look up at Eddie as though awaiting further instructions.

He gulped.

***

Sept 28th 1985

Eddie had his hand down Steve's pants, sucking a sizable hickey on his neck, when Steve blurted out, “Teen Wolf is playing at the Drive-In in Shelbyville.”

He backed away slowly, swimming through a haze of horny confusion to mumble, “The fuck?”

“Um. Just sayin'.”

“‘Just sayin'?’ Why are you ‘just sayin'’ right now?” He articulated this with a heavy squeeze to Steve's dick.

“Ha!” Steve arched toward him while also wincing in embarrassment. “I just wanted to ask before I forgot.”

A drop of cold lead sank Eddie's stomach. “Ask…what?”

He blinked at Eddie in the dark. “Do you wanna go? To the movies? With me?”

Heat washed out the cold feeling and replaced it with mounting anger; Eddie slowly pulled his hand from Steve's pants. He watched Eddie back away with wide-eyed confusion, going to ask what was wrong probably, but Eddie beat him to it, unwilling to hear the concern in his voice.

“I thought you understood what this was, Harrington. We don't do dates,” he spit the word like a curse. “That's something you do with the nice girls from your daddy's country club. We get each other off in the back of my van, where no one can see it rocking. Right? That's what this is.”

Steve's whole face shut down, giving nothing away. He gave Eddie a small nod, doing his pants back up. That was probably for the best, he was too rattled to get off now anyway.

“Yeah, I think we're done for today. Come see me when you remember what it is I'm good for.”

Steve didn't respond, just kicked open Eddie's back doors and hopped out. The beemer started a second later, not peeling out angrily, not kicking up gravel and dust in its wake, just drifted off into the night.

Eddie's hand shook as he tried to light a cigarette, flame winking in and out as his fingers slipped, another thing Steve had ruined. What an asshole, he thought, still furious. What the fuck was he thinking, asking Eddie out? That they'd just go to the movies together? Like a couple of regular people? Didn't he know that's not how things worked? If you're lucky, which Eddie was, you find a mentor to teach you the rules of staying safe. If you're not lucky, you learn the hard way.

Going steady with rich, popular boys was not on the list of approved activities.

Eddie snapped his cigarette in half and chucked it out the back door. The black of the lake beyond the trees, near invisible under a waxing moon, left him feeling sick to his stomach and lonely. The nights were getting too chilly to sit with the doors open anyway. He swung them shut and shrugged his flannel back on. The memory of Steve running his warm hands over Eddie's shoulders, slipping it off as he ran them down his back, struck Eddie like a slap to the face.

He shouldn't have freaked out. He could've handled it better. It wasn't Steve's fault he didn't know the rules. He didn't have someone like Gil to warn him about how dangerous it was out there. Oh well, it was too late to take it back now. He'd apologize when Steve came around again.

***

Oct 10th 1985

“I just don't get why he won't talk to me. I tried to see him at Family Video and he ran into the back office and locked the door. Buckley just stared at me until I was sure my hair would catch fire. Like I ever did anything to her,” he grumbled.

“Ed,” Gil sighed over the phone like Eddie was being particularly stupid, “he wanted to take you out and you yelled at him.”

When he said it like that it sounded reasonable. “Yeah, except we don't do that! You taught me that! That's not safe!”

“Oh, no. Oh, Eddie,” he sighed again. It was really starting to piss him off. “I didn't mean for you to take that to heart. You can't shut out everyone who might love you-”

“Love me?!” He screeched. “Are you insane? He didn't love me!”

“I'm not saying he did, I just mean you can't expect everyone you sleep with is going to agree no strings attached forever. Eventually you're going to fall for someone, and then all the bullshit running around in secret, that shit becomes worth it. I wasn't trying to stop you from falling in love, I was just trying to teach you how to get around safely.”

Eddie sputtered. He was so confused. Where was the burly, son of a bitch, leather vest wearing, biker bear who once told Eddie where to find the best glory holes in a new town? What the fuck was the shit about falling in love? That wasn't supposed to be in the cards for him. And certainly not with Steve Harrington. That was never going to be a thing. Not in the cards, not in the casino, not in Las Vegas itself! But all of a sudden he was allowed to date if he was sure the other person was worthy? Since when?!

Gil, instead of taking pity on him, doubled down. “I think it's probably too late with this Steve fella, but Eddie, don't push away the next one who takes an interest in you. Okay? It's still rough out there, it's still dangerous, but, god, what is any of this for if we aren't allowed to be in love?”

“You asshole,” he sniffed, “where was all this lovely advice two years ago?”

“You were a kid, dumb ass. If I'd told you to run off with the first guy who gave you butterflies, you'd be dead already. I was trying to keep you safe first, cut me some slack!”

“Fine! But I still blame you for fucking me on the Harrington thing. You have no idea what you cost me. Literally and figuratively. The wallet and the ass on that man.” He wasn't going to admit to missing the man attached to the wallet and the ass. It was too fresh of a realization.

“I'm sorry, kid. Seems like you really liked him.”

“What? No I didn't.”

“That why you called me and ranted about him for a half hour straight? Because you don't like him?”

Eddie scowled at the sink. “Shut up.”

Gil sighed at him again.

***

March 29th, 1986

A car had pulled up.

His blood was rushing in his ears, nothing but the sound of the ocean in a giant seashell, like the one his mom had kept on her dresser, so he didn't hear the voice at first. It wormed its way into his understanding slowly, a male voice, low, calling his name.

He grasped the bottle tighter, waited until the voice got closer, and then sprang out from under the tarp. His senses grew sharp, focusing on the dark shape in front of him. They came together hard, fell into the wall with a jarring crash. All thoughts went into stopping the body against him from hurting him first.

Hands grasped his wrist to keep the bottle from finding its mark. Strong hands, with wide knuckles, ones that Eddie hadn't seen in six months but still, unbidden, saw in his dreams.

He finally looked up and found Steve Harrington at the end of his makeshift knife.

“It's me, Eds, it's me” he was panting. “You're safe. I promise. It's okay.” He kept repeating it until Eddie finally let go of the bottle. Let go and then buried his face into Steve's neck and wept. He couldn't stop it, it just came out of him, everything, all the terror and confusion and guilt.

“I didn't do it, I didn't hurt her, it wasn't me,” he kept repeating.

“I know. I know, Eds, I know you didn't,” Steve answered, hand still running over the back of his head. Like the last six months were just a terrible dream.

He didn't even notice Steve wasn't alone, not until Henderson clasped him around the shoulder and told him there were things living under Hawkins, things that would make a horde of Beholders turn tail and run.

And they'd been dealing with it all since ‘83?

Which meant Steve was already a hardened veteran when he was goofing off in Eddie's trailer, making tusks out of pretzel rods and calling Ewoks by the wrong name.

“Jesus Christ.” He put his head between his knees and did his best to ignore Steve's hand rubbing up and down his back. He didn't want the comfort but he took it anyway.

***

March 31st 1986

“Hey, Eddie,” Steve pulled up next to him, skipping over the slimy Devil Roots with ease, “I just wanted to say thanks for savin’ my ass back there.”

Eddie chuckled lowly, not ready to say, ‘You know what you did, you macho asshole.’ “Pretty sure Wheeler saved your ass but you're welcome.”

“You definitely helped. I mean, you didn't have to swim through a portal to hell after me but you did.”

The shame of Steve giving him even an ounce of credit crept up his throat and started to choke him. Steve had been getting drug to hell by some unknown force and still Eddie had hesitated. He was a coward.

“Man, I just didn't want to be the asshole who stayed behind.”

The silence felt damning, like he should've just kept his mouth shut.

Steve jammed his hands into his ratty sweatpants. “Right.”

Now he thought Eddie didn't care at all.

Before he could talk himself out of it, he whispered, “You know that's not the whole truth, right? I know things are weird between us but I don't want you dead.”

He had to keep his eyes on the ground as they walked but out of his periphery he could see Steve nod.

“Yeah. I get it.”

He didn't but Eddie didn't know what else to say. He hadn't let himself think about what they were to each other now. Not friends, not ex’s, not strangers. He’d tried not to think about Steve at all - except what he couldn't avoid, like Henderson’s obsession with him and things his brain forced him to remember at night - since whatever they were doing ended. Since Steve left and never came back.

He opened his mouth to soften the moment, tell Steve how Henderson would've killed him in a more creative way than Vecna if he'd let Steve die, but Steve cut him off.

“I should thank you for that too.”

Eddie chanced looking over.

“For what?”

“For ending things when you did.”

The squirm in his gut worsened. They hadn't talked about it. He didn't want to talk about it. “Oh?” He choked out.

“Yeah, I was, uh, making a bigger thing out of what we, what we were doing, than I should've. I blame Robin for enabling me, she's the one who said to just ask you out like a normal person. Sorry for making it weird and ruining it. Always trying to give my heart to people who don't want it.” He chuckled morosely. “Anyway, thanks, I guess. You probably saved me from a lot more heartache later down the line.” He slapped Eddie on the back, like they were old chums, and then he skipped up to the girls without a backwards glance.

Eddie stood there, alone, gaping at his retreating back.

***

April 1st, 1986

Eddie had always been good at compartmentalizing. When his mom got sick, he got really into Tolkien, let that be his focal point in a storm of hospital visits and missed days at school. When his dad got picked up and sent to prison, he let Wayne teach him how to play guitar, which he spent most of his waking hours on. When Steve made it clear he was done with Eddie, he packed up the little pocket of time they had, the enjoyment he'd found in Steve's company, and folded it under the recesses of his mind, told himself it was all for the best, to not think of it again, and then he threw himself into Hellfire.

So, now that he’d found himself in another untenable situation, clarity struck Eddie like lightning as he thrashed on the ground - Hey, dumbass, Steve Harrington actually liked you, wanted to date you, would've fallen for you, and you fucking blew it. Not only did you blow it, you broke his fucking heart.

It was an asinine thought to have while he was actively dying but considering the alternative was acknowledging that he was being eaten alive by demon bats, he welcomed thoughts of Steve.

Steve, who Eddie had convinced himself was just scratching an itch with someone who wouldn't tell, but who had actually been telling his best friend the whole time.

Steve, who came over for weed but stayed to hang out, sometimes for hours, well before they were fooling around.

Steve, who wasn't anything like Eddie had assumed he would be, was exactly the kinda guy Eddie would've fallen for. If he was allowed.

But he had been allowed, the whole time apparently, and was too stupid to notice.

Henderson showed up a minute later, just as the bats collapsed around him, thank god. If he'd gotten the asshole killed he was fairly certain Steve would've brought him back somehow just to kill him again.

He wasted a lot of breath apologizing to Dustin, agreeing that he was totally gonna make it. Wasted some more trying to bequeath Hellfire to him. Wasted his last breath to say, “Tell Steve I'm sorry.”

Dustin wouldn't understand what for but maybe Steve would.

Just before he lost consciousness he caught Dustin saying, “Tell him yourself,” and then something that sounded suspiciously like, “Eddie! No.”

But by then he was gone.

***

Date unknown, 1986

He was never sure if what he was experiencing was real or not. Since the pain had stopped everything had a surreal quality, mostly flashes of light, some sound trickled in, shouting and crying and tires squealing; all of it was fleeting and seemed unimportant.

The first thing that felt real was Wayne's voice. Gruff and short and so, so familiar. It brought tears to his eyes. He was pretty sure anyway, hard to tell when he couldn't open them yet.

“Get your boy, Fletch, or I'm gonna break his arm.”

“Now, Wayne, we're just doin’ our job,” Chief Powell said in a softer tone than Wayne's snarl or Callahan's offense.

“Either one of you touch a hair on his head, I'll-”

“Have Steve call his famous lawyer dad,” Robin piped up from somewhere in the room, thankfully stopping Wayne from further incriminating himself.

“He's a divorce attorney,” Steve mumbled. “But he knows people!” He rallied after what Eddie imagined was a look from Robin.

A beat went by, Eddie almost slipped away in the quiet, before Chief Powell spoke up again. “You're all gonna go to bat for this kid?”

Steve responded first. “He's a hero.”

Eddie didn't get to enjoy that for long, a nurse came in to shuffle them all out of the room so they could re-up his pain meds and then it was nighty-night again.

***

Date Unknown, 1986

The next time Eddie woke, it was dark in the room, only a bit of light coming in from under the door and from the parking lot lights outside. His eyes felt gritty, heavy with sleep, but he could make out the shape of Steve in the chair beside his bed.

He was awake, staring down at the side of Eddie's mattress.

No.

Eddie followed his gaze and found Steve staring at his hand where it laid across his own forearm, careful of the tubes they were both hooked to. As soon as he saw it, he became aware of the warmth of it, Steve's huge hand draped over his cold skin.

“Feels nice,” he tried to say but it came out more garbled mess than actual words.

It was enough to get Steve's attention though.

“Eddie!” He said with excitement, relief. “What do you need? I should get the nurse.”

Eddie forced his arm to respond, to turn over and clasp Steve where he was about to remove himself. His grasp wasn't near enough to keep Steve in place but the fact that he tried kept Steve where he was.

His voice refused to cooperate, felt like coughing up glass, but he tried to communicate that Steve should stay.

“Okay, okay, I'm here. Not going anywhere. Do you need anything? Water? Pain meds?”

Eddie could definitely use both of those things but the most pressing thing, the only thing he could really think of was…

Lifting his hand to point as steadily as he could at Steve's chest.

He chuckled. “Why do you keep trying to take my shirt?”

The question made little sense. For one thing, this was the first he remembered being coherent enough to demand anything, and second, Steve wasn't wearing a shirt, he was in a hospital gown, same as Eddie.

He shook his head as best he could, a frustrated frown and a grunt to indicate that wasn't what he meant at all.

Steve leaned closer. “What is it? I don't know what you need, Eddie.”

Now that he was closer, Eddie reached out as best he could and pressed his palm to the left side of Steve's chest.

They stared at each other. Eddie could feel the tears slipping down his face but he didn't dare move his hand to wipe them away.

Slowly, like he was scared, Steve's hand came up to press Eddie's hand closer. Big and warm and missed to the point of aching, though Eddie had been loath to admit it to himself.

“You’re serious?” Steve whispered. “You want...this?”

Eddie nodded frantically.

“If you mean my tit I'm going to be so pissed at you.”

Eddie choked on a laugh. He did his very best to mouth, “That too.”

That got him a laugh, a soft one. "Some things don't change." He looked away, shy. Or not shy exactly, cautious. "I hope you remember you said all this when you wake up again. You're pretty doped up."

That was an easy fix. The drugs probably made it easier to admit but he was tired of pretending it wasn't true.

He pulled Steve's hand until it settled over his own chest, stitches and all, and forced himself to croak, "I already tried to forget, sweetheart. It didn't work."

Steve's answering smile rivaled the dawn.

[smileysuh]

fresco

🌙 starring. Lee Donghyuck x afab!Reader 

🔮 preview. When you first met Hyuck in the elevator, you’d thought he was nothing more than some fuckboy line chef. But now, you see a deeper side of him. He’s thoughtful and caring, a little chaotic in the best way, but willing to calm down and match your pace. And to top it all off, he’s hot as fuck.

tw/cw. protected sex (for probably the first time ever), gentle/slow build-up sex, oral/pussy eating, slight praise, slight dirty talk, reader hasn’t been fucked in a while, low-key wholesome sex with a reformed fuckboy because you’re now cat co-parents, etc… I pet names: (hers) gorgeous.

👹 rating.18+ explicit I wc. 6.8k 

🍭 aus. Restaurant au, neighbors to lovers, accidental fur baby co-parents, etc…

☀️ mlist + an. Fresco, meaning a painting done rapidly in watercolor on wet plaster on a wall or ceiling, so that the colors penetrate the plaster and become fixed as it dries. - Alternative; Alfresco, meaning a meal eaten outside “in the fresh air” - fresco is Italian for “fresh,” and the culinary usage is relatively common in English. this fic is in conjunction with Real Talk and Comfort Cuisine.

Prologue:

You’re a little shocked to hear a knock at your door around one in the afternoon on a Tuesday. As something of a recluse professional artist, you don’t get many visitors. One look out the peephole reveals that your surprise guest is a neighbor, one Lee Donghyuck from two units down. 

“Hyuck?” you ask as you open the door. “Is something wrong?”

“I found a cat!” Hyuck whisper screams as he holds open his jacket, revealing a tiny, orange puffball, who immediately meows at you. “Can I come in?”

You’re so taken aback by this whole interaction that you don’t have it within you to argue, you simply step aside and let the frazzled line cook into your apartment.

“Okay, I don’t have much time,” Donghyuck explains. “My chef is going to kill me for taking the longest vape break ever-”

“Slow down,” you laugh.

“Look, I went for a vape break, I found this kitten by the dumpster, I jumped in my car and came here.”

“It’s a no-pet apartment building,” you point out. 

“Can you just take care of him for the day? While I figure this out?” Hyuck pleads. 

“Don’t you have other friends in the building?”

“No one who’s home all day like you are- come on, it’s a kitten, it needs someone around or it’s going to be screaming super loud and then the landlord will hear it and evict me-”

“What about a shelter?”

“I don’t have time to look up no-kill shelters, and besides, you know how the cat distribution system works!” 

“Fine,” you sigh, gazing at the purring ball of fur. “What time are you off work.”

“Around nine,” Hyuck responds, holding the kitten out for you. “You’re doing me a huge favor.”

“Just this once, while you figure the whole situation out.”

One: 

You’re doing your best to continue working, but the kitten has been a bit of a menace the entire day. You suppose this orange fur ball is a bit like Hyuck that way, not that you know your neighbor very well, but you have a sense for him. Hyuck has to be a little chaotic to turn up on your doorstep with a kitten he found by the dumpster, but the flip side of this whole thing is that Hyuck is showing a lot of tenderness to have cared about this cat at all.

You work as much as you can, but when the kitten starts crying, you decide to call it a day.

There’s a can of tuna in your pantry, the type that’s in water from when you were on a health kick a month ago, and you spoon it onto a little plate for the orange kitten.

He’s eager to eat it all up, making an obnoxious yet endearing gnawing sound as he decimates all the tuna.

When he’s finished, you lift the little cat up into your arms, taking him to your couch to rest while you put on a show.

The little trooper is exhausted, and a food coma comes quickly.

He lays on your lap, napping and purring and relaxing, and you can’t help but enjoy the little fur ball’s presence. He calms you, and before you even know it, it’s nine, and a knock at your door signals Hyuck’s return.

You lift up the orange kitten, carrying him to your door. Hyuck enters your apartment with a sigh.

“How was my child?” he asks, immediately reaching out to take the cat from your hands.

“He wasn’t too bad, I fed him a can of tuna. He’ll probably be good till the morning, but you’ve got to figure out what you’re doing with him.”

“Yeah, I’m still thinking about that,” Hyuck groans. “Thanks for the help today.”

“Don’t mention it, seriously.”

“I’ve gotta get home, I’m exhausted from work, and I’m guessing you’ve got things to do.”

You don’t have anything in particular on your schedule, but it’s not like you and Hyuck are very close, so you let him leave. It feels a little odd to look at your empty apartment once he’s gone- sure, you’d only had the kitten for nine or so hours, but… he’d livened up the space a little, in a way you can’t quite explain.

You go back to your couch, letting out a sigh as you turn your show back on.

Not fifteen minutes later there’s a knock at your door, and for the third time today, Lee Donghyuck enters your apartment.

“He wouldn’t stop crying for you!” Hyuck explains, handing the squirming kitten over to you. “Maybe he thinks you’re his mom now!”

“Hyuck,” you sigh. “You’ve got to sort this out.”

“I was thinking… can you… can you take him to the vet tomorrow?”

“The vet?”

“You know, make sure he’s not tagged or anything?”

“Make sure he’s not tagged?” you ask. “You’re hoping he’s a stray?” 

“If he’s a stray then I get to keep him,” Hyuck states. 

“Again, this is a no-pet building.”

“Everyone says that, but I know for a fact that Mrs. Sue on the fifth floor has some mega old and dying Persian, and I’m pretty sure the nonbinary couple next to me have some calico that’s missing a tail-”

“What?”

“It got out one day, I saw it scratching at their door. Have you really not seen any cats in the building?”

“I don’t go out much,” you admit.

“The point is, people have cats, they just hide them.”

You release a sigh. “I think there should be an emphasis on the word cats, not kittens, who are substantially louder and need more attention.”

“Well…” Hyuck gazes down at his feet. “You work from home.”

“So what, this is our cat now?” 

“It could be,” the line chef muses. “I mean, look at him, he’s obsessed with you!”

The orange kitten is purring like an engine in your arms, making softies against your chest, and you have to admit, it’s clear he’s taken with you, perhaps as taken as you are with him.

“Fine,” you relent. “I’ll take him to the vet tomorrow. We’ll see if he’s tagged, and we’ll work it out from there.”

“You’re literally a lifesaver.”

Two: 

The lunch rush is over, and Hyuck has time to think about you while he’s prepping for dinner. His coworker, Mark, is beside him, and Hyuck can feel his gaze.

“You good?” the tattooed softie of a chef asks.

Hyuck sighs. “Just thinking.”

“About what?”

About you. How you’re the girl next door, the artist, the visionary, the lifesaver-

“I found a cat by the dumpster yesterday,” Hyuck admits.

“What?”

“My neighbor is taking care of it right now, and I guess we’ll find out if it’s chipped or not.”

“Isn’t your building like, a no-pets sort of thing?” Mark asks.

“That’s more a guideline than a rule,” Hyuck explains. “Besides, it’s a tiny cat that weighs two pounds, not some dog.”

Mark only shakes his head, continuing to cut carrots.

“I’m thinking I want to give the cat a name that’s related to food and art.”

“Why art?”

“Because my neighbor is an artist.” 

“That’s cool, have I heard of his work?”

“My neighbor is a she, Mark, god, you’re so sexist.” 

Mark stops what he’s doing, turning to face Donghyuck. “Now I get it. I bet you think she’s cute.”

“She’s super cute.”

Releasing a sigh, Mark rests his hands on the cutting board in front of him. “Names that are related to art and food. I guess you could do colors that are foods. Like, clementine or olive or something.”

“That feels too food driven, I want like, an artsy name.” 

“Let me think about it,” Mark sighs.

The two continue to work, and at the end of their shift, Mark pulls Hyuck to the side. “There’s only really one super artsy name I can think of, and it’s Fresco.”

Hyuck has no idea what Fresco means, but something about it speaks to him. Without a second thought, Hyuck blurts out, “It’s perfect!” and he promises himself to look it up before he drives home. 

Three: 

Hyuck is practically buzzing as he arrives at your apartment, but he forces himself to rein in the excitement. “How was the vet visit?” he asks.

“You got your wish, he wasn’t chipped. The vet guessed he’s a stray, born on the streets, that sort of thing,” you explain, cuddling the kitten close to your chest as you speak. “I figured you might not have time to grab provisions for him, so I got some cans of food, a litter box, some toys-”

“Really?!” Hyuck immediately reaches into his pants to pull out his wallet, removing some cash, which he thrusts out toward you. “Thank you so much for the help!”

With a shake of your head, you accept the money. “I don’t know if you’ve thought this whole thing through.”

“He’s our cat now, the distribution system is never wrong.”

You laugh, but the chuckle turns into a sigh. “Our cat, huh?” 

“I was thinking, if you don’t mind, he can stay with you during the days when I’m at work, then I’ll have him when I’m here, you know, like a child of divorce or something.”

The way you blink at him tells Hyuck you don’t find his words to be that amusing, but he can see you’re up for the task. It’s clear to him that you have fallen in love with the kitten, and Hyuck would be lying if he said he wasn’t excited about the prospect of a dual ownership- after all, it would mean the two of you would see each other more often. 

“I guess we can make this work, but if the building manager finds out, I’m blaming all of this on you,” you warn.

“I’ll take full responsibility.”

“So… I guess now you just have to name him.”

“I was thinking about that!” Hyuck blurts out, unable to hide his excitement anymore. “What about Fresco?”

“Fresco?”

“I came up with it myself,” Hyuck lies, wanting to impress you. “Fresco is an art term right? Something about painting plaster?”

“Rapidly and somewhat erratically, yes,” you laugh.

“And Alfresco is Italian for eating food outside, like, fresh air, or something,” Hyuck explains, doing his best to remember the brief research he’d done on the word before knocking on your door.

“So it’s an artsy food name,” you muse with a smile.

“An artsy food name,” Hyuck agrees.

“I kind of love it.”

Four: 

You suppose you should be used to Hyuck knocking on your door by now, but for some reason, it always comes as a surprise.

He steps into your apartment with a grin, holding Fresco in one hand, and a six-pack of beer in the other. “It’s my day off,” he announces. “Do you wanna hang out?”

You look him up and down, shaking your head and laughing. “I’m working.”

“Painting something?”

“I guess you can come see.”

“We won’t bother you too much, I promise,” Hyuck tells you as he follows you through your apartment to your little art office space. When his eyes land on your canvas, he lets out a whistle. “So you’re an artist artist?” 

“I get paid for it, so yes,” you giggle.

“You’ve got the whole setup,” Hyuck muses, immediately heading for the small couch in the corner. When he’d first dropped Fresco off, the kitten had fallen asleep on this couch, and it seems his owner is just as able to make any place into his own home.

Hyuck collapses onto the sofa, immediately cracking open a beer. “Can I watch you paint?”

You’re not one for having others watch you do your craft, but Hyuck - as it turns out - is extremely hard for you to say no to.

“Just don’t make any comments about what I could be doing better,” you warn him.

“I don’t know anything about art, so you don’t have to worry about that,” he assures you. 

“Some people don’t know anything and they still make comments,” you muse.

“Then they’re stupid.” Hyuck takes a swig of his beer, stroking Fresco as the kitten gets settled on his lap.

You pick up where you left off with the art piece, and Hyuck is quiet. He drinks his beer, pets Fresco, and scrolls on his phone, but after a while, your curiosity gets the better of you.

“Have you owned cats before?” you ask.

“Not really.”

“Well, you’re good with them. I never would have pictured you as a cat guy, it’s giving maternal.”

Hyuck lets out a laugh. “If you didn’t peg me as a cat guy, what did you peg me as?”

“Honestly? A fuckboy?”

“Everyone says that.” Hyuck shakes his head.

“So you’re saying it’s not true?” 

“I mean… maybe in the past, I’ve been a bit of a fuck boy. But, everyone around me is in these long-term relationships, and I guess these days I want commitment, even if that commitment is with a cat and not a girl.”

You consider his words, and as you do so, Fresco gets up. He approaches a few of your finished canvases, smelling them carefully. You and Hyuck both watch him as he begins to pur, clearly enjoying the colors.

“He likes your art,” Hyuck grins. 

“He has good taste.”

The two of you continue to chat while you work, and after a while, both Hyuck and Fresco pass out on the couch.

You note the way they’re bathed in the sun, and with a sigh, you put your current project to the side in favor of a blank canvas.

It’s rare to have a person, or an animal for that matter, sit still long enough for you to paint them, and something tells you both Fresco and Hyuck are tuckered out for the long haul. 

You enjoy painting them, taking in every detail, and the creativity comes as easy as ever with the two of them as your muse. 

Five: 

You and Hyuck have something of an understanding now. It’s been two weeks. Hyuck works, you take care of Fresco, and when he’s off, the line chef comes straight to your house to see your shared fur baby. 

The kitten has truly become your muse, and you’re enjoying the art of drawing this rambunctious cat.

It’s around nine o’clock, you’ve got a glass of wine, and you’re just putting the finishing touches on your recent Fresco piece, which is when Hyuck knocks at your door.

You’d unlocked your apartment an hour ago, and one call ‘Come in!’ has Hyuck entering. He lets out a whistle as he sees the canvas. “Holy shit, that’s good!”

“I know, right?” You can’t help the grin on your face. You’ve been testing out different methods, watercolors, acrylics, more abstracts- this one is more of a splatter piece, where you’d painted Fresco in funky colors, and then splattered it, you’d even dusted the canvas with glitter, spraying it with hairspray to get it to stick as an adhesive. 

“I feel like you’ve captured his chaotic essence,” Hyuck laughs.

“He’s not so chaotic right now,” you muse, looking at the kitten who’s tuckered out on the couch.

“Do you want me to take him home? Or… do you want to watch a movie or something?”

You look Hyuck up and down. “That sort of sounds like a date.”

“I mean… these past few weeks we’ve kind of been having little dates, right? I mean- I want to ask you on a real one, but we can’t leave Fresco alone…”

“No, dates here sound nice,” you nod. “I’ve got wine, if you go and wash up, grab some beer, it can be a date when you get back.” 

“Really?” His eyes practically bulge out of his head.

“Yeah, why not.”

“I’ll be right back,” Hyuck promises, nearly tripping over himself to run to the door.

He’s an odd one, but you kind of love it. 

Six: 

Hyuck’s not one for dates, but there’s something very comfortable about a stay-at-home sort of situation. The two of you are used to each other’s company, and the ease that Hyuck feels isn’t something he’s experienced with any other girl in a very long time.

In some ways, this reformed fuck boy is a touch obsessed with you.

Part of him wonders if it’s the joy of the chase- after all, he’s never interacted with a girl this long and not weasled his way into her pants. However, another part of Donghyuck knows his sexual attraction to you isn’t the main drive behind this connection.

There’s just something about you that he clicks with on a deep level.

He loves your whole art thing and he loves how kind and peaceful you are too.

“You know, you’re different from most of the girls I’ve gone out with,” Hyuck muses.

“Yeah, how so?”

“Well, usually I date within the industry, you know, servers, expo girls, that sort of thing. They’re all very… I don’t know, at work they’re extroverted. They always know what to say, but sometimes in the past, I’ve wondered if it’s all an act, and it’s made it hard for me to trust them, hard for me to see them as any more than flings.”

“That sounds like a you problem, Hyuck,” you giggle. “If you have trust issues, you have to own that, you can’t blame it on the women you’ve dated who didn’t contribute to the original wound that developed into a mistrust of girls.”

Hyuck sits with your words for a moment. 

“Also… I used to be a server, so are you saying you don’t trust me?”

His eyes snap toward you in shock. “Really?”

“Just for a bit,” you shrug. “You’d be surprised how many people take a stint at serving, especially when they’re going through uni.”

“I guess that’s where your charm comes from,” Hyuck says, swallowing thickly. “Bet you made big tips.”

You laugh, and the way your face lights up makes Hyuck’s chest feel tight.

The sound wakes up Fresco, who has been sleeping for most of your date. The kitten yawns obnoxiously, stretching out and making biscuits against your leg. 

“I’ve done alright for myself,” you muse, petting the kitten lovingly. “Which, speaking of, I think it’s about time to call it for the night. I’ve got to wake up early and finish a commission that I’ve been pushing off.”

“Right, yeah.” Hyuck shakes his head to snap himself out of the daze he’s in. “I’ll take Fresco and give you some room for your beauty sleep.”

He reaches for the kitten, who cuddles up against his chest, purring loudly as Hyuck makes his way to the door, where Hyuck stops. He turns to you, licking his lips.

“That was fun.”

“It’s usually fun with you,” you agree.

“Can I… do you mind, I mean-”

“You can kiss me, Hyuck,” you laugh, reading his mind and making him even more flustered- which is odd, because Hyuck never gets flustered. 

He swallows the lump in his throat, leaning forward. You close the distance, cupping his face so he can press his lips to yours.

Hyuck melts into the kiss, but he’s also aware of the kitten purring diligently between your chests. You’re both careful not to squish the small creature, and as much as Hyuck wants to kiss you stupid, he holds back. He gets the sense you’re also restricting yourself, and it’s all Hyuck can think about as he heads home.

He could taste the passion on you, and it’s a temptation unlike any other, a need left unsatiated due to circumstance.  

Seven: 

“You seem eager to get out of here,” Mark notes as Hyuck hurries with his closing duties. 

“Gotta get home to see my cat and my neighbor.”

“Your neighbor, you mean the cute girl next door who you somehow talked into taking care of the stray kitten you found.” 

Hyuck rolls his eyes. “It’s a dual partnership sort of thing, we both love Fresco.”

“Dual partnership,” Mark mutters. “Dude, are you like… dating this chick?”

Now Hyuck turns to look at Mark, and it takes him a second, but then he simply blurts it out, “You know what, yeah! I am dating this chick! We have a whole ass child together.”

“Your kitten is not a child,” Mark groans.

“He cock blocks like one.”

Mark immediately grimaces. “Jesus, I did not need to hear that.”  

Eight: 

It feels like now that you’ve kissed Hyuck, some invisible door has been opened in regard to your relationship. If he’d been tiptoeing around you before, now, he’s uninhibited. He shows up at your place with a bouquet of flowers, and without a second thought, you invite him into your apartment to watch a show while Fresco naps.

While this is only officially date number two, it feels like you’ve had a lot of dates- the two of you have been spending many evenings together when Hyuck picks up Fresco after work, it’s just now, these ‘hangouts’ have a more specific purpose or designation. 

You’re interested in Donghyuck, and your opinion of him has changed drastically in two weeks.

When you first met him in the elevator, you’d thought he was nothing more than some fuckboy line chef. But now, you see a deeper side of him.

He’s thoughtful and caring, a little chaotic in the best way, but willing to calm down and match your pace.

And to top it all off, he’s hot as fuck.

God, you pour so much of yourself into your art that you haven’t really left room for a relationship in a long time. There’s a convenience to Hyuck, given that he’s your neighbor, but this whole blossoming relationship isn’t just founded on proximity. 

The cornerstone of all of this is Fresco, if you’re being honest with yourself.

Fresco, the little cat that Hyuck brought into your life because he knew you would open your heart for it. He knew that together, the two of you would be able to take care of this sweet kitten and give him a good life. Existing as something like strangers, Hyuck had been able to see your caring soul, even if you’d been blinded to his kindred heart.

You’ve already ripped the bandaid off with a kiss, and when Hyuck notices you staring at his mouth, he shifts closer. 

“Hi,” he grins.

“Hi, yourself,” you giggle.

You watch him swallow a lump in his throat, his gaze flickering down to your lips and then up again. “I’m hoping that kiss wasn’t a one-time thing.”

“It wasn’t,” you assure him. “I’m just not used to dating, and making a move has never been my fortè.” 

“Then I can make all the moves,” Hyuck chuckles. “We can go as slow or as fast as you want.”

“I think you know what I want right now.”

Hyuck’s grin widens. “For a girl who doesn’t make moves, that was a pretty sexy move you just made.”

“Shut up and kiss me.”

Hyuck can only laugh as he leans forward, cupping your cheek and bringing his lips to your own.

You grab at his shoulders, trying to shift closer- but Fresco is asleep between the two of you, so there’s only so much room to move.

The kiss turns heated, with Hyuck’s tongue swiping your bottom lip, and you can’t help the moan that escapes you.

He feels so good, and the way his hand cups your cheek- there’s something dominant about it. Hyuck’s clearly confident, and from the way he kisses, he has every right to be.

You’re drunk from just a bit of kissing, and you can only imagine what full-on sex with this man would be like-

A loud meow makes you jump, and Hyuck lets go of you with a sigh. Both of you look down at Fresco, who’s now awake, and as rambunctious as ever as he begins to make softies on Hyuck’s thigh.

“Cock block,” Hyuck groans, but he begins to pet the small kitten all the same.

You laugh a little, releasing a sigh as you try to calm your racing heart. Maybe you’d needed an interruption because you were about ten seconds from ripping Hyuck’s clothes off, and maybe, just maybe, you should give things with him just a little more time.

You’re horny after a long period without a relationship, and you want to be sure Hyuck’s right for you before you jump into something with your neighbor, after all, not every romp with the boy next door ends happily, and you very much like this living tension free in this building. 

Nine: 

It’s been a week of making out and getting interrupted by Fresco.

Tonight, you’re in the little studio room. You’re on the couch sipping wine while Hyuck uses a feather-string toy to tire out the naughty kitten.

It’s been an hour of playing, and you’re shocked such a tiny animal has so much energy, but you can see it dwindling.

“Come on, Fresco, don’t you want a nap?” Hyuck groans, lying on the ground while he flicks the feathered toy here and there for the tiny kitten.

You can’t help but laugh at his antics. At this point, Hyuck looks more tired than Fresco does, but that’s what happens when he works a nine-hour shift. He’d told you when he arrived that the restaurant was busy today, something about a walk-in twenty top just as happy hour started, and the longest order of appetizers he’s ever seen. 

You’re thankful when Fresco finally yawns, and Hyuck practically jumps for joy, picking up his kitten and carrying him to the little bed you’d bought. Hyuck sets Fresco down on the green pillowy fabric, and the kitten immediately stretches, letting out a sigh.

You begin to pet Fresco as Hyuck lets out a sigh, collapsing on the couch and reaching for his beer.

“Who knew having a kitten would be like having a baby.”

“To be honest, babies might be easier,” you joke, making Hyuck laugh.

“Do you want kids?” he asks, shifting the tone rather suddenly.

“Uh… I don’t know, do you?”

Hyuck shrugs. “I guess it depends on the girl I end up with. I would be happy with kids, but I’d be just as happy with two cats and a dog, you know?”

“Two cats and a dog?” You cock a brow. “When did you come up with that specific of a dynamic?”

“Well, I figure, cats like company. Fresco would be easier to take care of if he had a playmate, you know? And I like dogs, but if we have more than one dog, then it might overpower Fresco and the other cat. So I feel like, Fresco, another cat, and maybe a cat-sized dog would be perfect.”

“I never pictured you as a small dog kind of guy.”

“Well, weiner dogs are cute as fuck, I don’t know what to tell you.”

You laugh as you imagine this perfect little life dynamic that Hyuck has clearly spent time thinking about.

“You’d have to find a different apartment to live in,” you muse.

“That’s doable,” Hyuck shrugs. “You’ve got this whole one-bedroom, den, and office space set up, but I’m in a bachelor suite right now. If you and I end up dating for a while, we’d have to find a bigger place.”

“You’ve been thinking a lot about the future, huh?” 

“I’m a father now,” Hyuck jokes, petting Fresco, “I need to be thinking ahead.”

You stare at this pretty man, this man who had walked into your life only a month ago like a sudden storm. You’d initially seen him as a type of chaos, but he’s calmed down considerably. He’s a reliable, nurturing person, and now, the type of man who thinks about the future instead of just taking things as they come.

You like that he has plans, plans that seem to include you. This isn’t just a short-term thing to him, and that knowledge has your throat feeling tight.

Looking down at Fresco, you realize he’s asleep. “Come on,” you whisper, “let's move to the kitchen.”

Hyuck doesn’t question you as you both stand, and you exit your small office studio area, carefully closing the door behind you.

In the kitchen, you set your wine glass down before turning to Hyuck.

“How long do you think Fresco will be sleeping for?” you ask.

Hyuck shrugs. “Could be an hour, could be ten minutes.”

You consider his words for a moment. “I get the feeling you can work with ten minutes.”

He stares at you blankly, and you see the second the lightbulb goes off in his brain. “I mean-” He clears his throat. “If you’re up for that, I could definitely- you know, I could take care of you in ten minutes-”

“Then let's not waste any more time,” you tell him, closing the distance to throw your arms around Hyuck’s shoulders. His lips press against yours immediately, his hands grabbing your hips to pull you incredibly close- this is the first time Fresco hasn’t been between the two of you, and it feels like heaven to have full-body contact like this. 

God, his tongue is perfect as it strokes against your own, his fingers digging into your hips when you release a moan from the sensation.

“Your bedroom,” Hyuck whispers gruffly, and you can tell it’s taking all his control to not throw you over your kitchen counter right now.

“Come on,” you tell him grabbing his hand and leading him to your room. For good measure, you close the door, hoping two sound barriers will allow Fresco to sleep through all of this- you’re not sure what you’d do if he began to cry while Hyuck was balls deep inside of you, and you don’t want to find out, not now.

Hyuck’s lips are on yours again almost immediately, and you grab the front of his shirt, pulling him with you as you back up toward your bed. Your calves touch the mattress and you lower yourself down, keeping your mouths connected as you do so.

“Take your shirt off,” you command next, a little shocked that you feel confident enough to tell Hyuck what to do in a situation like this.

“Whatever you say, gorgeous,” Hyuck laughs, breaking the kiss so he can tear his shirt off.

Then he’s on top of you, and your legs are wrapping around his hips, pulling him closer as your lips clash passionately. 

“Can I start undressing you?” he asks, mouth moving to your throat, where he licks at your skin and makes you gasp.

“Yeah, whatever you want,” you tell him, swallowing thickly and trying to center yourself.

His fingers find your shirt, and he slowly pulls it up. You help the process by lifting your arms, and the fabric is discarded. You’re in a cute lacey bra and silky shorts now, and you’d be lying if you said you hadn’t been dressing extra cute this past week in the hopes that this would happen.

No, you’re fully prepared. You’d taken one of those horrific ‘full-body showers’ in the morning, and you’re thanking God that it wasn’t in vain.

“This is cute,” Hyuck tells you, mouth moving down to your chest as his hand cups your breast through the bra, squeezing gently.

“Thank you,” you gasp, loving the way it feels to be touched by him like this.

You’re a little surprised when his mouth moves down past your breasts to your abdomen, and he slinks down onto the floor as he begins to drag your shorts off.

It’s clear what his intention is, and it has your heart racing- you haven’t been eaten out in ages, and most men make the whole thing feel like a chore. Having Hyuck, who is clearly eager to get his mouth on your pussy without being told to… it’s super sexy, and you can feel yourself getting wet already. 

“Ten minutes, right?” he jokes, looking up at you as he hooks his fingers in your panties. “I think I can work with that.”

You can’t even find the words within yourself to respond as he strips you bare from the waist down. His hands grab your thighs and he begins kissing up your legs, looking up at you to be sure you’re okay with this.

You nod at him, swallowing thickly in preparation.

“So wet already,” Hyuck muses. “Guess you’ve been wanting this for a while too.”

“Uh huh.” God, you feel so dumb, but he just makes you crazy- he takes your words away, and as he takes his first lick of your pussy, all you know is pleasure.

Your head falls back as a groan escapes you, your body immediately relaxing as he starts to eat you out.

He’s slow with it, taking his time to explore you. You get the sense that he’s listening to your responses, gauging what feels best.

His lips suction around your clit and you whimper, threading your fingers through his hair.

Hyuck switches between licking and sucking, testing different pressures until he finds the right one, and then you’re gasping, eyes clenched shut as pleasure begins to build even faster in the pit of your stomach. 

“That feels so good,” you whimper, wanting to give him praise despite your current tongue-tied disposition. 

Hyuck groans against your core, and the sound has your legs shaking. Your grip tightens in his hair, and from the way he reacts, you can tell he kind of likes the pain.

Fuck, he’s so sexy- you’ve never been this turned on before, and it helps you get to the edge faster than you can even fathom.

“Shit, fuck, Hyuck-” you groan, eyes clenching shut again as your stomach muscles tense incredibly tight.

He doesn’t say anything, doesn’t pull away from your pussy for even a moment, but a new vigor erupts through him, and that’s all you need as confirmation that he wants you to cum.

A few more licks, a few more sucks, and a gasp escapes you, your muscles clenching right before the release that rockets through your entire body.

Your core is throbbing, pulsing with pleasure that overwhelms you in the best possible way.

Sounds of pleasure are escaping you with no regard to being too loud- your mind is blank except for the orgasm Hyuck has just provided, and he eats you out through the entire thing until your thighs are shaking and you can’t take it anymore.

He pulls away, and you can practically hear him licking his lips.

“I’ll grab a condom,” he tells you.

Although you’re on birth control to manage your period, this is a man you’ve never slept with before, a man who hasn’t discussed exclusivity, and more importantly, a man who’s admitted to being a fuckboy in the past.

You stay quiet as Hyuck pulls his wallet out of his pants, retrieving a condom. 

Then, Hyuck pushes the fabric of his jeans down, exposing himself fully to you.

You can’t help the way you begin to salivate.

His cock is thick, and it’s a decent length too. Your best friend has referred to this type of cock as ‘boyfriend dick’ before, meaning the type that’s big enough to satisfy, but not so big that it leaves you feeling wrecked.

You undo your bra, joining Hyuck in full nudity before you reposition on your bed, moving up so you can rest on the pillows.

He rolls the condom onto his cock, not whining one word of protest about wearing it- in fact, you hadn’t even asked him to, he’d just taken matters into his own hand to practice safe sex for your first time.

You kind of love this.

He’s definitely turned your opinion on him right around- this is not the man you thought he was, and the man he is… well, he’s so much better than you could have imagined. 

“Okay,” Hyuck whispers as he finishes with the condom, looking up at you. “You good for this?”

“Yes, please.” You open your arms for him, beckoning him onto the bed.

He joins you, and your legs wrap around his hips, your lips meeting his own.

He kisses you deeply, and you can taste yourself on his tongue, but it’s not unpleasant. He groans against your mouth and you thread your fingers through his hair tugging gently.

Hyuck is grinding down against your core, and it feels amazing to have slight stimulus on your clit after an orgasm, but your inner walls are screaming for attention, and soon, you’re reaching between your bodies to grab his cock. 

“Ten minutes, remember?” you laugh.

“Fuck, I got distracted.” He presses his forehead against yours, looking down at where you’re guiding his tip to your entrance. 

“It’s okay,” you assure him. “Just focus now, I got to cum, so I want you to cum too.”

Hyuck moans at your words, and you slip the tip of his cock inside of you, making you groan too.

He smashes his lips to yours again, kissing you eagerly as he sinks into your core. He goes slowly, allowing your body to adjust, and once he’s fully inside of you, he pauses so you can both moan from the sensation.

“You feel so good,” he tells you, his breath hot along your throat as he moves to press kisses there.

“You too,” you whisper, wrapping your arms around his shoulders. “You can move.”

“Okay, gorgeous.” He swallows thickly. “I’ve got you.”

Then he begins to fuck you. As was his pace when he entered you, Hyuck is careful not to start at a hundred percent. He builds tempo comfortably, and your moaning urges him on until he’s fucking you so hard that the bed is shaking.

You grasp his shoulders roughly, whimpering as he kisses your throat, paying attention to your sweet spot. Each lick of your neck has your body tingling, your pussy getting wetter and wetter as he rails into you.

Your nipples feel incredibly sensitive too, pushed up against his chest. Each rock of his body is a sensation against all your most important erogenous zones, and it has you going crazy.

As it was with him eating you out, your mind is blank as Hyuck fucks you, and you kind of love it.

“Fuck, you feel so fucking perfect,” Hyuck groans.

He grabs your hand, lacing your fingers as he presses it to the bed as an anchor, and then his lips meet yours again.

It feels so intimate to be fucking like this, and it makes things even more pleasurable.

You can feel the pressure building in the pit of your stomach again, can feel your core beginning to tighten around him-

“Are you gonna cum again for me?” he asks.

“Yeah, I’m close,” you whimper.

“When you cum, I cum,” Hyuck tells you, pressing his lips to yours so you can’t disagree.

He fucks you even harder, and each drag of his hips has your clit being stimulated too, which is tightening the coil in your abdomen even more-

You begin to gasp against his lips, getting closer and closer until you explode for a second time, your pussy clamping down on Hyuck like a vice.

“Fuck!” He pulls away from your lips, moving to bury his face against your throat. You can tell your orgasm has triggered his own from the way he’s panting, his thrusts faltering ever so slightly- you’re pretty sure he’s doing his best to fuck you through your high, despite the fact that this might be overstimulating for him.

Maybe he likes a bit of overstimulation, as he likes the pain that comes from pulling on his hair. Regardless, he fucks you through it until you’re both gasping messes.

Then, as you lay there for a moment, you hear a meow.

You and Hyuck both break out into laughter, and you kiss his cheek. “You can go clean up in the bathroom, I’ll deal with Fresco.”

“Can I stay here tonight?” Hyuck asks. “You know, cuddle?”

“You and Fresco can both stay,” you assure him. 

“The first of many sleepovers,” Hyuck tells you, standing up with a groan. “I like you a lot.”

You can sense there’s a deeper emotion behind his words, but it’s still too early to be deep diving into any feelings more serious than ‘liking’ each other, so with a nod and smile, you agree. “I like you too.” 

And for now, that’s all you need to say.

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🔮 preview. You feel closer to this man than you’ve ever felt to anyone in your life, and warmth spreads from your chest at the notion of having a forever love like this.

cw/ tw.Unprotected sex, oral, blow job, hand job, pussy eating, sixty-nine, foreplay, grinding, nipple worship, overstimulation, Hyuck is a little on the rough side, multiple reader orgasms, size kink, fucking quietly/with a hand over your mouth, slight breath control/sensory deprivation, etc…  I petnames. (hers) gorgeous.

👹 rating. 18+ explicit I wc. 2.3k I teaser wc. 130

🌙 starring. Donghyuck x afab!Reader

bonus

It’s been six months of hiding Fresco, and three near misses with your building manager, so when Hyuck shows you a pet-friendly apartment he’s found online, you jump at the chance to view it.

“This is so much bigger than your space,” Hyuck muses as you do the walk-through. “And look, this room has better light for your paintings!”

You can see him imagining himself here, and it warms your heart.

“Are you ready for this next step?” you ask, pulling Hyuck to the side to have a heart-to-heart.

“I’ve been ready to move in with you for months,” he tells you, hands falling onto your hips.

“This is a big change,” you remind him.

“But it’s good, for us, for Fresco- and the lease doesn’t say anything about the amount of animals either.”

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[cxvii666]

“DOWN WITH THE TRUMPETS”

“when i get down, i get respect now”

feat. denki k.

wc: 780

mdni 😴

“don't talk with your mouth full, it's bad manners.”

denki kaminari is a yapper.

he can talk for japan.

about nothing, and everything. about his little hobbies and interests, like the time he got really into origami for two weeks and folded fifty paper cranes before getting distracted by baking videos. about a bug he saw one time that kind of looked like pikachu if you squinted. about an anime he watched five years ago that reminded him of a tiktok he saw yesterday—actually, no, it reminded him of two tiktoks, and he’ll pull them both up even though you’re in the middle of eating.

he doesn't even realize he's doing it. he just talks.

before you started dating, he once spent two full hours explaining the entire five nights at freddy’s lore to you. he even brought a whiteboard. he drew a timeline. there were arrows, names, color-coded events. he kept glancing at you nervously, like he was waiting for you to run. you thought he was fucking psychotic, but according to all his friends that was his weak attempt at flirting.

he talks in his sleep too. full conversations. one night, around 3 a.m., he whispered, “gregory… you have to hide.” and you just laid there, staring at the ceiling, wondering what choices in life had led you here. he was completely out. you even poked him and he just mumbled something about “security breach.”

you didn't sleep much that night. he did.

you hear him on the phone all the time. he’s loud. his voice carries. you don’t even need to be in the same room to catch half the story. in group calls, he’s that guy—never letting anyone finish a sentence, always jumping back in because he just remembered another detail, or because he needs to relate something someone said to a completely different topic.

he narrates everything he does. it’s like living with a one-man podcast. making a sandwich? you’re getting a full tutorial with sound effects. brushing his teeth? he gives ratings to the toothpaste flavor like he’s doing a mukbang. finding a sock under the bed? live drama, complete with shocked gasps and a full backstory on how the sock ended up there.

he doesn't mean to talk so much, honestly, he can't help himself. he just… gets excited. he thinks out loud. he loves sharing things. his brain moves fast, and his mouth just tries to keep up.

"s-so sorry baby, your pussy just tastes so—mmf."

so sometimes you have to shut him up. the only way you know how.

his long eyelashes flutter against flushed cheeks, those bambi eyes of his wide and glassy as he looks up at you from between your thighs.

his fingers gripping the fat of your thighs as he drags your pussy back down onto his mouth. tongue greedy, he mouths at you like you're divine. slow, wet, sloppy kisses, tongue flicking then flattening, dipping in and out like he’s tasting something sacred. he hums against you, needy and messy and so, so fucking eager.

but as he pauses to catch his breath, you realise, he's still running his mouth.

with eyes locked onto the sticky mess he's made, his mouth is still moving, lips slick and parted as he mumbles god knows what into your pussy. eyes fixed on the mess he's made, like he's hypnotized. and the worst part? you can feel it. the vibrations, the breathy whispers, the praise he's spilling straight into your cunt. you strain to make out the words, and between the rush of blood in your ears you catch bits and pieces. "t-thank youuu, so fu-ucking good for me, you’re perfect, so warm, so wet, love you, love you, love yo—"

you roll your eyes and cut his praises short with a forceful tug of his hair. not too hard. just enough. it makes him whine into you, the sound all breath and heat, and you feel his hips twitch against the mattress. he loves it when you take control. he melts for it.

"denki, sweetie, what have i told you?" you sigh contently when his tongue starts doing circles on your clit, "no talking while you're eating."

he doesn’t answer with words—he knows better. just moans, all obedient and desperate, nodding his head so fast his blonde locs shake. sweat glistens on his forehead, some strands of hair sticking to it. you brush them away gently, and his amber eyes snap up to meet yours.

they're wide. glassy. brimming with devotion.

he's docile, pliable. he listens, does what he's told.

and for now, he's quiet.

but you'll keep him here until he's learnt his lesson.

[milksnake-tea]

❀ ˎˊ- prompt: wise likes you, and just about everyone on sixth street knows. ❀ ˎˊ- wise x gn!reader ❀ ˎˊ- wc: 1.3k ❀ ˎˊ- warnings: slightly ooc wise idk im still lvl 26 okay ❀ ˎˊ- a/n: thanks you stellaronhvnters for plaguing my mind w wise. anywho this my mini break from the series LMAO wise. i love you king.

Wise can hardly focus, and for once, it isn’t because of you.

Not that he minds being distracted by you - quite the opposite. He could spend hours just watching you talk and getting lost in your eyes, occasionally nodding or agreeing with whatever you were talking about the day. He liked hearing your voice; it was soothing like a cool river, especially after a grueling day.

But this time, it’s him who’s being stared at, and to his disappointment, the one burning holes into him isn’t you (although he severely doubts he could handle it if it were to be you).

No, instead, General Chop stares at him from the corner of his eye as he prepares other customers’ orders, a hint of knowing in his usual smile. Wise can see the excitement in the chef’s eyes, and it doesn’t take a genius to know why.

“Wise?”

He seizes up, bumping his chopsticks. He’s quick to fix himself as you shoot him a nervous, but questioning smile.

“Sorry, you were saying?” he says smoothly (at least he hopes it’s smooth, he still doesn’t know how to talk to pretty people), eager to move past his minor mishap.

“Oh, it’s nothing,” you laugh. “I was just saying that you have a little something on your face.”

Wise feels his cheeks warm. “Oh, really? Thanks for telling me.”

He moves to grab some napkins, but you beat him to it. Wise swears something in him malfunctions when he turns and suddenly you’re all too close to him, your hand reached out to clean up his face.

“Wha- Wait, what’re you-” he sputters, nearly falling off his stool as he lurches back.

“Hey, stand still,” you scold, your slight annoyance only serving to speed up his heart rate because who in the world said it was okay for you to be this cute.

At this point, he wouldn’t be surprised if steam was coming from his head, with how fuzzy his mind feels. He can’t think, can’t breathe, can’t do anything but just sit there, dazed as you dab obliviously at the corner of his lip.

As you pull away, he lets out a breath he didn’t know he was holding, mentally thanking whatever deities reigned above that he hadn’t fainted on the spot. That would’ve been embarrassing; Belle would never let him live it down.

His face feels cooler - hopefully it isn’t so red anymore. By the time he’s able to think coherently again, you’ve started chatting again. Wise nods along (he has no idea what you’re talking about), and goes to slurp up some of his noodles when he sees General Chop again.

The chef, obviously holding back a cackle, grins encouragingly at him and flashes him a thumbs up in support. Wise internally groans. Would it be a bad idea if he drowned himself in his noodles right now?

And this isn’t the first time either - Wise is pretty sure the entirety of Sixth Street is aware of his… ugh, crush on you (saying it out loud both hurts him and makes him feel warm inside. Which is a terrible feeling. He wants to throw up).

Just last week, he’d seen you at the Coff Café, and Tin Man, being both a gracious cafe owner and a huge romantic, had decided that that day was a good day to have a 50% off deal specifically for pairs if they bought two or more items.

Wise hadn’t questioned it at first, since it was normal for shops to occasionally hold discounts like these to attract more customers. Even he was guilty of it, being a business co-owner himself.

But then you had to call him out in the line, excitedly waving him over as you were at the cashier ordering. Tin Man was behind you, a smile in his eyes that Wise wasn’t sure he liked, but he begrudgingly made his way over.

He still remembers the way your eyes sparkled as you explained the discount to him. They reminded him of the stars he’d see at twilight, when he couldn’t sleep and would climb to the roof just to watch New Eridu’s nightlife.

Naturally, he had accepted your offer of buying him a free drink (no one refuses free food), but he quickly learned to regret it when he saw the mischievous gleam in Tin Man’s artificial eyes.

He still gets flustered thinking of it now - the heart-shaped whipped cream and the whisper of “good luck” haunts him, especially when he thinks about how confused you were at the impromptu decoration.

The amount of times he’s caught his neighbors playing matchmaker, he can’t count on both hands - and that’s not including what Belle has tried. It’d be funny if it wasn’t also incredibly humiliating.

“Master, if you were planning on drifting off, perhaps you should’ve stayed home to take a nap.”

Wise sighs. “Be quiet, Fairy. I’m in public.”

“What?” you blink. Wise blinks back before realizing he’d been a little too loud.

“Sorry, I was talking to myself,” he chuckles awkwardly, hands fiddling with each other - it’s a nervous habit of his. You smile understandingly.

“No, it’s okay,” you say, pushing your bowl towards General Chop to signify you were done with it. “You’ve been out of it today, Wise. Something on your mind?”

You, Wise wants to say, but he doesn’t feel like embarrassing himself further. “I guess I’m just tired. Long day today.”

���I can tell,” you laugh, the sound music to his ears. You hop off the stool after sliding your share of the payment to General Chop. “Come on, I’ll walk you home. You look like you’re about to fall asleep.”

Wise’s heart does a little tap dance at your offer, but he manages to keep his cool. He hastily pays General Chop before eagerly joining you in your short walk to Random Play.

“Bro!” Belle greets him enthusiastically as he opens the door. Her eyes light up when she sees you, and she raises her eyebrows suggestively at her brother. Wise shoots her a glare when you aren’t looking. “[Name], too? How was your da- mmghhifjk-”

Wise smiles innocently as he slaps a hand over Belle’s mouth. You can’t help but laugh at the two, and Wise admires the crinkle the corners of your eyes.

“Ignore her,” he says nonchalantly, wrinkling his nose as Belle licks his hand like the little rat she is. “Do you want to come in, or…?”

“No, I shouldn’t.” You wave your hands bashfully. “It’s getting late, so I should be getting back home.”

Wise nods in understanding. Belle pries herself free and he wipes his spit-covered hand on her sleeve, ignoring her sputters and protests (she chose this path. She will reap its consequences).

“Well, I guess this is goodbye.”

You nod, shifting your feet. “I guess it is.”

Wise’s brows furrow at your behavior - what’s on your mind. But thankfully, he doesn’t have to wait long before his inquiry is answered.

You take a step forward, and Wise feels your arms loop around him in a tight hug. Suddenly, his senses are elevated, and it’s almost as if everything is enhanced tenfold. He can feel your heartbeat against his chest, the soft sound of your breath, your hair tickling his face and the heat that radiates off of your body against him.

“I really enjoyed today,” you say, stepping back with a smile that could rival an angel’s. “Thanks for hanging out with me.”

Wise tries to formulate a response, but all that comes out is a squeak like a dying balloon. God, if his face was red before, it must be flaming now. You giggle at his response, before you wave both him and Belle goodbye and leave for your home.

It takes a good five minutes before he can speak again.

“Hey sis?”

Belle sounds as shocked as him. “Yeah?”

“I think I’m going to faint.”

He hears his sister sigh.

“Wise, you’re helpless, you know that?” she shakes her head exasperatingly. “And just when you finally made progress too.”

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