#thinking of all of you as well and passing on Better Times

[okwonyo]

LESSONS ， 𝗉𝗌𝗁

𝐀𝐂𝐓 𝐈𝐕 𝗌𝗎𝗇𝗀𝗁𝗈𝗈𝗇 𝗂𝗌 𝖺 𝗀𝗈𝗈𝖽 𝗍𝗎𝗍𝗈𝗋 𝗐𝗁𝗈 𝗀𝗂𝗏𝖾𝗌 𝗀𝗈𝗈𝖽 𝗋𝖾𝗐𝖺𝗋𝖽𝗌

𝟏𝟐𝟑𝟔𝒾──── tutor!sunghoon 𝗑 f!rea ✿ fluff getting together 𓂋 kissing skinship ❞ 𝒄𝒂𝒕𝒂𝒍𝒐𝒈𝒖𝒆 ｡

rbs ！ ✶ 𝗔 𝗞𝗜𝗦𝗦 for @tzyunaes ◜ ᴗ ◝

“you did well, i’m proud of you.”

it’s long overdue. passing your chemistry exams, after a entire semester of spending your free time at school, to be tutored and tortured.

tortured by the creation of the gods themselves leaning right behind you, overing your shoulder to see your grade, close enough to rest his hot breath against your neck.

you can exhale again when he finally leaves the personal space he seems to like a lot, the personal space that is yours. he sits on the chair next to you, which is not better than his previous position. his presence itself drives you crazy.

sunghoon licks his lips. sending a random cramp in the pit of your stomach. you don’t really know what to do, you open your mouth slightly to say something alas your tutor’s unwavering gaze makes you unable to talk.

“can i kiss you?” your eyes widen. saying that you are surprised is an understatement. and seeing the man’s remaining calm demeanor baffles you even more.

there is much you want to say, many questions he needs to answer. however, as in every lesson, you are unable to formulate a proper sentence. “i–what?”

sunghoon chuckles as he watches your cheeks redden. behind his frameless glasses, his eyes narrow, teasingly.

“i want to kiss you, i never tried to hide it,” he states, in this borderline condescending, undeniably attractive tone he always uses. “i think you want to kiss me too.”

you could pass out from embarrassment alone. you never thought your attraction to him, your tiny crush was well hidden. your unceasing thought and wonders on how his mouth would taste like, however— you believed they were a bit more discreet.

“so, i’m asking, can i kiss you?”

“uh,” you wonder, silently, if you have ever sounded this stupid before, “sure.”

your shaking and breathy answer doesn’t seem to bother him. he looks more endeared than anything else— even making fun of you in his head.

“great,” he says, taking one of your chair’s legs. he pulls you closer to himself in a quick movement and you know, he is somehow flexing his muscles right now.

sunghoon thinks its lovely how easy it is to make you nervous. from the first tutoring session, he knew that his mission would be to, making you understand chemistry apart, seduce you.

he was never subtle about it. he loves to tease you with his weighing gaze, standing close to you but never touching, sliding allusions in his words and watching you physically react to all of his actions.

making you learn chemistry wasn’t the hardest part. you were cute, very cute, and smart: able to understand terribly fast. the hardest part of the job was trying to make you notice how bad he wanted to kiss you.

he passed most all of his time biting his lower lip, nervously bumping his knee, crossing his arms under his chest as he watched you bite into your pen.

when he wasn’t explaining chemistry to you, he was thinking of the obvious one between you and him—while wondering what your lips would taste like.

sunghoon is a pretty bold guy, yet he haven’t earned the courage to do anything but tease you. today, he asked if he could kiss you without planning, controlled by a sense of hurry, thinking it would be his very last chance.

as he leans in, he still wonders: what is the taste of the lipstick you are wearing, what does your soft lips under it feels like, if would you run your finger through his hair, if you would cup his face in your gentle hands, jf would you let him touch you, if would you touch him.

he knew, from the moment his mouth was on yours, that he wouldn't want to stop. it’s a small kiss, a mere and shy contact, but he still sighs when he gets what he wants.

it’s nothing really, yet it sends butterflies right to his stomach.

“ninety four out of hundred on a chemistry test,” his voice is hoarse as he pulls away a tad. “how many kisses is that, hm?”

“…a lot,” you answer.

“oh, yeah?” he breathily laughs. he puts his hand in the back of your head, “i think so too.”

meanwhile he restrained himself the first time, he is not strong enough to control himself the second time. after months of dreaming about this, finally getting it, he doesn’t want to be shy about what he wants to do to you.

he groans into your mouth when his glasses gets in the way. he is forced to pull away from your heavenly lips to take them off and yank them somewhere he can’t care enough of.

through his slightly opened eyelids, he sees you with your eyes closed, chasing for his lips and looking at least as desperate as he is.

his heart is pounding, his hand finding the nape of your neck, he presses you closer to himself, so goddamn eager to kiss you again.

your lipstick tastes like peaches, your fingers craving in his hair sends chills down his long spine, you let him him stroke the side of your thigh as your touch drives him insane.

and if he thinks you are the one trying to send him into a spiral— then he must not know that his hand slide from thigh all the way to your hips.

he pulls your hips, closer, closer, closer. he continues until he is satisfied, until you are right where he wanted, right how he wanted: out of breath and climbing on his lap.

while your tutor is living his dearest dreams, a scenario better than his most precious fantasies, you feel like melting under the melt of his praise.

he always does that. he is always telling you how good you are doing, how proud of you he is for the bare minimum. it already sent waves of warmth in your body, but when you are doing this, it’s different.

“holy shit, baby,” his voice is shaky between a deep kiss. “you are so good at this,” —he licks your lips— “keep going.”

sunghoon’s thick eyebrows furrow as the kiss gets deeper. you grip onto his shoulders for the life of you— feeling your pulse getting higher and your skin heating every passing second.

you move your lips against his, like it was your birthright to be in this position as of now.

perhaps. you don’t know how long he can kiss without breathing but you are sure it’s way much longer than you.

sunghoon whines when you pull away, chasing after your lips with multiple pecks. you have to tilt your head up, a giggle escaping from your breathless chest— he aims for your neck.

“i’ll teach you how to last longer,” he smiles against your neck. then he looks pauses to look at you.

you rest your forehead against his, biting down an obvious smile, “i hope you don't reward all your students like this.”

“only the ones i want.”

you wrap your arms around his neck, leaning in for another kiss. “cute.”

sunghoon pulls you closer to his circle of warmth by your waist. he kisses you so hard that you almost lose your mind, living up to his words, kissing you until there is no other option but pulling away with heavy chests.

chemistry is the best subject ever.

분지 ܃ in the utmost hope jenn will come back to me— and that the hoon girlies will come my way 💌 thank you ima for helping me out with this ! ^_^

© 𝖮𝖪𝖶𝖮𝖭𝖸𝖮 ୨୧ 𝟐𝐎𝟐𝟓 ── taglist ( open )

[queer-as-used-by-tolkien]

You know who you are; my best friend.

Maybe I have seen this post before and maybe I have written a similar reblog to it, because this post makes me think of you.

You were honest with me that you were choosing me and that you wanted me. You told me I was important to you. You told me I made you feel good and you wanted to hang out with that kind of person. And again and again you showed me that you wantd me.

I remember one day we were hanging out in your room - it might have been your birthday party and I was there early (and I was also going to stay late and sleep over) - and you had a new record, and you said you'd had this one for a while but you always saved them to open for special occasions. And then you began opening it, and for a moment I was baffled; just like that? Just opening it right here? No fanfare of ceremony? No ritual? The birthday party was still a few hours away... and it dawned on me that the only thing special about that occasion, that moment, is that I was there.

And that touched me deeply.

In that moment I admired your willingness to show so powerfully that I was important to you. That my mere presence was considered a special occasion. Because I knew in that moment that if our positions were reversed I would not have had the courage to show that so clearly, no matter how much I felt it.

But going forward? It was a different story. Going forward I knew that you understood what it was to want someone, you understood what it meant that we were friends, and going forward I knew that I could show that as well.

Your bravery and honesty freed me to be open about how much I wanted you, too.

...

There is nothing like a friendship where both people know they are wanted. Where we can both openly make time and space for each other in our lives and openly prioritize each other above lesser things and be honest and say "I care about you more than I care about that. Let's hang out."

There is no awkwardness or embarrassment about it because I see in you the same desire I feel: that friendship is IMPORTANT. It wasn't just some passing acquaintanceship.

What makes this friendship especially special is that we don't have to pretend to be casual about each other. You are my friend, and that means something.

And I was so happy to have found someone else who understands that friendship is deep, it is meaningful, it is powerful. It is something to be treasured, prioritized, and sacrificed for.

And that's how I know that when you are busy, when we cannot spend time together - I know that means what you are doing must truly be very important to you. And I hope you do well at it even if I don't know or understand all the details. And I pray that you achieve what you are reaching for and that your life is better for it. I hope you have the energy and the focus and the capacity to do and to enjoy it. And I am happy you have found something like that in your life, because everyone needs something like that. And I will wait patiently for the day we can hang out again, and hear you tell me all about it.

Because you are my friend, and what means a lot to you means a lot to me.

❤️

to want and be wanted

georges bataille / emily palermo / olivia laing / @chaandajaan / georges bataille / cj hauser / @kvetchkween / @nicholasbraungf / vi khi nao / silas denver melvin

[halfadiamond]

Simon Riley x Dog Walker Reader

Based off this idea

Also I’m pretty sure Riley is only Ghost’s dog in the comics but I think Ghost would totally just name his dog Riley so that he doesn’t have to think of a name

Simon Riley who breaks his foot in a training exercise gone wrong and is sent home on strict bed rest.

Simon Riley who has to figure out who is going to walk Riley now. He makes Gaz and Soap do it for awhile on the pretenses that he’s their lieutenant so they should listen to his orders (this is the first and only time Ghost has ever used their ranks).

Simon Riley who grumbles when Price finds out and hires a dog walker instead. It’s a waste of money when I got people who can do it for free Simon tells Price. Price ignores Simon’s complaints and has you come by once every day to walk Riley.

Simon Riley who feels lucky that since he’s in bed rest, he doesn’t have to converse with the dog walker. He’s only heard your voice in passing but he sees how excited Riley wags his tail when Price mentions your name so at least Riley is enjoying this even if his wallet isn’t.

Simon Riley who gets annoyed when Price tells him one day that he won’t be there to open the door so if Simon could try and do that or at least keep the door unlocked. He decides he might as well see who exactly is this dog walker.

Simon Riley who opens the door when he hears you knock and falls in love. He’s always prided himself on not being those types of people who fall in love at first sight (Like Johnny) but now he feels stupid. You’re bloody gorgeous he thinks to himself as he lets you in.

Simon Riley who loves seeing how well you and Riley get along and how well he listens to you. He’s seen Gaz chase Riley around, trying to put on his harness, but you manage to succeed right away.

Simon Riley who watches you as you wave goodbye and get ready to leave with Riley. While he should be resting, he decides to grab his crutches and follow after you. He ignores your comments about going back to rest and insists on going.

Simon Riley who tells you:

I gotta return back to light tasks

All part of physical therapy

You eventually stop badgering him and agree to let him come but that the moment he feels pain, he should come back to his house. You try your hardest to ignore the people’s stares as you walk Riley with his owner following along in crutches.

Simon Riley who makes small talk with you such as learning about your hobbies and interests. He makes a mental note to check out some of those interests. You grow to enjoy conversing with him as you walk Riley, seeing the happy dog wag his tail as he walks not minding the slow pace.

Simon Riley who eventually gets too tired so you guys head back. He silently cursing his foot for cutting his time with you short and swears that he’s gotta be more careful… but he wouldn’t mind being injured in bed with you as his caretaker.

Simon Riley who decides to ask you to be Riley’s dog walker even when he’s healed (and future dog parent but he keeps that to himself) and he’s excited (but doesn’t show it) when you agree.

Simon Riley, when you two reach his place, who finally decides to be bold and tells you as soon as his foot is better let him take you out on a proper date and he’ll even bring Riley too.

Deleted Scene: Riley who notices Ghost not using one of his feet and copies him.

[onaswife]

could you please do anything about alpha Patri x alpha Pina x reader!!! Maybe a blurb about you going into heat.

Two are better than one.

couple: Patri Guijarro x Claudia Pina x fem reader

Au! Omegaverse, alpha x alpha x omega

Author's note: Hi! Thanks for the request. I tried to make a Blurb, but the idea grew so much that I decided to make it a story.

I hope you like it! And thanks for reading and sending your requests.

You'd been dating Patri and Claudia for four years now. Both alphas had won your heart with their lively and free personalities, always looking out for you and keeping you happy no matter what others said to upset them.

They had met through a mutual friend, Cata Coll, your cousin.

You had been invited to the celebration of their first Champions League win, and you were happy to attend. At the time, you were just ending a relationship that had failed in the worst possible way, not only because he was unfaithful to you, but because he had apparently lied about many things in his life.

That day, you had finally decided to go out to a party, and what better way to go than with your closest cousin, the one who had been more like a sister and best friend, supporting you through everything no matter what. Upon arrival, you were welcomed by her, along with some friends you'd heard about and her family, so it wasn't all that awkward. You felt at ease even though there were more than 150 people in the room.

"Cari, come here, let me introduce you to the girls." Cata took your arm and carefully led you to the group of girls with her. "This is Jana," she said, pointing to a brunette with a big smile and a slightly shy appearance. "She's the same age as you, she was born the same year, so I know you'll get along. You're very similar." You extended your hand towards the shorter girl, a small, friendly smile forming on your lips. "Nice to meet you, Jana. Cata has told me a lot about you… I almost think you're her favorite." You laughed softly as you finished speaking, watching as the girl turned to Cata with a smug smile on her lips. "I already knew it, but I just got it confirmed. Thanks, Y/N," she spoke, turning to you at the end.

"Yes, yes, well, she's one of the youngest omegas in the pack. Now, here come the two troublemaking twins-"

"Hey, you're also one of the messiest and most troublesome, Catalina."

You laughed as you heard them point at your familiar. It was really funny how Cata was always the one in charge of the mess.

"Yes, well, these two here are Patri," she pointed at the tall girl with darker hair, who quickly extended her hand toward you. "I didn't know the famous cousin was going to be so pretty. Nice to meet you." You took her hand as a small blush appeared on your face. "Nice to meet you, Patri."

"Stop flirting with her, Patri. Otherwise, I'll have to break your ass." A slightly annoyed tone came from Cata's voice. You had grown up together, and after the last heartbreak, Cata had started to become more possessive of you, afraid that you would suffer another heartbreak that would leave you emotionally damaged.

"And the other flea next to Patri is Claudia, or Pina as we all call her." You looked at Patri's side, still maintaining a cordial smile and a small blush. You met a bluish, almost light blue gaze, which you thought was due to the lighting. "Nice to meet you, girl. If Patri bothers you, let me know. She gets a little weird when there are omegas around who aren't from the pack." You saw how when she smiled, her cute little dimples formed, which made her look very sweet.

After that little introduction to her friends, the night passed as quickly as lightning. There were many glasses of alcohol, shouting, karaoke, posing, and photos with the glass.

It wasn't until the next day that you realized everything that had happened, when you woke up in a bed that wasn't yours, in a room that didn't belong to you, surrounded by a scent that definitely wasn't yours. When you were able to regain consciousness, you began to look around: small pieces of paper stuck to the walls, an open closet dazzling with Barcelona jerseys from past seasons.

It wasn't until you turned to the other side that you saw it. The newly met Patri and Pina were lying in the same bed as you. Naked.

As soon as you noticed that detail, you couldn't help but take in the details of their bodies, the small tattoos that ran down their arms, and then panicked a little and discovered that you were naked too.

You had the idea of ​​getting up and leaving, but as soon as you tried to sit down, you felt a pain run from your calves to your lower back. You had definitely fucked them, and how they had left you like that, a wreck.

You moved again, trying to get up to go to the bathroom, failing in the process.

"I should feel triumphant seeing how you can barely move after I fucked you, but it makes me feel tender to see you like this," you heard a voice behind you, sending a shiver down your spine. "It's not funny or sweet when you can't get up to pee." Without realizing it, you pouted as you scanned the room, looking for your clothes.

You heard and felt movements in the bed behind you while you were still searching and trying to remember where your clothes had been thrown the night before, or rather, a few hours ago.

"Come here, Chiqui, I'll help you," Patri said, almost in a tender whisper as she slipped her arms under your armpits.

You were speechless at the sight of Patri's naked body in front of you.

"I… can you get dressed? It's not that I'm uncomfortable, not at all. I think you have a great body since you're an athlete and it's obvious you work it out pretty well, but… God, yes, could you at least put on some underwear?" you began to ramble while looking anywhere but at Patri's face, or failing that, at her body. "Or you can help me and hand me my clothes…" This came out in a lower tone of voice than you intended, feeling your face burn as you heard her laugh. "Sure, Chiqui, wait here, okay?" She replied before placing a kiss on your head as she began searching for underwear for herself, for you, and for the girl who was still passed out in bed behind you.

A few minutes later, she approached you, already wearing her underwear and holding some clothes. "I brought underwear and clothes in case you want to take a shower. We were going to clean you up yesterday, but-"

Hearing her words, you quickly reached out and took the clothes she was offering you. "Thanks, Patri. I don't think it's necessary to finish that sentence." You saw a mocking smile form on her lips as you began to wrap yourself more tightly around the sheet that was draped over your shoulders. "Ready? I'll take you to the bathroom. If you need anything, just yell my name. It's not like you didn't do it a few hours ago."

You swallowed and felt your breath catch in your throat as embarrassment grew in your chest. "Thank you," you murmured as you ducked your head, feeling quite shy under her gaze.

After that interaction and the conversation the three of them had after Pina woke up and became more conscious, the three of them began seeing each other more often.

And about eight months later, the three of them began a beautiful and healthy relationship. The person most worried was your cousin, but after talking to her about it, her anger toward your girlfriends subsided.

About three years had passed since then. They had gotten to know each other in every possible way; words weren't necessary. When they looked into your eyes, they knew what you needed, what you didn't want, when you were uncomfortable, when you didn't like something, or when you wanted to leave.

They knew everything, except when you were going into heat, which was rare for them to be, but you always knew when they were about to start their heat.

You started giving clues in the morning, when Patri went out to get some breakfast and you sat on Pina's lap, being more clingy than usual.

"Aw chiqui, do you want me to cuddle you, love?" Pina was always softer, always looking for you to pet you or just cuddle you. You could say Pina was a soft alpha, and you loved it. You were both polar opposites; while Patri was more possessive, strong, and always had the need to emphasize that she was your alpha, Pina was less possessive, more tender, always trying to make you feel comfortable everywhere.

You hid your face in Pina's neck, feeling her scent slowly envelop you as you moaned, "I need you, love, please." Your hips began to rock on your girlfriend's cock as you sought release from the heat that was beginning to suffocate you. Pina, on the other hand, thought you were still like this because the night before, you were only able to engage in foreplay before the girls showed up at the apartment.

You grabbed Pina's hands and brought them to your ass, where she firmly positioned herself to help you grind yourself further against her. "You like it like this, baby?" You felt her lips on your neck and shoulder, followed by small bites. "Yes, I love it, Clau." Your voice sounded muffled as you hid back in her neck, biting to muffle your moans.

As soon as you felt yourself getting close, you moved your hands to the shorts your alpha was wearing so you could pull them down. When her cock emerged, you stroked it for a few seconds, only to feel it in your hand as your hips continued to rock against Pina's thigh.

When you felt it was time, you moved your hand to your crotch to pull it aside so you could take Pina's cock inside you.

"Let me help you, baby, okay?" She leaned down and placed a soft kiss on your cheek, still not understanding why you were so needy. She moved a hand to your crotch, leaving small caresses before taking her cock and aligning it with your entrance. As soon as she saw you were comfortable and ready, she lifted her hips so she could sink slowly inside you without wanting to hurt you.

You, on the other hand, as soon as you felt Pina beginning to sink into you, began to ride her, not even bothering to wait for your walls to adjust to your girlfriend's big cock. You looked down at your surroundings, seeing Pina's head now resting on the back of the sofa while the veins in her neck began to pop out, perhaps in an effort not to cum inside you so quickly. You leaned down until you were close to her ear, first placing kisses and nibbles on her neck, listening to her increasingly frequent moans. Your hand first went to her neck, where you squeezed lightly, and then moved down to her chest, playing with her nipples, still through her clothes.

"God, Clau, please, I want you to cum inside me… to fill me so I can have your puppies," you whispered into her ear, leaving a small bite on her earlobe. Pina's hands moved to your waist, where they squeezed firmly so she could penetrate you harder and faster.

"Please, let me feel you fill me up, alpha, please," you began to beg. You knew what they were like when you acted like a complete slut. Something they loved was when you called them your alphas. It made their egos grow and made them fuck you so much better.

Pina lifted you off her lap. You moaned and complained as you felt the emptiness in your pussy. "Be a good slut and get on your knees on the couch. Show me that nice ass of yours." She turned you around and gave you a little push on the shoulder. You pulled your knees up onto the couch and let your chest fall onto the backrest, feeling your alpha's hands run over your ass and spank you.

"So obedient to take a cock in your tight pussy," you were going to reply, but the words got stuck in your throat as you felt Pina eagerly enter you again.

A few minutes later, you began to become a bundle of moans, begging her to please let you cum.

"Please, alpha, let me do it… I need you to do it inside me."

"You're a slut, you want to cum on your alpha's cock and then fill you with my cum."

No coherent words or phrases came out of your mouth anymore; both alphas loved seeing you like this, all destroyed in front of them.

A few minutes later, Pina started to get rougher, and that only meant one thing. She was about to reach her orgasm.

"Do it, little slut, cum for your alpha." Hearing her words, you began to feel that familiar tug in your belly begin to form, faster and faster. Her hand tightened on your neck, while she held your hips firmly. Your pussy squeezed her as the orgasm began to leave its small shocks in your body. You felt your heartbeat in your ears, your toes began to twitch, as did your pussy. You couldn't hold it back any longer before your orgasm hit you hard.

Pina followed you seconds later, cumming inside you, filling you with her cum.

She waited a few seconds before pulling out her cock and rubbing it against your ass. "Look at you so pretty, covered in my cum."

You were about to respond when you both heard the door open.

Patri walked in with a bag in one hand and some coffee in the other, looking quite proud of her purchase, until she saw you both on the couch.

"Seriously, you can't wait for me to get here?" She walked to the kitchen to drop off the food and coffee to wash her hands, then returned to where you and Pina were still. "Come on, Cari. I know you must have been being a slut for Pina. Now be a slut for me." She brought two of her fingers to your mouth so you could start sucking them with the same enthusiasm you would have sucked her cock.

"Keep fucking her, Pina. For today, I'll let you use her pussy more." A boastful smile spread across her face. "I think I can settle for her pretty mouth."

As soon as you heard her words, you let out a moan, followed by a gasp as you felt Pina's cock stretch you again as she fucked you again. You rocked back and forth, your tits slamming into the couch, feeling yourself getting wetter and wetter as you watched Patri's erection grow in front of your face. She reached with her free hand to the belt she was using and quickly undid it along with her pants, sliding them down to her knees, leaving her boxers in place.

"You like watching my cock get hard in your face, don't you, little slut?" She slapped your cheek lightly as her fingers continued to thrust deep into your mouth, making you gag and make your eyes fill with tears of pleasure.

They stayed like that for a few minutes. Pina fucked you without a steady rhythm, driving you crazy. Patri continued fucking your mouth with her fingers while stroking her cock in front of your face with her free hand.

Finally, after minutes that felt like an eternity, Patri pulled her fingers out of your mouth as she pulled down her boxers. "You're so desperate for us to ruin you." She stroked her cock for a few seconds, then lightly slapped your cheeks. "Take it all like the whore you are." Without waiting for a response, she stuck her cock in your mouth, beginning a back-and-forth motion with her hips.

As soon as Pina saw that Patri had started to move, she found her rhythm and began fucking you harder, making it impossible for you to moan with Patri's cock filling your mouth.

Pina played with you, leaving small bumps on your ass and then pulling her entire cock out of your pussy. She left you like that for a few seconds, then penetrated you again, all the way to the bottom. In the midst of the cloud of pleasure, you lowered a hand to your clit, making small circular movements over it. When Pina noticed, she continued to move. "Patri, could you hand me your belt? It seems this little whore can't stay still."

Patri stopped moving to listen to what Pina had said and then pulled her cock out of your mouth so she could bend down to find her belt and hand it to her girlfriend, who delightedly accepted it, bringing your hands behind your back and tying them there so you couldn't touch anything.

With that obstacle out of the way, Patri could now fuck your mouth better, and Pina would continue to take you to her pleasure. You felt tears falling down your cheeks, soaking your face and part of the sofa.

"Look how our omega cries with pleasure, you take us so well."

You felt your orgasm growing stronger and stronger, unsure how much longer you could hold out all the pleasure coursing through your body. Although they both knew you were close, they stopped teasing you and focused more on your orgasm.

Patri pulled out of your mouth again after filling it with his cum. She bent down to take a condom out of her purse, extending it to Pina. "My turn, go do something else." She stood beside her, watching your thighs drip with your cum, while Pina's cock was still hard.

Patri sat down next to you and made you sit on her lap so she could bury her cock inside you. Pina waited patiently until you were in a comfortable position and aligned herself with your ass, ready to take you there now.

They both filled you, but they preferred to have uneven rhythms, as one entered the other withdrew, so as not to leave you empty at any moment.

All you could do was moan their names. You were in a daze, no coherent thoughts in your head. All you could think about was how well your alphas were fucking you.

"God, baby, you're so tight for us," Patri spoke as she massaged your tits and left bites on your neck. Pina, on the other hand, moaned behind you as she continued fucking you, sometimes leaving marks on your back.

"Are you close? I know you want to cum on our cocks, like the slut you are," Pina whispered in your ear, as she left more blows on your ass. By now, your ass was already red from all the spanking Pina had given you.

"Please, I'm close," you moaned into the air, hoping they'd give you permission to cum.

"Ask for it properly, whore, otherwise we won't let you cum."

Your breathing was getting shallower as you felt like you were about to fall into the abyss of pleasure. "Please, my alphas." A moan escaped from the back of your throat, making it impossible for you to speak. It took you a few minutes to recover before you could speak again. "I need to cum, please. I'll be a good whore for you, my alphas."

Both alphas looked at each other smugly as they saw how close you were to collapsing. "Sure, baby… but after Pina cums in your ass."

If you were happy because they'd given you permission to cum, now you felt desperate to be able to free yourself.

It was a long few minutes, they felt like hours, until you finally felt Pina slow down a bit and squeeze your waist tighter, leaving marks.

As soon as Pina informed Patri that she had cum, she spoke again. "Come on Chiqui, cum on my cock." With that affirmation, you quickly got into the rhythm and began fucking yourself with her cock, seeking your release, which wasn't so far away.

After the three of you finished, you were more fucked than them, leaning against the crook of Patri's neck while Pina went to get something to clean you up. Having already untied your hands, leaving them free, she said, "Are you like this because you're going into heat?"

You snorted in place as you bit her neck again. "Thanks for noticing, Patri." She sighed, in return. "It's hard to know when you're about to go into heat… Pina and I have never found your scent stronger… sorry, baby." She placed a kiss on your head while slowly caressing your back.

That was all the post-sex care you needed, even though you were missing your other girlfriend.

The three of you ended up cuddled on the couch, enjoying each other's company.

"I'll call Pere to tell him we won't be going to training; we'll stay and take care of you, Cari."

You just moaned in response, almost asleep, feeling her scent lull you.

Here's Patri and Pina's story. Already working on the others, let me know what else you'd like to read from me. My inbox is open! bon dia, bona tarda, bona nit. -Onaswife

[leneemusing]

MEDICAL THEMED PROMPTS ( pt. 1 )

THE PHYSICIAN / NURSE

❝ i know this hurts but i need you to breathe, we're almost done. ❞

❝ can you open your eyes for me? ❞

❝ how long have you been experiencing those symptoms? ❞

❝ i can't help you unless you tell me the truth. ❞

❝ i know you wanna get discharged and go home, but we have to keep you for observation just a little longer. ❞

❝ i know you're scared, but you're in the right place. we're gonna do everything we can to make you better. ❞

❝ next time, call your general practioner or come see us sooner. google is not a reliable source. ❞

❝ just a few more stitches and we're done. ❞

❝ does it hurt when i touch here? ❞

❝ we're gonna get you fixed up, i promise. ❞

❝ i'd appreciate it if you could sit still and let me work, please. ❞

❝ sorry, could you repeat that last part for me? ❞

❝ is there anybody we can call for you? ❞

❝ it'll be a long road to recovery, do you have anyone at home to help? ❞

❝ it's a sprain. we'll get you a brace. ❞

❝ it does look like it's fractured, we're gonna get some imaging, okay? ❞

❝ you wanna see your x-rays? ❞

❝ bad news is its broken. good news, it's a clean break. with proper care and some physical therapy to follow up, it should heal well. ❞

❝ so you are going to need surgery. ❞

❝ don't worry, it's noninvasive and outpatient. ❞

❝ it is an invasive surgery, but we have some of the finest surgeons on the case. ❞

❝ we're a teaching hospital, is it okay if i let some student doctors observe? ❞

❝ i'm actually new. this is my first day. ❞

❝ i've never done this procedure before—well, except on cadavers. ❞

❝ that was unprofessional, i apologize. ❞

❝ tell me what's going on today? ❞

❝ you wanna tell me how you managed to get a gunshot wound like this? ❞

❝ that is a nasty laceration, what happened? ❞

❝ you know your blood type? ❞

❝ i know you haven't had the best of luck before, but i'm a new face. fresh ears. i am listening, i promise. ❞

❝ i'm sorry you've had a bad experience. i promise i believe you. ❞

❝ any pre-existing conditions we should know about? ❞

❝ how many fingers am i holding up? ❞

❝ we're gonna need to draw some blood. ❞

❝ you're right. i should've listened. ❞

❝ you need to listen to what i'm saying. ❞

❝ i know it sounds really scary, but we see it all the time. ❞

❝ it's manageable and you'll be able to live with it. but you have to follow the treatment plan. ❞

❝ if you keep moving like that it's gonna hurt more. please sit still. ❞

THE PATIENT

❝ honestly it doesn't hurt that much. ❞

❝ uhhh...that's not? normal, right...? ❞

❝ i'm sorry you said i'm gonna have to do what? ❞

❝ sorry, uh. could you repeat that? i'm nervous i wasn't really listening. ❞

❝ i hope it's not cancer. ❞

❝ well doctors do make the worst patients, what can i say. ❞

❝ could you just hold my hand for a second? ❞

❝ there's no one. it's just me. ❞

❝ shit—yeah, that hurts. that really hurts. ❞

❝ can i get outta here any time soon? ❞

❝ you look kinda young to be a doctor. ❞

❝ i thought i was fine but it just kept getting worse. ❞

❝ could i get something for the pain? ❞

❝ no—no drugs. please. ❞

❝ you're telling me it's 'just stress'? what's that supposed to even mean? ❞

❝ no one ever believes me. they think i'm exaggerating. i'm not making this up! ❞

❝ i just feel like i can't breathe. ❞

❝ that's a lot of blood... ❞

❝ how long is that supposed to take? ❞

❝ i'm scared of needles. ❞

❝ am i gonna be okay? ❞

❝ i-i'm so stupid. i should've been more careful. ❞

❝ do i really have to wear those gowns...? ❞

❝ what? what does that mean? ❞

❝ could you explain that again? ❞

❝ i'm having another episode. ❞

❝ i feel like i might pass out... ❞

❝ kinda wish i didn't have to be discharged. feels safer here than out there. ❞

❝ well aren't you doctor cutie? ❞

❝ have you ever done this before? ❞

❝ my veins are kinda tricky, try my left arm. ❞

❝ thank you. i mean it. ❞

❝ sorry i'm not trying to take it out on you i'm just really stressed. ❞

❝ i kinda hate hospitals. ❞

❝ don't come near me. ❞

❝ don't touch me! ❞

❝ that wasn't so bad. ❞

❝ there's air bubbles in my iv. ❞

❝ i don't mean to be difficult, it's just my condition is kinda particular and only my gp knows the details. i have this folder here that explains everything. ❞

❝ don't look at me like that. i know my own body. ❞

[fatfemmefreaquency]

one of the issues though is that post-secondary institutions (in North America, at least—I don’t know much about academia outside of canada & the US, except for a bit about the UK australia & NZ) don’t have any incentives to make learning sustainable

heck. lately even good pedagogy & actually teaching students well has taken a massive hit, and it was never really a focus here to begin with

for decades now educational research has demonstrated that exams and rote studying for exams does not lead to retention of information: students that study for exams don’t actually learn the material

if universities cared about actually educating students we would never have been using exams to assess learning and give grades in the first place

but giving an exam, especially a multiple choice exam, is easy to do—especially on a large scale. running labs, grading papers, teaching seminars with a lot of discourse & student participation means (a) more classroom hours per course and (b) more office work for professors and (c) generally a lower student to prof ratio

unfortunately in academia in the countries I mentioned above (the ones I know most about) almost all universities/ colleges are run like businesses

and businesses are concerned with one thing above all else: making money. doesn’t matter what they do to make money—the cheaper they can make the product or service they’re selling (while charging more for it) the better

and more work for instructors and smaller class sizes costs money—money a business doesn’t want to expend

honestly I don’t blame students for cutting corners**

things are getting progressively worse in US & canadian higher ed, due to a lack of public funding for universities and a massive corporate culture problem. late stage capitalism is reducing universities to diploma factories rather than actual spaces for learning and inquiry

i totally agree with you OP that learning should be sustainable & not drudgery/ hard labour

but i think the chances of that happening have been just about obliterated by how capitalism has shaped academia

(and this has really accelerated in the last decade with schools refusing to hire more tenure track professors and also shifting towards more online learning. we KNOW that larger class sizes and less face-time with instructors means students learn slower and learn less. but schools don’t care: they care about costs)

**footnote under the read more**

**let’s be clear: i think it’s…not smart to choose genAI because chances are you’ll get caught and either expelled for academic dishonesty OR just get a failing grade. chatgpt and all other genAI are really fucking noticeable still in terms of how they write academic work

if you’ve really gotta cheat consider finding 3-5 articles that say what you want to say and then cobbling together a paper or answers out of their sentences—then go through and rewrite every sentence that you don’t want to use as a direct quotation in your own words (for the love of god do not use a thesaurus for this—your prof WILL notice that. just use your own words and reorder the sentence to the best of your abilities)

this is still more work than relying on chatgpt etc but it’s MUCH harder for plagiarism filters to detect (or for an instructor to notice)

this is plagiarism. you’re stealing other people’s ideas and passing them off as your own rather than coming to an original idea

like i mentioned: it’s a little more work than using chatgpt or other genAI but it’s much easier than writing a paper where you make your own argument (good news—this is like a baby step to that, and will make it easier to write papers of your own)

writing a paper like this is quick and relatively easy, still. in a pinch you can tool around in your library’s database of academic articles for about an hour or two and then copy and paste stuff for an hour-ish and then spend another couple hours reworking the syntax of the paper and be done with it

sure it’s not a paper that chatgpt wrote in 5 minutes for you—one that would likely get you in a world of trouble that you don’t need

but what this does is massively cut down on the mental effort and time that goes into writing a paper—in my experience this takes the process down from 10-30 hours to about 6-8 hours AND you likely get a pretty decent grade

i didn’t use this method much personally, but whenever a friend told me they were struggling to keep their grades up/ pass classes i told them to do this

i feel zero shame about it. we went to a school with more than 40 thousand students and the average undergraduate lecture sat 280 students (often with just one professor & 2-3 TAs). students were never really supported to do good research OR to learn in general

it’s hard to do your best work when you’re handing it in to a professor who isn’t paid to do their best work either—or to support you in your learning

i completely understand & agree with the backlash against students using chatgpt to get degrees but some of you are out here saying "getting a degree in xyz means pulling multiple consecutive all-nighters and writing essays through debilitating migraines and having severe back pain from constantly studying at your desk and chugging energy drinks until you get a kidney stone and waking up wishing you were dead every day, and that's just part of the natural process of learning!!!" and like. umm. i don't think that any of us should have had to endure that either. like maybe the solution for stopping students from using anti-learning software depends on college institutions making the process of learning actually sustainable on the human body & mind rather than a grueling health-destroying soul-crushing endeavor

[moonmaiden1996]

The Monster Maomao Created Part 5

Even without his disguise, the room was unbearably hot, with his heavy robes and veil it was pure hell. The thick summer air hung heavy, cloaking everything in a suffocating haze. Heat radiated off the lacquered floor tiles in waves, pickling his back and arms beneath the many layers of silk he was still forced to wear. Sweat pooled at the base of Jinshi’s neck, slick against the collar of his robes.

The only relief came from a narrow window high in the stone wall, where a thread of breeze slithered in, stirring the incense smoke and rustling a strand of his hair that poked through the eye slot It wasn’t enough. But to complain now—before the Emperor, and worse, the General—would have been unthinkable.

The General, a towering man with sun-darkened skin and silver threaded through his temples, sat across from him with all the stillness of a statue. His presence seemed to swallow the room. But still, Jinshi did not flinch. He sat straight-backed and silent, his face a mask of calm, though heat stung his skin and soaked his underlayer. He stared directly at the older man, even as tension crackled through the space like the silence before a battle.

“…so if all bears well, we will return before the next full moon,” the General was saying, his voice like gravel dragged across iron. “The barbarians are no match for your forces.”

“It is only through your leadership, General,” the Emperor replied smoothly from his elevated seat. “You have proven yourself, time and again. Clan Hu remains one of our greatest pillars of strength.”

Jinshi watched the old warrior bow his head with practiced humility, arms sweeping out in a rigid arc of gratitude. His lips parted, a reply forming—but the Emperor spoke again, eyes gleaming with something unreadable.

“…but I did not summon you to speak only of battle. In the midst of all this conflict, I wish to demonstrate our strength through unity. A marriage.”

“You honor me, Your Majesty…” the General began cautiously.

“But?” the Emperor leaned forward slightly, voice warm with invitation. “Come now, loyal friend. You may speak freely.”

The General exhaled, slow and heavy. “My daughter is not made for the court. She was raised in her mother’s western heritage—too bold, too sharp. She would not thrive as a consort.”

The Emperor’s lips curved in amusement. “I agree. Some flowers do not bloom in gilded cages. Your daughter reminds me of the blue poppy that grows in the high passes—delicate in appearance, yes, but only in the wild does it show its true color. Attempt to cultivate it in the bounds of a garden and it withers.”

A flicker of something—perhaps pride, perhaps pain—passed over the General’s face. His rigid shoulders eased, just a fraction.

“But I do not speak of taking her as my consort,” the Emperor continued. “I speak of my brother. It is time he had a wife, and I can think of no better bride than your daughter.”

The shift in the General’s body was immediate. His spine straightened; his eyes narrowed. Jinshi could feel the weight of his attention shift directly onto him, appraising, dissecting.

“I am aware,” the General said, voice cold now, “that the Imperial Brother gifted my daughter a pin for her birthday. But that is all it is a gift.”

“This prospect upsets you?” the Emperor asked, not unkindly.

The General’s fingers curled against his thighs, the knuckles paling with restraint.“If I may speak freely…” he bites out in a strained attempt at calm. “The Imperial Brother is not what I envisioned for my daughter. He is …unsuitable to her. The court has always assumed that due to… his affliction… he would not marry. So long as the line of succession continues, this has never been questioned. My daughter, though she may not show it, is full of warmth. She needs love and strength from a husband, not a match made of politics.”

The Emperor inclined his head. “It is clear you cherish her greatly.”

“As if she were a son. Perhaps more.” The General’s voice cracked slightly with intensity. “And that is why, though I am honored by the offer, I must decline—not out of defiance, but out of love.”

“If I may.” Jinshi spoke quietly, but his voice carried. The General looked at him sharply, never had the prince's voice been heard beyond the whispers to his courtiers when he did attend count.

“I do not wish to force your daughter,” Jinshi continued. “I do not intend to make a pawn of her.”

The General blinked. 

“She is beautiful, yes. And noble. But that is not why I wish to marry her. I may still be the Emperor’s brother, but I am no longer the Second Prince. With the birth of my nephew, I am finally free—to choose not just a bride, but a partner. And I choose her. I chose her the moment we first met.”

The General scoffed, his temper flaring visibly. “You have never met my daughter. You never leave the palace.”

“Oh, but I do.”

Jinshi reached up. His fingers moved slowly, deliberately, to the knot at the base of his head. With one fluid motion, he untied the tightly bound mask and let it fall into his lap.

Four things happened at once.

The General surged to his feet, a roar tearing from his throat.

The Emperor smirked

A rush of cool air kissed Jinshi’s damp skin, the freedom of it almost dizzying.

And Gohsan, standing silent by the pillar, visibly aged another five years.

“What is the meaning of this?!” the General thundered. His voice cracked through the chamber like lightning.

“Sit, General,” the Emperor commanded.

The older man stood heaving, nostrils flared, staring down at the unmasked figure before him.

“He is a eunuch!” the General snarled. “What is the meaning of this deception? This insult?”

“Forgive my brother’s theatricality,” the Emperor said with a sigh. “I had hoped for a more graceful reveal. My brother has taken great pains to remove himself from the line of succession—to ensure peace and stability. What better way than by walking among the court unseen? What better way to observe… and to protect? But as a false eunuch, whose else could I trust as a gardener to my garden.”

“That does not mean I will—”

“You may be my most trusted general,” the Emperor cut him off, voice like velvet over iron, “but you will treat my brother with respect.”

Jinshi met the General’s burning stare without flinching.

“Am I supposed to allow this?” the General snapped. “To have this hidden from her? For her to marry a man who deceives her, who will wear a mask and pretend to be a eunuch.”

“I only ask for the chance to court her,” Jinshi said. “And when the time comes, to reveal everything. To give her the choice.”

The General’s eyes searched his face, looking for weakness, for deceit. He found only resolve.

“…Is this agreeable to you?” The emperor asked, voice low.

“Only after I return will this be discussed, and then she may have her choice.’’

A long pause. The tension stretched like a drawn bow. Then, at last—

“Agreed.” The emperor nodded.

The General exhaled, the fire slowly receding from his gaze. He bowed stiffly, each movement strained with unspoken words. Then, without waiting for dismissal, he turned and strode from the room, boots thudding heavily against the stone floor.

The silence he left behind was thick and humming.

The Emperor leaned back in his seat, smirking. “I don’t think your future father-in-law likes you.”

Xxxxxxxxxxxx

The cherry blossoms will be in bloom soon.

You could see them beginning to wake—the tiniest buds cracking their casings, just a whisper of pink and white unfurling at the edges. They lined the garden path like promises yet kept, painting the way to the summer house with the first brushstrokes of spring. A pity, truly, that your father would miss it again.

He had always loved the blossoms. Beyond those high, curved walls, you knew the army was preparing. Swords were sharpened, warhorses readied. Soon your father would ride out against the barbarians in the north, and you would be left behind once again. But if he returned safely—as he always did—you could sit together once more in the shade of the summer house. Drink tea among the falling petals. Speak not of politics or duty but as father and daughter.

You just had to survive until then. A diminutive wren, you thought, protecting her hatchlings against the circling eagle while below vipers lay in wait for a stray chick to fall from the nest.

Your fingers trembled as you walked. If only tou had more time to wave a plan, to plot and strategies. But alas, you were at the merxy of this single meeting. The garden chamber. Your father was there. With them. With him.

If he emerged and spoke the word you’d been waiting for—betrothal—then the path forward would be clear. Marriage to the Emperor’s brother was a hindrance in one sense… but it was safety in another. Especially with the Empress beginning to warm to you. No one would dare strike at you from the shadows once you were part of the royal household. Well, mostly anyway.

You reached the edge of the path just as the doors opened across the garden. With fury your father flew from the door and down across the wooden slats that lined the path.

“Father!”

He brushed past you.

He moved quickly, faster than decorum allowed, his robes kicking up dust as they brushed along the floor. You stepped in front of him, placing a hand on his arm. “Stay,” you said gently. “Walk with me. We could take tea together. You haven’t seen the summer house since the buds started—”

“I can’t.” His eyes darted, not meeting yours. “I… I’m sorry.”

“For what?”

But he was already gone, his boots echoing against the stone, swallowed by the curve of the corridor before you could call out again.

You stood there a moment, heart caught in your throat.

And then you saw them.

Jinshi stood just inside the doorway, the Emperor beside him. He wasn’t speaking. Just… watching. His face, so often composed and unreadable, was different now. Forlorn. Lips parted like he’d tried to say something but couldn’t. Or wouldn’t.

And your stomach dropped. Had your father refused the match? Had he turned down the protection you so desperately needed? No. No, it couldn’t end like this.

You turned on your heel, skirts whispering around your legs, mind already racing. If your father wouldn’t see this done, then you would. 

He desired you. You knew it. You felt it in the way his eyes lingered. In how his breath caught when you moved too close. He just needed a little… encouragement. Maomao had crafted his obsession so carefully that now she was powerless to stop it once she realized the potential of her actions. You would use it, despite every fibre of you wanting nothing more than to run away, to hide, to fight him off.

But you were a woman and you would use everything at your disposal to get what you wanted.

xxxxxxxxxx

The summer house was bathed in golden light. It spilled through the lattice like liquid fire, casting dappled shadows that swayed gently with the breeze. Blossoms clung to the air like snow, drifting lazily across the lacquered floor, catching in your hair, your sleeves, as if the garden itself wanted to adorn you. You had the tea set arranged just so—crystal pot, delicate porcelain cups, a small dish of honey that glinted amber in the sunlight, like a treasure laid out for an offering.

You waited.

The warm hush of the afternoon settled around you like silk. The garden murmured with soft wind and the low hum of bees in the nearby wisteria. You had not hidden your presence; there was no need. And like a loyal hound drawn by some unspoken call, he came—cautiously, uncertainly—skirting the edge of the path.

God of a man. Even from afar, the sight of him stirred something low and molten in your belly. Tall and broad-shouldered, draped in silks the color of ink and starlight, his figure caught the sun like a sculpture. Robes are far too grand for an overseer.  His skin gleamed, his hair swept back in perfect knots. He looked, in that moment, like an emperor. You felt foolish for not seeing it sooner, for mistaking him for something simpler. But perhaps that was why it had worked. No one looked past the surface of such beauty. No one expected the sharp mind or the aching depth beneath it. 

Jinshi. On his own. Interesting.

Your eyes sparked as you took him in

He was too handsome. Distractingly so. Infuriatingly so. But he made it easy to imagine being his wife. Because, beneath all of that beauty, he wanted you.

“Master Jinshi! Join me. I need some company,” you said as he stepped into the golden hush of the house. “The court can be… so unfriendly.”

He hesitated, one foot still at the threshold, the sunlight like a halo behind him. “You shouldn’t be alone. Not with your father leaving so soon.”

“I’m not.” Your smile was slow, curling at the corners of your mouth like smoke. “You’re here.”

He blinked, uncertain. You gestured to the cushion across from you, fingers light, graceful.

The steam from the tea curled between you, poured with care, letting the scent of jasmine perfume the air between you. Then, deliberately, you reached for the honey.

Your fingers dipped the silver spoon into the golden pool, stirred it slowly into your cup with long, languid circles. All the while, your gaze lingered on him—just beneath your lashes, as if by accident. Then, still watching, you brought the spoon to your lips.

You sucked it clean.

The warmth, the sweetness—it spread across your tongue and drew a quiet sigh from your chest. The sigh was not for him, not exactly. But you knew he would feel it like a kiss.

Jinshi’s face went red—abruptly, violently. He looked away like you’d slapped him, hand tightening around his teacup until his knuckles went pale. He shifted, tense, his breath not quite even. You saw the flicker of something wild in him, something barely restrained.

Beneath the low table, you pressed your thighs together. The heat there made you inhale softly, as the tingle ran through. That was new.

“Is the tea too hot?” you asked, voice low, a teasing purr, eyes lingering on his hands still firmly clinging to the cup.

“No… no, erm… it’s fine,” he managed, his voice rough with something he couldn’t quite swallow. “Is the honey good?”

“Very.” You smiled—soft and slow—and sipped, letting the tea linger on your tongue.’’You should try it’’ Then, as if remembering yourself, you glanced toward the garden, where the first buds of lotus curled open like secrets at the edge of the pond.

He cleared his throat, as if the weight of your gaze—or the heat that clung to the air between you—could be shaken off with such a simple sound. He was trying to gather himself. It wasn’t working.

“Your father is to leave soon.”

The unease, the low thrumming anxiety that had been pacing the edges of your thoughts, returned—settled heavy in your stomach like a stone. Your fingers tightened slightly on the rim of your cup.

“Yes,” you said quietly. “I fear what will happen if he doesn’t return.”

A pause. The sunlight flickered across Jinshi’s cheekbones, gilding them like something carved from marble and flame.

“You have the Imperial Brother’s hairpin,” he said at last. “I’m sure you’ll be looked after.”

But his voice had changed—tight, strained, brittle at the edges. Not conviction. Jealousy.

“You think so?”Your eyes returned to him then, sharper than before, glittering with something close to challenge. “He does send the prettiest poems,” you said, letting the words roll lazily from your tongue like honey. “He’s such a sweet soul. Gentle. Well-read. Everything a woman is supposed to want.”

Jinshi’s expression didn’t change, but you saw it in the way he stopped breathing.

“But,” you continued, tilting your head just slightly, “he won’t even see me. Not once, and I can not visit him.”

You traced the rim of your teacup with one idle finger, watching his hands on his lap—tight, still. “It doesn’t give a very clear signal, does it? Perhaps…” You let the silence stretch, then sighed. “Perhaps I’m not worth the trouble. Or perhaps he simply pities me.”

There was no true hurt in your voice, but you let it echo there anyway, faint and deliberate. Enough to stir something in him. Enough to make him bleed for it.

Jinshi’s jaw clenched—barely, but you noticed. The muscle ticked once. His eyes darkened, though he did not speak. He was too careful for that.

And so, you leaned back, sipping again, smiling as if nothing you said had any consequence at all.

Jinshi’s silence stretched long—too long. You could see the storm of thoughts behind his gaze, the way he warred with himself, unsure if he dared speak what he truly believed. Finally, he said, voice low and strangely gentle:

“Maybe…” He hesitated, then pressed on. “Maybe the Imperial Brother doesn’t avoid you because he pities you. Maybe he fears how you might look at him.”

You tilted your head, the motion slow and deliberate. “Oh?”

Jinshi’s hand curled loosely into a fist on the table. “He must keep himself veiled, even from most of the court. He exhaled slowly. “Perhaps he thinks… if you saw him—truly—you would turn away.”

A soft breeze stirred the curtains at your back. The sunlight moved with it, catching the warmth in your eyes as you looked across at him.

“I don’t care for beauty,” you said, your voice quiet but firm. “I care for a man who loves me. Who cherishes me.”

He blinked. You could see the moment those words struck him.

“But love is a luxury I cannot afford,” you added, softer now, more honest. The ache behind the words cracked something open between you. “So, failing that… I must choose someone who will not harm my family. Someone with enough power to shield them. Even if he does not love me. Even if I do not love him.”

You let the truth hang there, raw and bare, because there was nothing else you could offer.

Your fingers played at the edge of your sleeve, twisting the silk. “Pretty poems are not enough,” you murmured. “Not when the world is waiting to devour everything I hold dear.”

Jinshi looked down into his untouched tea, his throat worked as he swallowed, slow and deliberate. The silence built around you like gathering thunderclouds, low and pressing. You watched his jaw clench, tight enough to ache.

“Maybe I should find someone else,” you said, voice light but edged. “Someine like Minister Zhou’s son, maybe. Or Commander Ling.”

The effect was immediate.

He went pale—then flushed. His brows twitched as though struck. A storm rolled across his face—confusion first, then jealousy, and beneath it, something darker still. Something old and buried and just beginning to rise.

“You can’t,” he said abruptly, the words too loud, too sharp.

You blinked.

“He’s—he’s beastly,” Jinshi stammered, almost tripping over the words. “He wouldn’t know how to care for you. He doesn’t even know how to speak to a woman without sounding like a drunk soldier at a brothel—he—”

But he broke off, and the rest was lost in a sudden motion. He stood, too fast, too tense, the cushions shifting beneath him. His breath came shallow now, eyes burning as he leaned over the low tea table—towering without touching. His hands clenched at the polished edge as though gripping something inside himself.

For a moment, just one, you wondered if he would kiss you or throw the tea set against the floor.

“I need to make sure my brothers are protected,” you said, carefully, pulling the heat back to something firmer, rational.

“I could protect them,” Jinshi said, his voice gone low, hoarse with restraint. “I will. I have influence. And power.”

It wasn’t a plea. It was a declaration, dressed in urgency, carved in control.

You reached across the space and laid your hands over his.

The shift in him was near imperceptible—but you felt it. A breath caught. A line in his shoulders softened, but only slightly. As though your touch tethered something that might otherwise unravel. Then it struck you—this was the first time you had ever touched him.

His skin was warm—firm, steady. Expected. But the sensation that bloomed under your palm was not.

Something stirred in you, deep and low, curling with heat. Trembling, almost afraid. A quiet ache that had nothing to do with safety and everything to do with him. You turned his palm gently upward, tracing the ridges of callus with slow reverence. He didn’t move. But his breath hitched once—barely—and you knew he was holding himself together with a thread.

You were suddenly, devastatingly aware of how much you wanted those hands. Not as symbols of strength, but as skin—warm and rough against your thigh, your back, your throat. You shifted instinctively, thighs tightening beneath your robes. The friction sent a wave of sharp heat through you—undeniable, alarming.

Your fingertip brushed his palm again, featherlight.

He hissed through his teeth. His other hand gripped the table’s edge so hard it creaked.

“If only I had met you before you chose your path,” you murmured, gaze lowering. “Before you tied your life to the Emperor’s garden. If you weren’t…” You trailed off. “I would accept you in a heartbeat.”

You dared not meet his eyes. Your throat ached with the truth.

Then, softer: “But as a woman, there’s only so much I can do. I’ll do what I can for my brothers and pray for my father’s safe return. It is all I can do.”

Not the truth, of course, as a woman you were quite capable of doing a lot, but using your feminine power was far more effective.

Then—his fingers closed over yours. Not rough. Not trembling. Possessive.

“You are more than that,” he said, his voice rough. His grip tightened—not enough to hurt, just enough to remind you of his strength. The depth beneath the mask. The danger. 

“You are the strongest person I know.” Then, lower—his voice barely a breath: “And if I had met you before I entered the Emperor’s service… I wouldn’t have waited for you to accept me.”

He looked at you then—truly looked. No mask, no smile, no polished restraint. “I would have taken you.”

The words rang in the silence between you like something sacred. Or profane. You didn’t know which. He inhaled, slow and hard. His hand lifted slightly, fingers brushing yours and for a brief moment tou thoufht he might take tou then and there. Throw you onto the table and ravish you. The fact you even thought of that disturbed you. More so because your corr cletched at the mere thought.

“I will do all I can to ensure your safety. Until your father returns. Then we—then I… then all of this will make sense.” And when his eyes locked on yours again, something inside you faltered. You felt scared.

Because you believed him.

And the horror was—you wanted to trust him.

Sorry for the lack of an update. Life has been awful. But you likes and comments have been amazing and really made me want to write.

So I did, in fact, rewrite this twice as it wasn't hitting. After watching the latest couple of episodes I want and need more dark and possessive Jinshi in my life. Was it worth the wait?

Please let me know what you think!

@btsgangleader @thecrazyone2007 @solatiiium @ylovei @mybones537 @clairedeselene @1-800-peakyblinders @traumatizedpomelo @sarcastic-wit

[wannaeatramyeon]

Gun Park x Reader: Passing notes

G/N. Cute, short, fluffy!! HNH-Days. Masterlists

HNH Exec meetings are luckily few and far between.

Yet everytime the traumatic hours-long event arrives, you can't help but wish for someone to fatally maim you just so you have an excuse to not go.

These corporate freaks, to your complete non-surprise, love the sound of their own voice. They talk about grand plans and takeovers and quarterly results and four-year-ops and you can feel your brain cells dying in real time.

Perhaps you can throw yourself out the window instead. That would be a far better alternative to having to sit through this.

As someone launches into yet another presentation, you glance around at the attendees. You're in terrible company.

Professional, business-driven psychopaths who will stab you in the back just to climb the corporate ladder, and actual psychopaths that will literally stab you and enjoy it.

You're sandwiched between the worst of both worlds.

To your left is a Charles Choi sycophant with too big an ego and an inferiority complex, and bursting at the seams to talk about how well his division is doing and annual turnover and all the people he's fired to increase the share price.

To your right is... Well, it's Gun Park.

How he has the patience to sit through this, you'll never know.

Though as you watch Gun, you realise that even he is human. His eyes are glazed over, his concentration having lapsed about twenty slides ago, and he fails to keep up with this bullshit.

You nudge him with your knee and he flashes you a look.

Shaking your head in faux disapproval, you scribble a note and slide it over.

'You should be listening.'

His eyes flicker to read your words but he ignores you. Bastard.

You jot down a few more thoughts.

'It's very important.' Another glance.

'This guy certainly thinks so.' And another.

Clearly Gun is also bored out of his mind if he's entertaining your juvenile behaviour and not telling you to shut the fuck up.

Oh!

A metaphorical lightbulb goes off over your head, you have a burst of inspiration and write down your plans.

'I might kill him.'

To your delight, Gun lets out an amused huff and the edges of his lips lift.

He leans over for a brief moment, one arm circling the back of your chair and chest pressed lightly against your shoulder. Your nose is filled with the scent of sandalwood and amber.

When he moves away, you look at his chicken scratch:

'Not if I kill him first.'

You turn to Gun and he dips and angles his head towards you, reading your next move.

"Wanna kill him together?" You whisper into his ear.

Your face breaks into a grin when he nods.

[hellfirebarnes]

Bit Of Magic

Bucky Barnes x fem!reader, Asgardian reader

Fluff, nothing else really. Just a silly I-miss-the-old-Avengers type of fic that I wrote way too quickly while working on other fics with the Thunderbolts.

You’re described as having hair long enough to tie up and at two points (I think) your clothes are described briefly. Barely.

Let me know if there’s any warnings I should put, otherwise - enjoy! This has NOT been proofread so beware of mistakes 😚

This was written on my phone so don’t know how it’ll look on other devices, sorrrrryyyy

⸻⸻⸻⸻⸻⸻⸻⸻

The compound had never been quieter than at 7 AM. Except for the subtle whirring of Stark’s espresso machine and the tapping of Bucky Barnes’ metal fingers against his coffee cup.

He was watching you again. The newest Avenger. Sharp, strategic, quietly funny - and, somehow, best friends with Loki.

No one really knew how that friendship came to be. One day Loki just waltzed into the compound, smirked at everyone, and said, “She’s with me. Behave.” Nick Fury was pissed. Tony was delighted. Natasha just sipped her coffee and said, “Well, this’ll be fun.”

You weren’t like the rest. You weren’t trained like Natasha or enhanced like Steve or full of vengeance like Bucky. You were… calm. Intuitive. Powerful, but humble. You had this laugh that made Bucky forget what century he was in, and every time you touched his arm - whether to pass him something or steady yourself on a landing - his brain did a full reboot.

And you had no idea.

Which made it hell for him. And delightful for everyone else.

“Morning, Bucky,” you said now, sliding into the seat beside him with your tea.

He nodded, stiff. “Morning.”

“Are you always this grumpy or is it just around me?”

He choked on his coffee and Sam, across the room, wheezed.

Tony looked up from his tablet. “Can’t wait for this mission. Married couple, huh? Bucky, better start practicing your pet names.”

Bucky groaned and put his head down on the table. Steve just laughed into his oatmeal.

⸻

The mission was simple on paper: infiltrate a gala hosted by a suspected Hydra affiliate. You and Bucky were to pose as a newlywed couple scouting for investments. Hold hands, smile, dance a bit, snoop around.

Simple.

Until you stepped out of the quinjet wearing a dress that made Bucky momentarily forget how to speak English.

“You okay?” You asked, adjusting the fake diamond on your finger.

“Uh-huh,” Bucky said, brain buffering.

“Good. Because you’re going to have to be charming tonight,” you said, looping your arm through his. “Think you can handle being my husband for a few hours?”

He was going to die. Right here, before they even reached the building.

The party was elegant and shimmering and full of possible danger. You were all smiles and laughter, slipping seamlessly into your cover story.

And Bucky? He was malfunctioning.

Every time you touched his chest while talking to someone—“Oh, darling, remember Italy?”—his internal processor glitched. When you fed him a bite of dessert and giggled like it was the most natural thing in the world, his knees nearly gave out.

“You’re sweating,” you whispered at one point as you danced.

“It’s the tux,” he lied.

From their comms, Sam’s voice crackled: “You’re not wearing enough to be sweating, man. Chill.”

“Shut up, Sam.”

Then someone got suspicious.

A man with a sharp jaw and a Hydra pin half-concealed on his lapel. He started circling closer, questions too pointed.

“You two seem… very close,” the man said. “Where did you say you met?”

Bucky hesitated.

But you didn’t miss a beat. “Paris. Rainstorm. He gave me his umbrella.”

“Romantic,” the man said, unconvinced.

Then you leaned in, smirking. “Let me show you how romantic.”

You kissed him.

No - you kissed him.

It wasn’t a peck. It was long and intense and made Bucky’s hand tighten on your waist like he’d never let go. Your fingers curled in his hair and for a full ten seconds he forgot Hydra existed. He forgot Steve. Sam. He forgot the mission.

When you pulled away, Bucky blinked like he’d just been unplugged.

You whispered, “You good?”

“…No,” he muttered, still staring at your mouth.

⸻

Back at the compound, the teasing began before they’d even landed.

“I swear I heard violins through the comms,” Tony said.

“I was about to call a medic,” Sam added. “He stopped breathing.”

Natasha teased, “So when’s the honeymoon?”

Even Steve, always the serious one, smirked. “You know, Buck, in our day we called that ‘going steady.’”

Bucky shoved past them all and stormed down the hallway, cheeks redder than they’d been since 1943.

⸻

The next day, you walked into the kitchen barefoot, hair messy, wearing one of the oversized S.H.I.E.L.D. sweatshirts they all seemed to steal from the laundry pile. You moved around like you belonged there now, like you’d always been one of them - and to Bucky, you kind of had.

“Morning,” you said, grabbing a mug. “Sleep okay?”

He nodded, eyes fixed on the cereal he wasn’t eating.

You bumped your hip into his playfully. “You sure? You looked pretty out of it after that mission. I mean… I kissed you, but I didn’t knock you out.”

He choked on nothing.

From across the room, Tony grinned and leaned on the counter. “Oh, here we go.”

Steve muttered under his breath, “Round two.”

You sipped your tea, completely unaware of the chaos you caused. “Anyway. If we ever go undercover again, I promise I’ll try not to kiss you too hard next time.”

This time, Bucky dropped the spoon.

The room erupted.

Sam wheezed into his hand. “He’s turning red! I didn’t even know he could turn red!”

Natasha deadpanned, “Barnes.exe has stopped responding.”

Tony clutched his chest like he was watching a soap opera. “Just propose already, you coward.”

Bucky fumbled to say anything, eyes wide and mouth opening and closing like he’d forgotten how words worked. “I-uh, no-I mean, I didn’t-I wasn’t-”

You blinked at him, innocent and sweet. “You okay?”

“Yeah. Fine. Totally,” he mumbled, practically teleporting out of the kitchen.

He didn’t see you turn to the others after he left, a curious little smile playing at your lips.

“…Did he think I was serious about the next mission?” You asked, a little too casually.

Steve grinned knowingly. “Oh, he’s doomed.”

⸻

Tony Stark’s parties were legendary for many things: luxury, unpredictability, slightly illegal laser shows, and the fact that someone always ended up passed out on a table. That someone was usually Clint.

But tonight, it wasn’t Clint doing tequila shots with Maria Hill at 2 a.m. It was you.

“I didn’t even know she drank,” Bucky muttered from the corner, arms crossed, watching as you swayed to whatever pop remix was blasting through the compound’s rooftop speakers. Your cheeks were flushed, your eyes bright, and your laugh - God, that laugh - was echoing over the skyline like music.

“She doesn’t,” Natasha said, sipping her wine beside him. “She’s letting loose. Stark parties’ll do that to you.”

Bucky dragged a hand down his face. “That’s not comforting.”

“Dude,” Sam grinned. “She’s flirting with a lamp right now.”

“It’s mood lighting,” you were saying to the floor lamp with utmost sincerity. “Not everyone understands ambiance, you know?”

Tony passed behind them, drink in hand. “I’ve already ordered the wedding cake, just FYI.”

Bucky groaned. “Can everyone not-”

Then you were there, suddenly leaning against him like you’d been magnetized to his side.

“Buckyyyyy,” you said, dragging out his name like a melody.

He stiffened instantly. “Hey, hey, easy. You okay?”

You poked his chest, right over his heart. “You have a good one of these. I like your heart.”

His soul short-circuited.

Natasha, whispering to Sam: “He’s about to combust.”

You tilted your head. “Do you know you smell nice? Like metal and… soap. But good soap.”

He blinked. “…Thanks?”

Then you were wrapping your arms around his torso like a koala, face smushed against his shoulder. “Hey,” you mumbled. “Don’t drop me, you’re so strong.”

“I’m not gonna drop you,” he said, arms hovering in panic. “You, uh - you wanna sit down?”

“No,” you said cheerfully. “I wanna slow dance.”

Tony’s voice came over the speakers: “Cue the jazz!”

“NO,” Bucky shouted, but it was too late. Sinatra was already crooning something about moonlight and strangers.

Thor appeared at Bucky’s side like a mountain made of warnings, sipping from a goblet the size of a cereal bowl. “Ah, young Barnes.”

“Thor, not now.”

The thunder god clapped a heavy hand on Bucky’s shoulder anyway. “I have heard you are… smitten.”

“I’m not-”

“I understand this. Many mortals fall under such spells.”

“Not a spell,” Bucky hissed, watching you try to dance with one of Tony’s suits of armor.

Thor leaned in, suddenly serious. “But heed me, friend. You are aware that the Lady is close with my brother?”

“Yeah. I’ve noticed.”

“And you are aware that Loki is… not known for emotional restraint?”

“That’s- putting it mildly.”

Thor’s gaze turned thunderous. “Then you must understand: should you ever wound her, even unintentionally… Loki will eviscerate you. Possibly in your sleep. Possibly while wearing your face.”

Bucky swallowed. “Noted.”

Thor nodded and then beamed. “Excellent! Now, go. She is trying to kiss the Hulkbuster.”

Later that night, after Bucky finally coaxed you into drinking three glasses of water and sitting down on the couch, you curled up beside him, legs tucked under you.

“You’re warm,” you murmured, half-asleep.

He looked down at you, heart jackhammering. Whispering your name.

“Mmh?”

“I- never mind.”

“Okay,” you whispered, already drifting off.

The others watched from the doorway. Sam, grinning. Nat, smug. Steve, fond.

Tony just raised his glass. “To long, painful pining. May it drag out for months.”

⸻

The morning after Stark’s party, Bucky thought - hoped - that maybe things would go back to normal. You would forget everything. He could go back to hiding his crush behind sunglasses and emotionally repressed sarcasm. Easy.

Except you had not forgotten anything. If anything, you were more affectionate now.

“Hey, soldier,” you said that morning, entering the training room in yoga pants and a tank top. You tossed him a bottle of water like you were in some kind of fitness-themed romcom. “You survived the party. Congrats.”

Bucky caught the bottle, blinking. “Thanks?”

You grinned, leaning in slightly. “You were really cute, y’know. All flustered. You blush a lot for an assassin.”

He dropped the bottle.

Steve, doing push-ups nearby, didn’t even try to hide his snort. “Don’t pull a hamstring, Buck.”

Bucky gave him a look that could’ve curdled milk.

“I, uh, don’t remember you being this… chatty before,” Bucky said, not meeting your eyes. “You sure you’re feeling okay?”

“I’m fine,” you said, voice a little teasing. “Just… figuring some things out.”

He didn’t know what to do with that, so he nodded and pretended to stretch while praying for a dimensional rift to open under his feet.

Which is exactly when Loki arrived.

He didn’t walk - he glided, as usual, dressed in something velvet and unnecessarily dramatic for 9:30 AM. His presence instantly sucked all warmth out of the room. Bucky’s spine went rigid.

Loki said your name smoothly, his gaze softening ever so slightly as he approached you. “You didn’t return my message. I feared you’d fallen into another one of Stark’s party pits.”

“Only slightly,” you said, smiling as you gave him a hug. “I was just training with Bucky.”

Loki turned his head slowly. Like a predator spotting fresh prey. “Oh,” he said. “Were you now.”

Bucky suddenly felt very aware of all his organs. Particularly the stab-worthy ones.

Loki stepped closer, that ever-serene smile curling like a blade. “Tell me, Barnes. Is there a reason you are spending so much time with my dear friend?”

You laughed. “Loki, don’t scare him.”

“I’m not scared,” Bucky lied, stiff as a board. “Just - uh - hydrated.”

Steve, behind him, mouthed hydrated? with a baffled expression.

“I merely wonder,” Loki continued, circling slightly like a very elegant shark, “if your intentions are… honorable.”

“Loki,” you warned.

“I mean,” Bucky stammered, “I-uh-don’t have intentions. Not that I wouldn’t! I mean- I would, if she wanted, not that she does - but if she did want that, which she doesn’t, probably, then sure, but like-respectfully-”

He was dying. Actually dying.

Loki blinked. “Was that English?”

You had to physically step between them, pressing a hand to Bucky’s chest and gently nudging him back. “Okay. That’s enough testosterone for one morning.”

Bucky tried not to react to your touch. He failed.

“Mortal,” Loki said with a smile that didn’t reach his eyes, “Just remember: my threats are not idle.”

“I believe him,” Bucky squeaked.

“Good,” Loki said, satisfied. Then, as casually as ordering coffee, he added, “Because if you do anything—anything—to hurt her, I will unravel your mind and wear your guilt like a cloak.” And then he disappeared in a shimmer of green light.

Silence.

Bucky exhaled like he’d been holding his breath for a week.

You turned to him, hands on your hips. “Don’t take him seriously.”

“He threatened to wear my guilt.”

“Yeah, that’s just Loki being Loki.”

Bucky stared at you. “Your friend is terrifying.”

“He likes you, actually,” you said with a shrug.

“That was him liking me?!”

You smiled, sweet and dangerously close. “You’re cute when you panic.”

He short-circuited for the third time in a week.

Back in the hallway, Sam, who had been listening through the door with Nat and Tony, whispered, “That man is not gonna survive this.”

Nat chuckled. “He’s not even halfway through his emotional breakdown.”

Tony popped a popcorn kernel into his mouth. “Ten bucks says he faints before he kisses her.”

“Fifteen says Loki hexes him first,” Sam added.

They all shook on it.

⸻

The mission was supposed to be routine. Infiltrate. Secure the artifact. Minimal damage.

But when has that ever worked out for the Avengers?

They were deep in a forest somewhere in Eastern Europe - Hydra base, hidden underground. The team was split into pairs: Sam and Natasha taking the north entrance, Steve and Tony drawing attention to the front, and you and Bucky sneaking through the back.

“Stay close,” Bucky said, crouched low behind a ruined wall, checking the last of his gear.

You leaned beside him, quiet and composed. “I’m always close.”

He looked at you, heartbeat quickening at how calm you were, how sure of yourself . Something about the way your eyes flicked toward the entrance, focused and clear, gave him pause.

“You sure you’ve got this?” he asked.

You grinned. “Worried about me?”

He didn’t answer, because yes, but also… obviously.

You made it inside undetected, slipping through dimly lit corridors. Hydra had apparently started hoarding magical artifacts - some of which, Tony said, were “definitely not supposed to glow purple.”

That’s when it went sideways.

An explosion echoed through the compound, followed by the unmistakable sounds of Hydra reinforcements.

“We need to move-” Bucky began, but a unit had already cut you off down the hall.

You stepped forward - too casually - and raised your hand. You murmured something in a language that didn’t sound Earth-born.

The lights flickered. The Hydra squad froze mid-step. A pulse of gold light shimmered in the air around your palm, and in the next second, the entire unit crumpled to the floor in a silent heap.

Bucky stared. Then stared harder.

“…Did you just cast a spell?”

You turned, blinking innocently. “Oh. Right. So… there’s something I should probably tell you.”

He gaped. “Probably?!”

You ducked into another room, and you sealed the door with a flick of your wrist and another soft chant. The locks clicked into place on their own.

Bucky’s brain was spiraling. “You’re a sorceress?!”

“Kinda.”

“Kinda?!”

“I was trained in sorcery, yes,” you said, brushing a bit of dust off your shoulder like this was totally normal. “By Frigga.”

“…As in Queen of Asgard Frigga?!”

You nodded. “I spent most of my childhood there. My mother was Asgardian. My father was Midgardian. Long story. Loki and I became friends when we were kids.”

Bucky sat down on a crate, gripping the sides like the world was spinning. “You’re-you’re from Asgard.”

You winced. “Technically half. But yeah.”

“Do the others know?”

“Steve suspects, I think. Tony thinks I’m a ‘magic hacker.’ I don’t think anyone’s told Sam because no one wants to hear the rant.”

“And I didn’t know because…?”

“You were already glitching every time I so much as bumped into you, Barnes,” you said, raising an eyebrow. “You really think you could’ve handled this on top of it?”

He flushed. “You don’t know that.”

“I do. You nearly fainted when I kissed you for a mission.”

He mumbled something unintelligible into his hands.

You crouched in front of him, voice gentler. “I wasn’t hiding it from you to mess with you. I just… didn’t want you to look at me like I wasn’t me. I didn’t want to be just the sorceress from Asgard.”

He looked up. Your eyes were soft, serious. Human. And still you.

“I don’t care where you’re from,” he said quietly. “You’re still you.”

You smiled. “Good. Because I still plan on confusing the hell out of you every time I can.”

He opened his mouth - maybe to say something brave, maybe to flirt back.

But then the comm crackled in their ears. “Status update?” Steve’s voice came through. “Everyone okay?”

You tapped your comm. “All good. Bucky’s just having a mild identity crisis.”

Thor’s voice joined in cheerfully: “Excellent! Barnes, we must speak later.”

Bucky looked at you with pure dread. “Why does that sound like I’m about to be interrogated?”

“Oh, you will be,” you said sweetly. “Thor and Loki have been waiting for this.”

⸻

The news was out.

You: Half-Asgardian. Trained by Frigga. Magic user. Loki’s bestie.

Bucky thought he was taking it well. Thought.

Until Clint Barton-casual destroyer of mental stability-strolled up behind him during lunch with the words that would haunt his every waking moment.

“So,” Clint said, popping a grape into his mouth, “just curious… what if she’s got you under a spell?”

Bucky turned, mid-bite. “What?”

“You know,” Clint gestured vaguely, “magic-y people. Mind control. Charms. Love spells. That sort of thing. I mean, you’re obsessed with her, right? What if she just made you feel that way?”

Bucky stared at him, mouth slightly open, hand hovering over his sandwich.

“Anyway,” Clint said, walking away like he hadn’t just ignited a full-blown existential meltdown, “food for thought.”

Four Hours Later…Bucky had not let it go. Was it real? Was he enchanted? Was he in love or just bewitched?

You touched him and he lost his brain. You smiled at him and he forgot his name. And now that he knew you were magical…

He was pacing the armoury, muttering to himself.

“Okay, okay. Maybe it’s natural. Maybe it’s just hormones. Or proximity. Trauma bonding? No—wait. Mind control? Emotional suggestion? Was that a spell when she brushed my arm last week or just static electricity—?”

“You’re spiraling, James,” came Loki’s voice from behind him.

Bucky yelped.

He turned to find Loki leaning in the doorway, sipping something suspiciously green from a glass that shimmered ominously. Thor stood beside him, arms crossed, exuding calm judgment like only a god of thunder could.

“I don’t suppose,” Loki said with a smirk, “you’ve finally decided to confess your feelings?”

“No,” Bucky said instantly. “I’m… I’m trying to figure out if they’re real.”

Thor’s brow furrowed. “Your emotions?”

“I mean… what if she’s got me under some kind of… spell?” Bucky muttered.

Loki laughed—openly, unhelpfully, loudly. “Oh, this is delightful.”

Thor gave his brother a look, then turned back to Bucky. “James. Her magic does not function that way. Not with emotions.”

“Not unless it’s very dark, very illegal, and very painful,” Loki added with a casual sip.

Bucky raised an eyebrow. “You’d know.”

“I would,” Loki said proudly. “And I can promise you, she hasn’t laid a single enchantment on your poor, foolish heart. That catastrophe is entirely organic.”

Thor nodded. “She would never manipulate feelings. Frigga taught her better than that.”

Loki’s grin widened. “Besides, if she had cast a love spell, it wouldn’t look like this.” He gestured to Bucky’s whole person. “You’re a wreck. You blush when she says hi. You stammer like a schoolboy. You flee rooms.”

“I do not flee—”

“You sprinted out of the kitchen last week,” Loki said.

Thor added, “Through a window.”

Bucky flushed. “It wasn’t- …shut up.”

Loki leaned in slightly, voice dropping. “She likes you, Barnes. I can see it. Everyone can. Except, it seems, you.”

“And yet,” Thor said, tapping his chin, “you still haven’t made a move.”

“I’m working up to it!”

“You’ve been ‘working up to it’ for three months.”

“I need time!”

“You’ve had nine decades!”

“Not for this!” Bucky snapped.

At that moment, Steve stepped into the room holding a report and paused mid-step, taking in the scene:

Loki, smug and sipping glowing liquid.

Thor, nodding sagely.

Bucky, bright red, fists clenched, looking like he’d just been grilled alive.

Steve blinked. “…What the hell did I just walk in on?”

Loki didn’t miss a beat. “A breakdown. It’s adorable.”

Thor gestured toward Bucky. “He is finally admitting his feelings for our sorceress.”

Bucky groaned and sank onto the nearest bench, burying his face in his hands. “I hate all of you.”

Steve raised an eyebrow. “Even her?”

“…No,” Bucky mumbled.

“Then maybe talk to her?”

Loki grinned like a cat in sunlight. “Oh no, don’t ruin it, Captain. Let’s see how long he can self-destruct before someone intervenes.”

Thor clapped Bucky’s shoulder, nearly knocking him over. “Fear not, James. When you are ready… you shall have our support.”

“I don’t want your support,” Bucky muttered.

“You need it,” Loki said.

Steve shook his head, walking back out. “I’ve seen interrogations less intense than this.”

Meanwhile you were in Tony’s lab, perched on a high stool, lazily sipping iced coffee while watching Stark mess with what looked like a cross between a toaster and a death ray.

“…You’re going to set the curtains on fire again,” you said, not looking up from your tablet.

Tony squinted. “What curtains?”

You pointed at the corner. “The ones behind you.”

FOOM.

Tony cursed and immediately grabbed an extinguisher. You didn’t even flinch. “Told you.”

Once the fire was out and Tony’s pride had been thoroughly scorched, he turned to you with a calculating gleam in his eye.

“So,” he said casually, dusting ash off his shirt, “how’s our favorite magical misfit today?”

“I’d assume you mean me, but that sounds like a trick question.”

“Just making conversation.” He leaned on the table across from you. “You’ve been here a while now, right?”

You nodded. “Six months and change.”

“Team likes you. You’ve got style. Good battlefield instincts. A tendency to make my AIs nervous, but hey - so do I.”

“Is this going somewhere?”

Tony smirked. “You and Barnes have been awfully cozy lately.”

You blinked. “That’s not a question.”

“Fine,” he said, grinning wider. “Do you like Bucky?”

You tilted your head and sipped your drink. “In what way?”

Tony squinted. “The ‘do you want to make out with him in the elevator’ way.”

“Elevators are too small,” you said smoothly.

Tony cackled. “So you admit it!”

You smirked back, just a little. “I admit nothing. But you’re not exactly subtle.”

“Neither is he. I’ve seen traffic cones with better poker faces.” Tony leaned in, mock-serious. “You like him, don’t you?”

You shrugged. “I think he’s kind. And interesting. And doesn’t know how to handle eye contact for more than three seconds.”

Tony wiggled his eyebrows. “Which you find irresistibly endearing, right?”

You didn’t answer immediately, just set your cup down, gaze drifting thoughtfully toward the lab windows where the garden was visible. “…I think he’s trying very hard to be someone good. And I admire that,” you said finally, softly. “It’s not easy. He carries a lot.”

Tony’s smile faded just a bit. “Yeah. That he does.”

“But he never looks at me like I’m dangerous,” you added. “That’s rare. You don’t forget that kind of thing.”

Tony studied you for a moment, expression unusually serious. “Does he know how lucky he is?”

You chuckled. “If he does, he’s keeping it a secret.”

There was a short pause.

“…So are you going to make a move, or what?”

“Maybe,” you said, grinning again. “It’s kind of fun watching him flail.”

“You are evil.”

“Sorceress,” you corrected. “There’s a difference.”

Tony’s phone pinged suddenly, and his brow furrowed. “Huh. Steve just texted me: ‘Bucky’s having a breakdown. Loki involved. Possibly Thor too. Send help or snacks.’”

You raised an eyebrow. “Sounds like he’s learning something.”

“Oh, he’s learning, alright. You’re not hexing him, right?”

You stood, finishing your coffee. “No. That poor man is just suffering from a terminal case of feelings.”

Tony snorted. “So what now?”

You flashed him a mischievous smile on your way out the door. “Now? I let him sweat a little.”

And with that, you walked off - calm, cool, and in total control - while Bucky Barnes, one floor below, was contemplating whether his feelings were real or the result of ancient emotional sorcery.

You were not in the same emotional galaxy. But you were definitely on a collision course.

⸻

Bucky had rehearsed this.

He had practiced in the mirror. In the gym. In the Quinjet. In his room. In the shower. He had an opening line, a backup line, and a backup to the backup line in case he panicked and reverted to caveman grunting.

“Hi, I really like you.”

No. Too stiff.

“You enchant me- wait, no, not like that, not magic- well, also magic, but like, in the emotional way-”

God, no.

And now you were in the gym after a sparring session. You were stretching like you hadn’t just sent him flying into a mat five minutes ago with a smirk and a casual “Sorry.”

You were radiant. Glowing from the workout, sipping water, hair messily tied up, still managing to look like you belonged on a magazine cover. And you were smiling at him, like he was the only thing in the room.

Bucky’s brain melted like a microwaved snowman.

This was it. He had to say something. Now. He’d waited too long. The team knew. Steve knew. Loki definitely knew.

So he cleared his throat, wiped his palms on his sweatpants, and stood awkwardly in front of you like he’d just spawned in from another dimension.

You looked up from your water bottle, eyes soft.

“I-uh. So. Okay.” He took a breath. “I like you. A lot. I mean- not just the normal ‘you’re cool’ kind of like. But the-uh-‘I think about you all the time and I rehearse conversations with you in my head and every time you look at me I feel like I got hit by lightning but in, like, a cute way’ -kind of like.” He exhaled, hands flailing vaguely.

You raised an eyebrow, amused. “In a cute lightning way?”

“Yeah,” he said, rubbing the back of his neck. “But not the Thor kind. Less thunder, more… um… heart palpitations.”

You tilted your head. “Bucky.”

He froze. “Yeah?”

“You could’ve just kissed me.”

“I was getting to that!” he blurted. “I had a whole thing planned! There were sentences. I rehearsed!”

You stepped closer, calm as ever, with a half-smile on your lips. “You’re adorable.”

His brain: 404 Error.

And then before his panic reflex could kick in again - he did it.

He kissed you.

It wasn’t suave. Or smooth. Or coordinated in the slightest. His hand kind of fumbled somewhere between your jaw and your shoulder, and he leaned in a bit too fast, and for a split second, he thought he might miss entirely and headbutt you.

But none of that mattered. Because you kissed him back. Steady. Confident. Like you’d been waiting for this.

And when you pulled apart, Bucky blinked, eyes wide, lips parted like he couldn’t believe his own existence.

“I-uh-I was supposed to say more stuff.”

“You said enough,” you replied, brushing your fingers through his hair like it was the easiest thing in the world. “Besides, I knew.”

”I’m sorry, what?”

You grinned. “Bucky. You blush when I walk into a room. You looked like you were going to combust when we fake-married.”

“You kissed me on the mouth!”

“You choked on your own name.”

He groaned, hiding his face in your shoulder. “I am never going to live this down.”

“Nope,” you agreed cheerfully. “But you’re mine now, so that makes up for it.”

“Yours,” he echoed, dizzy. “Yeah. That sounds… really good.”

Meanwhile in the security control room, Tony leaned back in his chair, watching the camera feed with a smirk.

“Woo! Pay up, Wilson,” he said, reaching his hand out behind him.

“Ugh, are you kidding me?!”

“I told you he’d crack before she did. My faith in his emotional instability remains undefeated.”

Steve chimed in, “You bet on them?”

Tony grinned. “Of course. I bet on everyone. It’s how I show love.”

Loki’s dry voice cut in, “I would like my percentage of the winnings. I coached the fool through half his existential crisis.”

“I’ll buy you a coffee.”

“I want a kingdom.”

“You get a scone.”

“…Done.”

[icrytearsofsadness]

Steve could think of a lot of things to call Billy Hargrove. Bully. Asshole. Arrogant. Gross. Unfortunately, the only thing Steve was allowed to call him was —

“Captain.”

Delivered through gritted teeth, mostly, or yelled across the court. Said in a drawl with an eye roll for added effect.

It wasn’t fucking fair. Billy had been a year under Steve in high school. And yet he’d managed to get to uni first, so now Steve was stuck calling Billy what Billy used to call him.

“Ass in gear, Harrington!”

At least some things never changed.

Billy was smart, apparently. Like — really smart. He’d bounced out of high school and immediately fucked off to uni, full ride and everything. Steve had to take two whole years to get himself in order, and even then his parents were paying for the degree. Steve was a whole year older than Billy and a whole year behind.

It fucking sucked.

Especially because no one here knew Billy in high school. It was just Steve who remembered what he used to be like. He hadn’t changed that much, but it was clear leaving Hawkins had a huge effect on the guy. Here in California, he was so much less angry.

He still yelled at the team plenty, but more to motivate than to abuse. Was still rough, but out of play, not violence. Still gross. Still hot. Still charmed the pants off any girl he wanted, still gave Steve that horrid smirk any time Billy got one up on him.

And after three years, Steve wasn’t really frustrated about Billy being a grade up, being better. Steve knew Billy would end up captain for his senior year. Now what Steve was frustrated about was how Billy had suddenly gotten worse. And no one else seemed to notice.

Maybe he just picked on Steve in particular. But it fucking sucked. The rest of the team worshipped Captain Hargrove, and Billy hated Steve.

Basketball was the only thing Steve knew he was good at. He wanted to be captain next year. So badly. But there was no way in hell Billy would hand the reigns to him, and he’d made that increasingly clear in the past few months.

Graduation was fast approaching. Finals were screwing everyone. Steve was high strung with the stress of it all, and Billy’s bullshit wasn’t helping.

Knocking him down just to pick him up and do it all over again. Passing to Steve just to yell at him for a ‘bad play’. Putting Steve on the opposite team and guarding him on purpose.

Steve was pissed off and he’d had enough.

“Alright, Captain,” he’d hissed the moment the gym doors had closed behind Billy, shoving the stockier boy up against the wall by the water fountain. “You really gonna hold a high school grudge all the way until graduation or what?”

Billy, asshole that he was, just grinned at him. “Why so touchy, Harrington? If this is about that girl at the party last well, it’s not your fault she wanted a younger guy.” He wiggled his brows.

“No — what?” Steve grimaced. Billy never stopped being gross. “Fuck off, dude. You know what I’m talking about. Everyone knows you target me like hell.”

Billy glanced away, all shifty, but when he looked back the grin was plastered into place. “Dunno what you’re talking about, Harrington. Look, I know you’re used to the princess treatment — ”

“Don’t give me that,” Steve snapped, pushing Billy’s shoulder, shoved harshly into the wall again, feeling only a tiny bit bad when Billy winced. “You treat me like shit. I know you wouldn’t give it to me to save your life but let’s face it your next best option is fucking Daniel and he’s not exactly a team player.”

Billy squinted at him. “You think next best is Daniel? Shit, maybe I should reconsider this whole thing.”

Steve gaped a little. “What whole — you weren’t gonna give it to him?”

“No, asshole,” Billy drawled, like Steve was slow. “I was gonna give it to you, but fuckin Daniel is such a shit take that maybe I gotta rethink my plan, you get what I’m sayin? Can’t have you picking shit new players.”

Steve stared at him.

Tried to find the lie, the joke, the taunt in Billy’s blazing eyes but Billy wasn’t a liar, never had been, not like Steve was.

Billy’s lips twitched. “The fuck you lookin at?”

Steve blinked, and stumbled back from Billy, releasing him. “You were gonna make me captain?”

“Well shit, not yet,” Billy replied. Asshole. “Still got another month left in me.”

“Jesus Christ, you know what I mean. Why were you being such a dick, then, Hargrove?”

Billy’s eyebrows climbed. “Try that again, Harrington.”

Steve narrowed his eyes at Billy, who just looked back at him expectantly.

Gritting his teeth, Steve replied in his flattest tone, “Why were you being such a dick, Captain.”

A flash of pearly whites for his trouble, and a pat to the shoulder. “Couldn’t let you have my team before I knew you could handle it, now could I?”

“So what, all of this was just some sort of fucked up test?”

“Sure, if it helps you sleep at night.”

“You’re — I hate you.”

“No you don’t.” Billy grinned at him again. Wolfish, just like it had been in high school, ready to close around Steve’s throat. “You want me to like you so bad.”

“Yeah because I want to be Captain, you ass—”

Those teeth that were designed to destroy Steve’s windpipe were suddenly digging into Steve’s bottom lip, which made it rather difficult to speak. It also fucking hurt. And was incredibly surprising. So if Steve made a completely undignified yelping sort of sound, it had nothing to do with Billy kissing him and everything to do with shock and pain.

Kissing back wasn’t quite so easily explained.

Honestly, Steve didn’t know why he did it. Billy really did piss him off. Maybe it was just the thrill of knowing it wasn’t all for nothing, the high of knowing he’d be captain next year. Maybe it was knowing Billy approved of him — not that Steve gave a shit about that. Maybe it was just that Billy was hot and Steve hadn’t slept with that girl at last week’s party because Billy had been better. Maybe Steve had wanted him since high school and just buried it under a thick layer of what an ass.

And truly, what an ass, as Billy tried to make Steve’s mouth bleed or something with how agressive he was being, and god finally getting to sink his fingers into the dense meat of Billy was beyond satisfying. There was something to be said for his gym rat behavior, since Steve’s hands could wrap and squeeze and dig into Billy’s biceps and ass and thighs like he could him right open.

Steve had just wrapped his hand up in Billy’s stupid hair and Billy had just dragged his tongue between Steve’s teeth when a door slammed somewhere in the gym.

Steve startled and jerked away, suddenly incredibly aware of their easily accessible location, not to mention the burning feeling in his face, the sting of his bitten mouth, the fingers that gone numb from wrapping Billy’s hair too tight around them. The aching straining tightening coiling way too fucking obvious in his basketball shorts, the matching mouthwatering visual in Billy’s and goddamn, Steve hated the idea of getting on his knees for someone like Billy Hargrove but he might just be able to do it for Billy Hargrove himself.

Billy was grinning again. Panting between his teeth.

“Well? Captain.”

And — that made Steve feel.

Something.

“Shut up,” Steve managed. Not sure what else to say.

Billy’s grin cracked impossibly wider. “What, you want me to tell you to make me? Cause even I’m not that cliche, Harrington, and – ”

And Jesus Christ, Steve just wanted him to stop fucking talking, so he grabbed him by the face and crushed their mouths back together. The quickest way to shut Billy Hargrove up, as it turned out, was to stick one’s tongue down his throat.

Their teeth clicked together, which was painful, as most things with Billy were. Billy hissed and shoved back a little, and they stumbled grasping and yanking into the shower room.

Steve gave a breathless sort of laugh when they finally bumped to a stop, Billy shoved up against him and his back to a wall. Billy might as well have been feral, prowling up on Steve as he was, clawing his shirt off and gnawing on him, cornering and hunting him.

“Like to — fuck — play with your food, Captain?”

Billy groaned in response, shoving Steve harder against the wall, making him wince as his now-bare shoulders scraped against the shitty paint. “Forgot how to mouth off, Harrington?”

Steve laughed again, that same hysterical breathless definitely-not-a-giggle kind of laugh. “Gonna fuck some respect into me or what?”

“Jesus Christ, Harrington,” Billy replied, a low grating syrupy quality to his voice that went straight through Steve’s bloodstream like a hit. “If telling you you’re gonna be captain is all it took, I shoulda told you sooner.”

Steve huffed a little. “Yeah, right.”

“No, serious.” Billy pushed his shoulder again. Rough. Playful. “Already had it in my head it was gonna be you. Knew it months ago. Had to put on a good show, you know, really make sure so no one could say I was just playin old high school favorites. And maybe I liked pushin you around a little. But I’m serious. It’s been you, Harrington.”

And that made something uncomfortably warm swirl in Steve’s chest. Warmth wasn’t a feeling Steve wanted to associate with Billy Hargrove. Burning heat was good, scalding, melting flesh off bone. But something warm, cozy, blanket around his shoulders coffee in the rain — Steve couldn’t take that.

“Yeah, right,” he said again, quieter this time. Not defiant, just soft. Acceptance. Having Billy’s gorgeous blue eyes boring into his own made it hard to disagree. “Right.”

Billy must have felt it too, then — this warm curling thing between them — because he plastered the sharp grin back on, slicing through whatever fragile just slipped through the cracks. “Where were we?”

A slow smile crept back across Steve’s mouth in return.

“Wherever you want, Captain.”

[milatiny-xx]

moonshine | j.wy

⊹₊⟡⋆ Westeez Series | Part 1 of 8 ⊹₊⟡⋆

pairing: ranch hand!wooyoung x fem!reader summary: He's good with words and even better with his hands. tags: cowboy/wild west AU, widow!reader, alcohol, NSFW/18+/MDNI (oral—f receiving, fingering, dirty talk, oral fixation, P in V unprotected sex—WRAP IT FRIENDS!!!) wc: 9.1k a/n: it's heeere!! this took me AGES and turned out wayyy longer than i expected lol but i'm so excited to finally be posting this!!! jung wooyoung the things YOU DOOOO

⊹₊⟡⋆ masterlist | taglist ⊹₊⟡⋆

PROLOGUE

“I don’t know how I’m gonna get it all done,” you sigh, your finger anxiously tracing the rim of your glass. “There ain’t enough hours in the day to do everything I need to keep the ranch going and look after the house and take care of all the finances and…”

You groan, running your hand over your face.

“It’s still only been ten months since he passed, darlin',” Ed’s smooth, low voice is a comfort. He rests his calloused hand on top of yours. “Give yourself a little grace. I’m sure Billy wouldn’t wantcha runnin' yourself ragged like this.”

A pang shocks through your chest at the mention of your late husband’s name. Ten months…you can’t believe it’s been that long. It feels like an eternity and the blink of an eye at the same time. You should have prepared more. You had plenty of time. Billy fought tuberculosis for four years before he succumbed to the disease.

But the truth is that you weren’t ready for him to go. You certainly weren’t ready to handle all of the work he left behind.

“I know, Ed,” you reply. “I just don’t know what to do.”

Ed Milton, one of the kindest and warmest men you’ve ever had the pleasure of meeting, is a friend of Billy’s father. He was close with your husband. He looked after the both of you like you were his own children. His wife, Lily, has brought you stew and cornbread more times than you can count since Billy’s death.

“You thought about hirin' some help?” Ed asks.

You perk up a tad, a faint glimmer of hope glinting in the distance.

“Well…no, actually. I guess I been too busy sortin' out all the paperwork. I hadn’t even thought about it.”

“I think you should hire a ranch hand. Somebody who can look after all the farm work so you have more time to deal with the business side of things.”

You nod, considering his suggestion. Although the idea has you practically salivating at the thought of a full night’s rest, your mind is quickly clouded with questions and worries. 

“It sounds wonderful, but I wouldn’t know where to start with all that. I mean, where do you get one? How much do you pay ‘em? How do I know I can trust him if I do hire him?”

“Alright, okay,” Ed holds up a hand, telling you to rein yourself in. “I know the ranch is everything you have, and you don’t wanna rush into anything. Since you’re spread too thin as it is, why don’t I ask around and see if I can’t find a suitable one.”

“Ed, I couldn’t ask you to do that for me.”

“Nonsense. You’re like a daughter to me, Y/N. This is the least I can do. Please, let me help.”

You hesitate, guilt swimming through your blood like a snake in water. Ed’s eyes are glassy, eyebrows furrowed, deep wrinkles spreading across his forehead. With a heavy sigh, you nod.

“Alright.”

PART ONE

You’re sitting at the writing desk in the parlor, working and reworking math equations to balance the books for the ranch. A sharp knock on the front door startles you. You glance up at the grandfather clock in the corner. Nine o’clock. Right on time.

You stand, flattening the pleats of your skirt and tucking a strand of stray hair behind your ear, before making your way to the door. You swing it open, and your breath is knocked from your chest.

The man who stands on the other side is not at all what you had been expecting. Ed wrote you last week to tell you that he’d found a ranch hand who came highly recommended. He sorted the details out on your behalf and set today’s date as the ranch hand’s first day of employment. You expected to see an older, grizzly, possibly greying man with a God-awful handlebar mustache or mutton chops or something.

But who you’re looking at is nothing of the sort.

This man is medium-height with a solid build, his broad shoulders clearly visible even underneath his button-down shirt. His face is young and smooth, no sign of a handlebar mustache to be seen. His plump lips are turned up into a polite smile. Your gaze traces up his nose, a straight, slender bridge with a gentle curve at the tip. His eyes are dark but soft, trained on you and set underneath a mop of raven black hair.

He’s young, fit, and very handsome.

“Good morning, Mrs. Reynolds,” he says, tipping his hat respectfully.

“H-hello,” you stutter.

He stares at you, dark eyes friendly and focused. You know you should speak—welcome him to the house, thank him for taking the offer, anything—but you can’t move your mouth. He clears his throat and shifts his weight from one foot to the other.

“I’m Jung Wooyoung,” he continues. In response to your continued stunned silence, he adds, “Your ranch hand.”

“Oh!” you reply, finally managing to snap yourself back to reality. “Y-yes, of course! I’m sorry. Too much on my brain, I guess.”

You laugh nervously, brushing your hand across your hairline. He smiles politely, dimples forming on either side of his mouth. “That’s quite alright, ma’am.”

“Oh, please, call me Y/N. I-if you’d like. I…” you laugh nervously again. “You’ll have to forgive me. I’ve never done this before. It’s always just been me and my husb—well it was me and Billy…uh before he—er, d-died. Anyway, this is brand new to me, and I’m not really sure how it all works just yet.”

He chuckles, the sound deep and breathy. His head dips so that he’s glancing up at you from beneath the brim of his beige cowboy hat. His lips are curved in a crooked smile, dimples still showing.

While you try to control your breathing, your eyes drop down to the small suitcase propped against his leg. You gasp.

“Oh! I’m sorry. Again. Let me show you to the bunkhouse, where you’ll be stayin'.”

You cringe and curse at yourself as you step onto the porch. You scold yourself sternly inside your head as you lead him across the dirt path from the main house to the bunkhouse. Opening the door, he steps inside. His head swivels as he takes in the small space. The wooden floor and walls creak and groan under your weight and the small window is crooked on one side. The only items inside the house are a metal-framed bed with a quilt, a small table with a pitcher and a basin for water, an old rocking chair, and a wooden stove for a fire.

“It ain't much,” you say, “but if there’s anything I can get you to make it more comfortable, please let me know. The outhouse is just out that back door there.”

He gently puts his case down beside the table and sits on the bed. He offers another tight-lipped smile.

“It’s great. Thank you, ma’am.”

You nod, returning his grin.

“I-I can leave you for a little while to unpack your things, if you’d like.”

“No, that’s alright. I can unpack later tonight. If you wouldn’t mind just showing me to the barn and letting me know what you’d like me to get started on, I can go ahead and get to work.”

“Oh…of course. Follow me.”

You scold yourself again, feeling like the world’s biggest idiot. He must think you’re the dumbest woman alive.

You fidget with a loose thread on your bodice as you lead him out of the bunkhouse and to the small barn across the way. You reach for the latch to the door, yanking it to the side. It sticks for a moment, like it always does, but with one additional tug it slides free. You stumble slightly, slamming your hand ungracefully onto the wooden wall to stabilize yourself. You feel heat spreading across your cheeks and ears as you sheepishly look up at him.

“Bolt's a little rusted out,” you try to explain. “It sticks a little. You gotta yank it pretty good. Uh...this is the barn. It’s small and…well, it’s a mess, but this is it.”

You glance around, placing your hands on your hips. He steps inside, taking inventory of everything there. Half-picked over hay bales lay haphazardly around, various tools are strewn all over, feed is scattered across the dirt floor. You’re suddenly extremely embarrassed. You should have found time to tidy up.

“Mr. Milton said you needed help looking after the animals. What can I do?”

“Chicken coop’s out back,” you gesture to the other side of the barn. “Pigs are out there, too. Horses and cattle are normally out in the field in front of the main house. We only move ‘em in here if bad weather rolls through. Most of the animals take care of themselves. Just make sure they’re fed once or twice a day and that water troughs are full. Horses are groomed, stalls are mucked. Don’t worry about the eggs, I can take care of those myself.”

“What about repairs? Anything broken that needs fixing?”

“Oh, um, nothin' major. A few of our fences could maybe use some work, but you really don’t need to feel obligated if you don’t want to. I mostly just need help with the animals.”

He nods.

“Yes, ma’am. I’ll get on taking care of the animals and then, if it’s alright, I’d love to have a look around the whole property to see if anything else needs some attention. Starting with this…”

He brushes past you. Angling his head to peer underneath the bolt to the barn door, he taps it with his fingertip.

“Yeah…” he mutters. “I’ll get this fixed up today.”

“Oh…that would be wonderful. We have tools…around.”

You chuckle awkwardly. He nods, shooting you that dashingly handsome crooked smile again.

“Thank you, ma’am.”

“Alright, well...I’ll be in the main house. If you have any questions or need anything, just let me know.” You turn to leave, biting a way a girlish smile when something occurs to you. You glance over your shoulder, “Oh, supper will be served around six. You like beef stew?”

“Yes, ma’am. Six o’clock.”

You nod to confirm before turning away. As you walk back to the house, you feel a faint tingling sensation in your chest. You try to ignore it while you settle in to finish your work, but it nags at you like a fly all day long.

Supper is awkward, almost unbearably so.

Exhausted and distracted by today’s unexpected turn of events, you slightly burn the potatoes in the stew. Ears fire red from the combination of the oven’s heat and embarrassment, you slide the overcooked meal in front of Wooyoung at 6:30 instead of six.

You apologize profusely, but, to his credit, he genuinely doesn’t seem to mind. He eats up every last drop of the stew, compliments your cooking, and then excuses himself to get back to work. You eat in relative silence, aside from whatever polite small talk you could muster.

As you scrub the dishes clean, you glance up at the framed photograph of Billy that you keep in the kitchen. Sadness ricochets through your body. You smile weakly.

“I’m a mess, huh?” you mumble to the photo.

That night, you toss and turn in bed. You finally will yourself to sleep, vowing to be more composed in front of your new employee tomorrow.

PART TWO

Within a month’s time, you’ve settled into a rhythm. Each morning, you wake at six a.m., two hours later than you used to. You stoke the fireplace and heat water for coffee. After dressing, you head out to the coop to gather the eggs and milk the cow. Then, you make breakfast.

Wooyoung comes to the house around seven to eat with you. Your morning meals together are usually quiet, but you’ve grown rather comfortable in the silence. He eats quickly and then heads out to work.

Then begins the fun: chores. With Wooyoung taking care of the animals, you have much more time to upkeep the inside of the house. You wash dishes, do laundry, dust and sweep, mend clothes, tend to the garden, and any other household chores. Wooyoung usually skips lunch, just taking some dried jerky and a biscuit along with him to the field. Normally, you eat a small meal alone.

You spend the afternoon hours working on business matters—tracking expenses and earnings, writing letters to cattle salesmen, preparing orders for supplies. The work itself is mind-numbingly boring. But it’s your favorite time of the day. Because you can see him.

You sit by the window in the parlor, having discovered that it’s the perfect seat from which to watch your handsome ranch hand work.

At first, you just found it interesting to observe him. You felt like you were learning while you watched him mend broken fences and chop firewood. You admired the softness of his hands while he inspected the cattle and horses. His expertise was inspiring.

Each evening, Wooyoung comes to the house for supper. Each and every day, no matter how badly you may have butchered the meal, he devours it like it’s his first time tasting food. Like a true gentleman, he always washes his hands and face and removes his hat and dirty boots before coming inside for supper.

After supper, he usually goes back to work. But, sometimes, if he has things to tend to inside the house, he sits with you for a while as you sew. He complimented your needlepoint once.

You were so flattered that you’d started working on a gift for him. A few weeks ago, you’d been hard at work planting bluebells in front of the main house. When Wooyoung came in for dinner, he said how much he liked them, talked about how beautiful they were. You’d decided to make him something special as a thank you.

He’s settled in nicely, clearly comfortable here at your ranch. The first couple of weeks, he’s quiet and polite. He always calls you ma’am and tips his hat and does his work without complaint. It’s easy—to talk to him, to joke with him, to be with him. He has been nothing but professional.

So, when you absentmindedly glance out the window one day to see him working in the field, completely bare from the waist up, your heart jumps into your throat. You do a double take. Your fingers instinctively crumple into the piece of paper under your hand.

The hot July sun beats down on him, the golden afternoon rays illuminating the streaks of sweat across his back. You gulp as your eyes rake over him. His muscles shift and tense as he hammers a nail into the fence. One small jagged scar cuts across his otherwise smooth skin, making you wince as you imagine what could have caused it. Two black lines adorn the middle of his back, just under his neck. Tattooed words, too far for you to read.

He turns, lifting an arm to wipe the sweat from his brow. Your eyes widen as they trail down his torso. His stomach is ribbed in muscle all the way down to where his trousers hang low on his hips. You force your gaze back up before it can dip any lower.

But looking at his face might be even worse. Strands of his long raven hair are stuck to his sweaty forehead. Beads of sweat drip down his jaw. His plump lips are parted, chin angled upward as he heaves deep breaths.

You raise a hand, placing it on the side of your head to block your peripheral vision. Your heart is thudding in your chest. Your stomach is churning uncomfortably. You haven’t felt this way in years. Squeezing your eyes closed, you try to calm yourself down. Instead, you’re assaulted by the image of Wooyoung burned into your memory.

You can’t focus. You can’t work.

You take your materials and move to a different room—one with no windows and no view of the field or the shirtless man toiling away in it. It doesn’t work. You grab a cup of coffee and drain it for energy. Doesn’t work. You set up a pocket watch to make yourself work for ten minutes straight. Doesn’t work.

Desperate and involuntarily horny, you resort to the only thing you can think of to relax yourself: hard liquor.

You glance up bashfully at the photo of Bill as you rummage through his old liquor cabinet and reach for the bottle of prized apple moonshine.

“Don’t judge me, Bill,” you mumble toward the photo and pour yourself a shot.

As the liquid burns down your throat, you breathe deeply. You can’t believe he’s having this effect on you.  Apparently, you’ve been more touch-starved than you realized. Because of his illness, you and Billy hadn’t been able to do much. Not to mention that the TB had weakened him significantly; he was pale and almost skeletal with very little muscle mass. By the end, his back was scarred over from bed sores.

It’s been years since you’ve seen a healthy young man. An attractive, well-built young man. Cringing at yourself, you take another shot. It seems like a betrayal to Bill to feel this way. It wasn’t his fault he got sick. But seeing Wooyoung like that…raw and muscular and sexy…you need the touch of a man. And you need it now.

You down another shot. Ridiculous. You’re a grown woman and his employer. Feeling this way is wildly inappropriate. On multiple levels.

You need to get a hold of yourself.

You take another shot.

And before you know it, your head is buzzing. You haven’t had a drink since before Bill got sick. And never in your life have you ever had four shots…or five? You’ve lost track. The fact that you’re able to finish cooking dinner on time is a miracle.

As you slide the bowl in front of Wooyoung, now fully clothed, you brace yourself on the table to keep from stumbling as you sit down across from him. You handle yourself as well as you can manage and shove down food to soak up all the alcohol you impulsively drank.

Conversation flows freely between you. He teases, you giggle, he compliments your cooking, you flush. As he inhales his last bite, you study him. His hair is brushed back, resting handsomely against his cheeks. He looks calm, peaceful, and happy. He looks up, his eyes locking with yours.

“Ma’am?”

“Hmmm?” you hum, distracted.

“I got something on my face?”

“No.”

“You’re staring at me, Mrs. Reynolds. And smiling.”

You’re suddenly aware of the stupid grin on your face—you hadn’t even realized you were doing it. You drop your gaze.

“Just…glad to have someone enjoy my cookin'. Bill never seemed to like it very much.”

“Everybody’s got different taste. Maybe he didn’t like his potatoes charred.”

You giggle, shooting him a playful glare. He smiles, those damn dimples pulling at your heartstrings again.

“Ah! That reminds me," you say. "I made something for you”

His eyebrows raise, curiosity piqued. You fish through a drawer in the parlor, pulling out a pair of leather gloves. You press them to your chest, excited to hand them over after all these weeks.

“I noticed that your gloves were gettin' a little worn, so I bought these at the store a while back,” you explain, laying the gloves on the table in front of him. “I remember you sayin' how much you liked the bluebells in front of the house, so I embroidered them onto the side.”

His smile drops for a moment, eyebrows furrowed while he studies the gloves. He picks them up reverently, almost as if he’s afraid to break them. When he meets your gaze, his eyes are glassy. You would almost swear you notice his eyes drop down to your lips, but chalk it up to the remnants of your earlier buzz messing with your head. Wooyoung clears his throat and stands.

“I can’t accept these,” he says, holding out the gloves for you to take.

“What? Why not?”

“I appreciate the gesture, ma’am. But these…these are much too fine for me. I couldn’t possibly take them.”

“Oh, don’t be silly. My embroidery ain't that good,” you tease, offering a smile. He chuckles, but his eyes are still tinged with concern. “I made 'em for you. Take 'em. They won’t fit me, anyway.”

He hesitates for a moment before breathing deeply and nodding. He matches your gaze.

“Thank you, ma’am. I’ll take good care of them.”

He bows his head and turns toward the door. Your heart sinks as you watch him slip out. Emboldened by your desperation, you bolt from your chair and call out to him.

“Wooyoung?”

He freezes, glancing over his shoulder at you nestled in the doorway. His hat is nestled in his palm, propped against his chest. The orange glow from the setting sun casts shadows across his face and halo around his body. He looks ethereal, more handsome than anything you’ve ever seen.

“Would you like to stay for a while? Have a drink and maybe some cake?”

His eyes widen. One of his eyebrows quirks up in disbelief. He opens his mouth to respond but then closes it. Your heart pounds in your chest, and your fingernails dig into the wooden frame around the door. He hardens his jaw, bowing his head respectfully.

“Thank you, ma’am. But I…still have a little bit of work to do tonight,” he replies. “The fence needs a couple more boards put up, and I-”

“Leave it,” you blurt. “Don’t…don’t worry about it tonight. It ain’t going nowhere.”

He hesitates again, dropping his gaze to his hat.

“You’ve been workin' real hard,” you say. “Harder than I expected you to. Why don’t you take tonight off. You’ve earned it.”

The corner of his mouth quirks up in a smile. He nods.

Half an hour later, Wooyoung licks his fork clean, shaking his head.

“I'm not just being nice, Mrs. Reynolds, this cake is delicious,” he says.

You chuckle, waving a hand dismissively.

“It’s Bill’s mother’s recipe. I ain’t got nothin' to do with it.”

“Well, cheers,” he says, lifting the fork up to the photo of Bill.

You burst into giggles, tossing your head back. Wooyoung laughs, too. Somehow you’ve ended up on the floor in the parlor, shoes off and furniture ignored. His cheeks are flushed from the alcohol. You’ve drained the rest of the moonshine along with most of a strawberry pound cake. He seems impressed by your ability to handle the liquor, jokingly saying he was going to start calling you moonshine.

You grieve for the headache you know you’ll have tomorrow. But, right now, all you can think about is him.

“Tell me, Moonshine,” he says.

You lie down on your side on the floor and prop your head up with your hand.

“Tell you what?” you ask.

“About you.”

“What do you mean?”

“Mrs. Y/N Reynolds,” he leans forward, elbows propped on his knees, “Who are you? Really?"

“Well, I was born and raised here in Texas. My daddy was a farmer, and I was raised on a small farm. I loved it. I always loved bein' outside. I didn’t mind the dirty work. Shortly after I turned twenty, I met Billy. Liked him enough to settle down and get married.”

“Liked?” His eyebrows raise. “Didn’t you love him?”

You hesitate, glancing over at the photo of Bill. When you look back at Wooyoung, your face is grim.

“I don’t know. He proposed so soon, and I…suppose a part of me just wanted so badly to be married already. I was tired of playin' the game. I hardly got the chance to really know Bill. We only had two good years together. Then, he got sick. Couldn’t get better. Then, he died.”

His gaze softens as he looks at you. That pang of betrayal slams into your chest. Why aren’t you crying? Shouldn’t you feel sad? You should be thinking about Bill, but all you can focus on is the gentle way Wooyoung is looking at you.

“I’m sorry,” he whispers quietly.

You shrug.

“That’s life, right.”

You clear your throat and shift, positioning yourself next to him, your backs propped up against the sofa and socked feet extended toward the roaring fireplace.

“Alright, your turn,” you say. “Tell me about you.”

“What do you wanna know?”

“Hmmm…everything. Where were you born? What were your parents like? Did you have any sisters or brothers? How’d you get here? How’d you learn how to do all this?”

His signature crooked smile and dimples return.

“I don’t know where I was born. My mother and father died when I was two, and we were raised by the man who found us, Eli Jenkins. I have two brothers, one older and one younger. They both live in Montana. They work at ranches up there. Eli had a ranch, and the three of us learned everything we know from his ranch hands. When we were old enough, we started going out on cattle drives. We’ve been all over the west. We broke our backs during the day and then slept under the stars. Dongyoung and Kyungmi, my brothers, always wanted to go up to Montana where it snows, with the mountains and all that.”

“You didn’t?”

“Nah. I don’t like the cold,” he jokes, turning his head to shoot you a smirk.

You giggle.

“Anyway, I’ve…” his smile falls, replaced by a tight line. You straighten, sitting up. “I’ve never had a real home. Never had a woman like you in my life…until now.”

Your heart flutters. A muscle feathers in his jaw. This time, despite the alcohol and everything else, you’re certain you see his eyes drop to your lips. You allow your gaze to dip, too, tracing the fluid curve of his mouth. Your eyes flutter, threatening to close. You feel the heat of his body as he leans forward. You breathe shakily, lips parting in anticipation. His nose brushes against yours, the gentle touch small but welcome. You hear him exhale sharply, and your gut pulses. You tilt your head up with every intention of pressing your lips to his, but the second your eyes close, you see Bill’s face in your mind.

Gasping, you jerk away. You place your hand on his chest to push him back. His eyes open, brows furrowing. You shake your head, avoiding his gaze.

“I-I can’t,” you mumble. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have…”

He pulls away, setting his jaw. He avoids your eyes.

“No,” he says quietly, seriously. “I shouldn’t have done that. It was inappropriate. I’m sorry, ma’am. It won’t happen again.”

Your mouth opens, and you almost beg him to stay, but your propriety gets the best of you and nothing comes out. You watch in silence, helpless and ashamed, as he disappears out the front door and into the night.

Your heart drops. As your mouth starts to quiver, you angrily glare at the photo of Bill, visible even from where you sit in the parlor.

“Why did you do this to me?” you whisper.

You curl your knees into your chest, letting the hot stream of tears paint your cheeks.

PART THREE

He stops coming to the house. He doesn’t come for breakfast. Or lunch. He takes his dinner back to the bunkhouse with him and eats it there. The fleeting moments where you do run into each other are painfully awkward and stiff. He refuses to meet your gaze, he doesn’t smile, he doesn’t joke. He’s professional to the point of being cold. You don’t even see him work out in the field anymore. He must have rearranged his schedule so that he handles the cattle and horses in the morning. It makes you wonder if he somehow knew how much you enjoyed watching him all those afternoons.

You feel miserable. The empty bottle of moonshine still sits in the kitchen underneath the photo of Billy, a haunting reminder of that night. You should have let him kiss you. You wanted him to kiss you, alcohol or not.

Despite you ruining everything, your body doesn’t seem to know the difference. You dream of him at night—sometimes it’s the memory of his glistening muscles in the sun, sometimes it’s his smile. Sometimes you wake up in a cold sweat. Others, you wake up burning hot, slick dripping down the inside of your thighs. You wipe it away. If someone’s going to finish you, you want it to be him and not your right hand.

You’re going on two weeks of this.

He’s done such an amazing job. He’s practically turned the ranch around. The animals are in the best shape of their lives, healthy and fed and strong. The barn is cleaner than you’ve ever seen it. The troughs are always full, stalls always mucked clean. He’s fixed the rusty bolt on the barn door, straightened framed photos inside the house that you’re too short to reach, repaired equipment, painted walls. He’s done everything you could have asked for and more. You can’t fire him.

But how much longer can you stand living like this? The agony of having him so close without being able to have him in the way you want, the way you crave?

The weather mirrors your mood today. Thick, dark clouds hover overhead. Rain drizzles onto the dirt and grass. A cold chill is in the air. You’re inside, sitting by the window in the parlor as usual. Thunder cracks in the distance as the rain begins to pick up.

You sigh heavily, gazing through the window just as you’ve done a thousand times. No Wooyoung. He’d gone into town this morning on a supply run, mentioning something about needing more nails to patch up the last bit of the broken fence.

You stare blankly across the sheets of pouring rain. Just as you’re about to look away, something catches your attention in the distance. You narrow your eyes to focus on it.

You gasp as you realize what you’re looking at. Your instincts kick in before you think twice. You shove your feet into the pair of rain boots you keep next to the door and dash outside. The dirt turns to mud under your feet as you rush to fling open the gate to the cow pen.

Somehow, one of the milk cows has escaped through the far side of the fence, right past the weak section that Wooyoung is in the middle of repairing. She’s wandering away from the house, her frantic moos almost drowned out by the downpour and the thunder.

“Bessie!” you shout.

You carefully step over the cracked pieces of wood and circle around to Bessie’s front. You curse as you realize that, in your haste to get to the cow, you forgot to bring rope. Lightning cracks, hitting a tree not too far away. Your heart jumps, panic striking through you. You nestle your shoulder against hers, pushing with all your weight. Bessie moos but begins to stumble in the direction you’re shoving her.

You pant as you throw your weight into each push, your boots slipping on the mud. Thunder cracks again, the lightning illuminating the darkened sky. You squeeze your eyes shut, fully concentrated on pushing Bessie toward the barn.

“Y/N!!” Your eyes flash open at the familiar voice. Wooyoung is sprinting toward you, unhitching the rope from his belt. “How the fuck did she get out here?!”

“I don’t know!” you yell back. “I looked out the window, and there she was!”

He moves to wrap the rope around Bessie’s neck, but you shove her away at the last second. You’re filled with sudden and inexplicable anger.

“I don’t need your help!” you shout.

“I’m not helping you!” he yells back. “I’m doing my job!”

You have no comeback for that.

He steps closer, leaning over you to secure the rope around Bessie’s neck. Your breath catches. Raindrops drip off the brim of his hat, landing on your nose. He clicks his tongue as he takes Bessie, tugging her back over the broken wooden shards, carefully watching her hooves. You watch in awe as he pulls her with ease. He tugs her across the pasture, you following at their heels like a helpless child. Wooyoung ushers Bessie into the barn like it's nothing.

He slams and locks the door behind him. You’re standing outside the barn, shoulders turned in as the rain drenches through your clothes. He grabs your arm, pulling you toward the bunkhouse. You stumble along, unsure why you’re letting him take you there when the main house is equally far away. But you let him. You snap out of your daze as soon as you’re safely inside. You whirl on him, but he initiates first.

“What do you think you’re doing?” he shouts.

“What?!”

“Why the hell would you run out into this weather like that?”

“You weren’t here! Bessie was in trouble! I had to do something!”

“No, you didn’t. You should have waited for me to get back. I would’ve handled it like I just did.”

“It’s my cow! My ranch! My problem!” you hiss through gritted teeth.

He matches your energy, clenching his jaw and glaring down at you. He reaches for the laces to your bodice, and you swat his hand away.

“How dare you!” you gasp.

“We have to get these clothes off you, or you’re gonna get sick! Your life is not worth one fucking cow!”

You open your mouth, about to yell back when you suddenly notice the state of the bunkhouse. Your anger melts. The walls have been painted, a soft eggshell white. The floor is swept cleanly, the bed pushed against the wall, the broken table leg fixed. A small red cotton pillow is perched on the rocking chair. The bed is made neatly, the quilt folded at the end. His clothes and shoes are also stacked neatly in the corner. A small lamp glows faintly on the nightstand, next to a blue ribbon and the gloves you’d gifted him.

“Oh…you…you fixed it up so nice,” you mumble. “How did you do all this?”

“I…er…this is how I spend my days off. I hope…is this okay?”

You look over at him, nodding profusely.

“Of course. It’s…wonderful. You’re wonderful,” you whisper the last part to yourself, hoping he can’t hear you.

You walk toward the nightstand, touching the gloves gently. You smile.

“You kept 'em.”

“Of course I did,” he says, like it’s obvious.

“I never saw you wear them. I...didn’t think you liked 'em.”

“Of course I like them. That’s why I don’t wear them. They’ll be destroyed. I-I want them to stay...pretty like that.”

Your gaze shifts to the ribbon and you pick it up. You raise an eyebrow as you show it to him. He stutters, cheeks flushing red.

“It must have fallen out of your hair. I found it on the floor in the kitchen. I was…I meant to give it back to you, I just…”

Your heart beats remarkably steadily considering the heat you feel. You let the ribbon slip from your fingers, crossing the small room in two steps. Your eyes never leave his, glued to his gaze like there’s a string between you. Pain is written all over his face, downturned mouth, flaring nostrils, knitted brows. You don’t hesitate, reaching up to cup his cheek. He inhales sharply.

And you pull him down to you, pressing your mouth firmly against his. He stalls for a second but then his arms wrap around you. You kiss him again. He angles his face to the side to reach you deeper. His nose presses up against yours, locking your faces together. One of his palms flattens on your lower back. The other one slides up your spine. You shudder at the sensation. His fingers snake up your neck and tangle into your dripping hair.

Your free hand reaches up to take the hat from his head, dropping it on the floor next to you. His tongue swipes along your bottom lip, and you open for him. Your fingertips thread between his hair to press him closer. Your tongues slip and slide against each other, saliva mixing deliciously.

His hands slide onto your stomach, and his fingers begin to unbutton your shirt. While he works, his lips slip from yours, trailing hot, open-mouthed kisses down the side of your jaw and onto your neck. Your head lolls back, mouth open. Pants fly from your mouth each time his tongue drags up your skin. As he eases your unbuttoned shirt over your shoulders, he peppers your bare skin with soft kisses. Your stomach coils as a familiar ache builds below your hips.

He straightens, leaning his forehead against yours. Your eyes close instinctually. Your head bobs forward, breathless. But he doesn’t kiss you. Instead, he anchors his knuckle under your chin and slides his thumb across your jaw. 

“You’re so beautiful,” he mumbles.

Your heart flutters. He moves to unbutton your skirt and bloomers. They pool at your feet. Before you can react, his arms wrap tightly around your waist. He picks you up and steps back once, pulling you out from your shed clothes.

Your hands slide down his chest, fingers fumbling with the buttons frantically. The image of him sweaty and bare in the field flashes through your mind. You want to see him. Now.

He pulls back, eyes black with hunger as he watches the way you rip his shirt from his chest. A gasp escapes your chest when it comes off. You greedily run your palms across his smooth chest, catching your lip in your teeth at the feeling of his muscles pulled taut. You can’t drag your eyes away from him. He smirks, a breathless chuckle spilling out.

“Like what you see, ma’am?” he says.

You open your mouth to speak but find yourself silenced. So, you just nod your head dazedly. Before you can collect yourself, his hand wraps around your wrist. He guides your touch down his abdomen. You whimper as you watch his abs contract under your fingertips. Your fingers brush over the cold metal of his belt buckle.

Your eyes flick up to meet his gaze, as if asking for permission. In response, his lips capture yours again. This time, he kisses you deep and slow. You unlatch his belt and the buttons of his pants. As you work, your core begins to throb just as fast as your pounding heart.

Distracted by his mouth, you barely even notice that he’s moving you until you’re falling back gently onto the mattress. You unlace and drop your boots as he sheds his jeans and boots. You watch, enraptured as he plants himself securely between your legs on the bed. His eyes drag slowly down your form.

“This is insanely inappropriate…” he says quietly.

A flicker of concern flashes across his face. Your breath shutters. Impatiently, you grasp at his wrist. Then you pull his hand up toward your chest. He spreads his fingers in anticipation when you place his fingers at the hollow of your neck.

“I don’t give a shit,” you reply.

“But you’re my employer. What if-”

“Yes, exactly. I’m payin' you to do a job—whatever I need. And, right now, I need you. So, if I tell you to touch me, then you do it. Or I’ll fire your ass right now.”

His eyes sparkle mischievously as his touch moves shamelessly down your chest, palm ghosting over the curve of your breasts. Your chest heaves under his gaze, as if rising to meet his touch. He nods, grinning.

“Yes, ma’am.”

He leans down and presses heated kisses to your throat as his fingers work to unlatch the hooks on the front of your corset. Your back arches into him. He sucks on your skin, his spit spreading across your chest. You lean up to slide your arms out of the corset, and he takes the opportunity to sink his teeth into your shoulder. Something in between a moan and gasp slips from your mouth. You feel his breath hot against you as he chuckles.

“You like that?” he mutters against your neck. “When I bite you there?”

You just catch your lip in your teeth. He does it again. You moan quietly, throwing your head back at the sore sensation spreading through your muscles. He removes the straps of your chemise and pulls the thin fabric down to reveal your breasts. He releases a shaky breath, both palms sliding onto the sensitive nubs. He massages your sore breasts, thumb brushing over your nipples.

He leans down to take one in his mouth, nipping at it and then swiping his tongue over the hurt. Your fingers grasp at his back and neck, fingertips digging into his skin. One of his hands wraps around the outside of your thigh. It snakes upward, pushing your chemise aside as he goes. You wriggle in his grasp, pressing your thighs against his sides.

You don’t even know what your body is doing. It’s been so long since you had this, you almost can’t remember what it felt like. Then again, it never felt quite like this will Bill.

Your hips buck up toward him, your body begging him for friction against that desperate ache between your legs. He laughs breathily against your neck but pulls back to sit up on his knees. You gasp, fingers slipping from his skin. He smirks down at you, hair tangled and wet. His eyes drop down your figure once and then he’s moving again.

You watch, frozen, as his fingertips trail back down your thigh and hook into the hem of your stockings. He pushes your leg up toward him and slides your stocking down. Then, he takes his time, pressing teasingly chaste kisses to your shin, your knee, the top of your thigh. He repeats the process on the other side.

When his eyes flick up to meet yours again, you lose your breath at the intensity of his gaze. He maintains your stare while he moves your thigh back to his mouth, only breaking eye contact when he plants an open-mouthed kiss on the inside of your thigh.

You can feel how swollen you are. You feel full, like you need to be emptied, and he’s the only person alive who could do it the way you need it.

He kisses you again on the other side. And then again, and again, all the while lowering himself down to be on eye-level with your aching core. He glances up at you again as he gently pushes your chemise onto your stomach, leaving your legs parted and open for him. A smirk tugs at his lips as he studies your pussy. He hums approvingly.

“There she is…” he says quietly. “All red and swollen. Perfect just like that.”

You squeeze your eyes closed, biting back a moan. Bill never talked to you like that.

Wooyoung kisses your thigh once more before sliding one fingertip down your dripping folds. A relieved groan escapes your lips. You wriggle as he strokes you again. His thumb finds your clit, and you buck toward him. You can’t see him with your eyes shut, but you can envision his satisfied smirk at having you so helpless under his touch. He drags his finger along your folds a few more times before he plunges one inside. You moan, your hands fisting the sheets.

“Damn, Moonshine,” he whines. “You’re soaked. All this for me?” You can’t respond because he inserts another finger, curving them up inside you. “You like my fingers, don’t you? When I do that? Yeah, baby, I know you do.”

He curves them again—you moan. He moves slowly, pulling them out and pushing back in rhythmically. Just as you’re about to beg for more, you feel a new sensation.

Your eyes flash open, and you look down to see his face buried between your legs. His breath is hot against your folds, but his tongue is the star of the show. He drags it along your wetness, flat and hungry, as if you’re the best thing he’s ever tasted. When he slides it into you, your eyes roll back into your head. Your hands move to his hair, gripping hard. Your hips jerk with every swipe of his tongue. Increasing the stimulation, his beautiful straight nose rubs against your clit with every thrust of his tongue.

You moan between pants, muttering “right there” quietly, over and over, to tell him when he’s hitting you just right. He hums into you, the vibration making you lightheaded. You can feel yourself start to crest. Your groans fade into quiet panting, your hips lift, and your eyes squeeze shut tightly.

But he lifts his head, and you deflate. You look down and whine at the sight of him—hair mussed, lips swollen, nose all the way down to chin shiny and covered in you. He smirks for a quick moment before his hands are curving around your thighs. He pulls you down on the bed and then slides an arm behind your back, shifting you up onto his lap. Your hands snap onto his shoulders to brace yourself. You gasp as you sit on him, feeling every inch of how badly he needs you, too. At some point he had managed to slip out of his own underwear, leaving him swollen and bare underneath your thighs.

“Hi, Moonshine,” he says, as innocently as he can considering your current situation.

He reaches up, tugging your bottom lip down with his thumb. You have no idea what comes over you when you dip your head, taking it into your mouth instead. You swipe his fingertip with the pad of your tongue. His eyes widen for a moment, and he just watches. Then, he tilts his head and shifts his hand to shove his first and middle fingers into your mouth. You moan onto them, tongue tasting yourself.

“Yeah? You taste good, don’t you baby? I never tasted anything so sweet. You got me hard as a rock. You can feel it can’t you? How bad I need that sweet, sweet pussy?”

You whine when he slips his fingers out of your mouth. He guides your hips up, just far enough so that he can line himself up with your entrance. You grip his shoulders hard, hissing as he slowly helps you sink onto his cock. He groans, leaning his forehead against your chest.

“Shit, Moonshine…you’re so loose,” he whispers, voice low and rasped. He chuckles. “And so, so fucking wet. You been dreaming about this, haven’t you? Dreaming about me deep inside you like this? I bet you’ve imagined all sorts of dirty things, huh, baby?”

“Yeah,” you admit breathily, fingers tugging at his hair. 

“How long? How long have you wanted me like this and not said anything? Was it that night at the main house?”

“Before…” you whisper, hips twitching on him. “Long before. That day in May when you were workin' out in the field. I watched you from the window. You were bare from the waist up, sweaty and muscled—just like this. I thought I was having a heart attack, my heart was beatin' so damn fast.”

He laughs, pressing his forehead against yours.

“I wanted you from day one,” he says. “The first day I came to your door, the first second I laid eyes on you. I wanted you. Just like this, bare and sat on my lap, my cock buried deep inside, my name spilling from your lips.”

You nudge your nose against his, his words making your stomach churn. You shift on him again, begging him to move.

“Please…” you whine, pressing into him. “Please move.”

“Say it.”

“What? Say what?”

“My name. I wanna hear it. Tell me, baby. Whose tongue fucked you so good? Whose cock is gonna make you scream?”

You bite your lip, nudging your nose against his again.

“Wooyoung,” you whisper against his mouth. “Please, Woo.”

He finally obliges, guiding your hips as he shows you what to do, how he wants you to move on him. You settle into a slow circular rhythm—sitting down and then flicking your hips back just barely as you move up. One of his arms snakes around your waist, pressing your chest onto his. His other hand cradles the back of your head, pulling your lips down as he kisses you deeply.

Your hands interlock behind his neck to keep your body steady as he drills up into you. You whisper his name against his lips, over and over and over as he fucks up into you.

He dips his fingertips into your mouth, telling you, “Spit, Moonshine.” And then he moves his touch back to your clit, rubbing circles while you move on him. The coil in your stomach grows tighter and tighter. Each stroke of his fingers threatens to send you over the edge.

His thrusts grow sloppier, his breathing ragged. Your thighs are beginning to shake and burn, and you can feel yourself starting to clench.

“Woo…I can’t,” you whine against his lips.

“Then let go,” he responds, equally as breathless. “You can. Let go all over my cock, Moonshine. Coat me in you.”

Your arms tighten around his neck, pulling his face against your shoulder. He sinks his teeth into the skin as you clench around him. He holds you tightly, rocking you through each wave of your orgasm. Your brain fogs with the pleasure, taking you away from time and place. You can’t remember exactly how or when, but Woo's warmth floods into you, too. His arms warp tightly around your waist and his face nuzzles against your neck.

As you start to come back down, your legs turn into noodles. Wooyoung gently lays you back onto the mattress. He slides out and pulls up the quilt before collapsing beside you.

Neither of you speaks or moves for a few moments—you just lie together in silence. Soon, his hand finds yours underneath the quilt, fingers threading between yours.

“You did so good, baby,” he mumbles. “You took me so good.”

You roll over, resting your chin against his chest. He adjusts his head and smiles down at you.

“I’s thinkin',” you say quietly, “you did such a nice job out in the pasture and with the barn and with this place. Maybe you could work a little more on the main house, too.”

His eyebrows raise as he considers your suggestion, and then he nods.

“I suppose I could do that. It might take a while seeing as the main house is pretty big, but I could work on it here and there.”

“I’s…also thinkin' that, if you’re gonna be workin' on the main house so much, you’ll probably be spendin' a lot more time up there.” His eyebrow quirks upward, clearly unsure as to where you’re going with this. “It doesn’t seem to make much sense to have you walk back and forth every single day from this little shack to the house.”

“What are you getting at, Moonshine?”

The ghost of a smile is tugging at his lips, letting you know that he’s starting to see what you’re suggesting.

“Just seems easier if you go on ahead and move into the main house with me. Now, there is a second bedroom but it’s full of Billy’s old things. We might be able to get it cleaned up, but I suppose in the meantime we’ll just have to share my bed.”

The corner of his mouth curves up in a deep smirk.

“I suppose that sounds real nice, ma’am.”

You push yourself up, eyes studying his lips for a moment before you kiss him deeply. He holds your mouth close for a long time before releasing you. You nestle into the crook of his neck, inhaling the scent of leather and fresh rain that lingers on his skin. With his arm wrapped around you, he gently strokes your hair. You trace patterns on his smooth, warm chest.

“Wooyoung?”

“Mhm?”

“This can be real,” you whisper. “This place. It can be your real home.”

“It already is, Moonshine. My home is wherever you are.”

EPILOGUE

His laughter sounds from the pasture in front of the house. That sound. You love that sound. It feels like a warm burst of sunlight cutting through a long winter. Mischievous, boyish, melodic. Unmistakably his.

You can’t help but smile as you watch from the doorway. He dashes in circles as your newest foal stumbles after him. For a few moments, you don’t say anything. You just watch and try to memorize every single detail of this perfect moment.

“Wooyo!” you shout. “Come inside for supper!”

His head snaps toward you, a beautiful smile pasted across his handsome features. Still, after seven years, he manages to take your breath away. His long black hair lays in waves over his forehead. His button down is only half-buttoned with the sleeves rolled up—just the way you like it.

He saunters over, grin softening. Under the light of the setting sun, his eyes sparkle. Affection. You recognize it immediately.

“Mmm, smells good, Moonshine,” he says huskily.

You giggle when he lowers his lips down to yours. His hand is perched above your head to brace himself on the doorframe. He leans against you, pushing his body weight on top of your figure. You sigh contentedly as your mouths move together. When he pulls back, he looks at you for a moment. His fingers brush a strand of hair behind your ear.

And then, his head tilts suddenly, and he raises his eyebrows. You shake your head. That’s his “I’m about to do something naughty” face.

“What're yo-?”

But your question is interrupted by Wooyoung’s strong arms encircling your waist and lifting you up. You yelp as he tosses you over his shoulder with ease. He starts walking inside the house. Your stomach aches as you laugh, playfully smacking his back.

“What are you doing, you idiot!” you shout, breathlessly in between giggles.

“Taking you to our bedroom.”

“But I just made dinner!”

“It ain’t going nowhere. I’m having dessert first tonight.”

He lays you down on the bed. You wrap your arms around him as he crawls on top of you. Your laughs fade to love-drunk whispers as the sun dips below the horizon on your perfect little life.

taglist: @rileylovescats @wooyoungsbrat @estrnrea

[hana-recs]

i do think it’s criminal that it’s taken me This long to read a user amourcheol fic but. IM HERE. and i'm so very ready – the premise of this was too good to pass up, especially because my brother recently watched gladiator 2 for the first time and info dumped about both movies to me (i watched the first sooo long ago and havent seen the second yet but. ANYWAY.)

their reunion…. mea vita…… kissing you with “the longing of a thousand lost souls”............ fia dont u know im INSANE. + the cameos from the boys just after are like a perfect touch of levity to balance out the gravity of the scene, Loved the characterisation of chan so much omfg what a cutie. ALSO “Soonyoung’s cock is as clean as the city sewers.” caught me so offguard i snorted.

Nodding your head, you put your hand upon the stone. “Jihoon, while you were gone, I had a life-changing experience.” Furrowing his brows, he put his hands on his hips. “And that was?” Exposing a little smile, you ushered him closer, gazing down at the said-experience. “My love, I gave birth to our son.”

^ the noise i MADEEE i literally did not expect this but. AGH. and i do think that’s a testament to how well you fleshed out the characters, their dynamic and their pure love for each other - i was not expecting to get attached so fast. but i AM. 

He could only watch the little bundle of life as he dreamed of things which he could not understand, tiny lips brushing against his tiny thumb. The man’s heart began to race at the sight of his closed eyes, the flutter of his lashes as he stirred in slumber.  So innocent the baby was—so vulnerable that he wondered whether people of his time even knew what innocence meant.

^ your writing is stupid good. like the stylistic choices to fit the world you’ve created are gorgeous, and the imagery….. sigh it’s just so good. you can Feel how overwhelmed he is, but also the tenderness and love he already harbours towards his son, and thats all done with your beautiful writing.

AND SEUNGCHEOL’S STORY…. why would u break my heart like this. have u heard of peace and love and happiness. Jokes aside, i do think it’s such a lovely addition to the fic – adds a whole new layer to their relationship by exposing shared grief and loss, which in turn sheds light on our main characters’ motivations. It’s so cleverly done fia u are a Genius.

“Thank you, my love, for bringing me peace.”

^ right well. it’s been fun. goodbye forever! (sorry but… her heart is his home,,, to love and to be loved is to rest, etc etc. i will cry)

“Perhaps it was better you did not give me a mere hour, vita.” You looked back. Leaning against the stone cot, he let his lips curl upwards. “It simply would not suffice.” The curiosity in your eyes had him further smirking. “I need an entire day to make up for the two years of absence from you.” It was sheer luck you were holding onto the doorframe.  “Careful, love,” he cooed, which only had you stumbling further out of the door in shock. His laughter followed you faintly as you left the room, blood rushing to your cheeks in drastic speed.

and all the scenes that come after……

“Let them have their fun!” Soonyoung roared, which had the baby crying louder. “Gods, Chan, you are the youngest after Cheol. Handle this sobbing mess!” “I have seen twenty summers,” Chan muttered. “Yes, so a baby in my eyes!”  “Of course you are going to consider Chan as a baby, you geriatric. It’s a wonder you did not collapse on the battlefield.”  "I will kill you in the next war, Seungkwan.”

JD.KLWEFUESGEL im literally obsessed with them sorry. Chan taking care of the baby is so sweet and soft,, and their memories of seungcheol??? such a specific brand of fond reminiscing that you portray SO well, u can so clearly feel all the affection they have for him 

AHSGFH anyway i just finished and i feel like i could wax poetic about this but instead i’ll drop a poem it reminded me of: 

fia every word you write is executed incredibly and i admire your brain so much. i think your world building is rich and immersive in a way that makes it feel like it’s always existed, and we’re just lucky enough to glimpse it through your eyes for 16k words. and your characters live and breathe, layered and memorable, even (older) seungcheol who is “offscreen” the whole time, and still you manage to create such a strong impression of him. you brought this world to life so beautifully.

ave, general

❝The Eagle of Rome has returned to you at last.❞

historical! au | fluff, smut, crack | 16.1k words

s u m m a r y : after your husband returns from the wars in foreign lands, you could not be more proud to see him be the shining pride of rome. however, even among the celebrations and your own personal news, lee jihoon only wanted one thing—some time alone with you.

c o n t e n t : roman! au, roman general! jihoon, husband! jihoon, father! jihoon, mother! mc, a lot of historical background and roman terms to add historical accuracy, soldiers! bss + wonwoo and chan, this is bss and friends, all of them are so annoying it's a wonder they aren't executed, seungcheol is, in a literal sense, a baby, this is a bullying chan campaign, the soldiers do NOT know how to talk to a baby, domesticity <333 mature content ↠ mentions of loss of loved ones, descriptions of war and death, dirty talk, petnames (my love, my sweet, darling, mea vita), fingering, oral sex (f. receiving), slight exhibitionism, unprotected sex (roman contraceptives are dookie), multiple orgasming, slight aftercare

t a g l i s t : @hyuckworld @gyuswhore @lexyraeworld @moonlightwonu @spooky-goose1003 @dvalitaes @cookiearmy @lllucere @syluslittlecrows @mrsjohnnysuh @fancypeacepersona @thepoopdokyeomtouched @monstacheol @xabsolutelynothingx @kyeomiis @icecream-sundaes @peachytokki @jihanniecheol @ourkivee

a u t h o r ' s n o t e : she is here!! i promised myself i would release this once i've watched gladiator II and she is back...changed woman...i guess this is a belated bday present to jihoon? thank u for inventing music king </3 enjoy reading loves !!

back to masterlist

“WHERE IN JUPITER IS HE?”

The maid whined as she focused on the crowd once more—thousands of citizens gathered across in the Capitol, the road cleared for the procession about to occur. Giddy conversations of every man, woman and child flourished for a mile, and you had to hold onto the girl accompanying you to not be trodden over.

“Careful, mistress!” Myrtia, your servant, warned as you dared take a step at the edge of the hill. “They will be here any minute now!”

You did not listen, holding onto your heavy shawl tighter as you waited in earnest of what was to happen. Rome was a city of chaos, but you did not hear the noise—despite the crowds, the instruments, the chanting, every single voice seemed irrelevant as you stood over the Capitolium. The little houses underneath you swirled around the hill, all evolving the temple behind you, the destination of the people about to be welcomed. Columned buildings made of stone and marble surrounded the crowds, speckled with garlands, its bright colours of vermillion shining in the summer sun. 

A small sigh left your lips. Today was the day he would come back home to you.

“By the gods!” Myrtia let out an excited screech, grabbing onto your arm and pointing towards the empty street, barricaded by the people. “They’re here, they’re here!”

Following her finger, you stared at the scene.

That was when the parade entered. 

Screams of elation spanned across the crowd as thousands of soldiers flooded in tight ranks, accepting the cheers with pride as they marched along, prisoners of war being dragged along by their chains. There must have been hundreds, spanning back beyond your vision, dirtied and haggard, but that was the consequence of challenging the Empire. The soldiers all adorned their red and silver uniform, smiling at the city which welcomed them.

Your eyes scanned the front of the parade, lips curving at the five men on decorated horseback. Each and every one of them had their distinguishable responses towards the people who sang praises to them, and you longed to see them ride up to the Hill where you could greet them.

When your gaze hovered to what rode in front of the men, it widened.

Four horses, adorned in the finest metals and blood-coloured clothing, led the chariot of the same colour, fully festooned in laurels. Gold swirls cemented on its front, making itself heard with its screeching wheels.

It was not the chariot you cared about.

No, it was the man who stood in it.

The man who was clothed in royal purple and gold, holding a laurel branch in one hand and a sceptre in the other. The man, whose wild black hair perfectly settled the golden crown that another beside him held. The man, whose ghost of a smile sent the crowd in absolute frenzy, beginning up a chant to his name.

“Hurrah for the Triumph!”

“Hurrah for the Triumph!”

“Hurrah for the Eagle!”

Your heart stopped to a standstill.

At last. At long last, the Eagle of Rome had come back to its nest.

“Mistress, look!” Myrtia exclaimed, pointing towards the star of the show, the lead victor in this parade. “Your husband achieved the Triumph!”

You glanced at her with unadulterated pride before focusing on the man in front, coming closer in your vision as he began the ride up the hill. The Triumph. A public celebration of a certain general who managed to lead Rome to a special, foreign victory. It meant the destruction of the enemy, complete desolation, which a mere centurion could not simply achieve. To receive the Triumph was to be respected by the highest of the Roman officials. 

You smiled at the notion. The destination for the parade was the Temple of Jupiter behind you, its columns holding up the huge, faded roof, towering over the few beloved relatives of the generals that led the soldiers. “I never doubted he would.”

The crowds grew wilder as the generals journeyed closer, halfway up the rocky hill—everyone opened their doors, leaving their houses to witness the rare spectacle. “Do you think they would let us speak to them?” your maid wondered out loud, following your steps as you turned your back, walking to the Temple. Standing right beside the steps, upstaged till they reached your height. “Gods, I forgot how big the temple is sometimes!”

“Wait here,” you said, holding onto the polished stone as you climbed up the steps. The thundering sounds of hooves on cobblestone entered your ears, and the few other relatives which accompanied you silenced, joy in their faces as the parade ascended. You turned before the show, the entire building shading you with its presence.

There he was.

With his four white horses slowing, neighing wildly at the company that arrived at the hill. With his red and golden chariot inciting excited Latin from the crowd, there he was, swiping past in front of his friends. The horses finally stopped, just before the steps, and the generals behind him followed suit, halting their own as they waited for their commander.

Their commander let go of the reins—stepped down from the chariot, purple robe flowing after the steps. The head that wore the crown turned to the Temple, laurel and sceptre still in his hands.

His calculating eyes skimmed the crowd, face exposing a little pride at the turnout.

He then faced his destination—right on you his stare settled, standing alone at the entrance.

You swore you saw his entire body still.

You were not wrong. The commander parted his mouth, eyes widening with who welcomed him past the steps. Gods, he nearly dropped the possessions in his hands, staring and staring at the woman.

No, not just a mere woman.

But you, his wife.

One of the generals, instantly noticing their leader’s change, got off his horse, same black hair glinting in the sun. He walked over, taking the objects from his hands, smiling knowingly. 

When the leader’s hands were free of the spoils, he willed his feet across the sanded street, first step atop the stairs. His gaze never wavered, unable to stray from the woman who haunted his nights. 

You, however, could not wait at all.

A choked sob escaped you as your own feet dashed forward, barely able to control themselves as you ran to him. His arms began to raise as you collided against him, wrapping your hands around his neck and crying into his purple-clad chest.

“Missed you...Jihoon…” your muffled murmurs slipped into his attire. “Missed you...so much.”

You felt strong arms envelop you, a rough-hewn face burying into your shoulder. “I thought of you everyday, mea vita.”

Mea vita. My life. A smile caught onto your tears as you hugged him tighter. “And I thought of you every night.”

He returned it, feeling his lips curve upon your skin. Placing a small kiss, he pulled away slightly, only to take your face with one of his hands and lean in closer. Enveloping your lips with yours, he kissed you with the longing of a thousand lost souls, finally returned to their other half. 

A soft groan threatened to leave your captured mouth, but then you felt your husband pull away, hands upon your waist. “I must stop here, my love, or I would not be able to stop afterwards.”

Cheeks burning, you did not let go of him. “Are you not finished?”

Shaking his head, he looked beyond you, to inside of the Temple. “I have to pay respects. It is the final part of the ceremony.” He turned to you again, aching to take you before the sacred grounds. “I cannot have you waiting for me that long.”

You were to object until the raven-haired boy behind him spoke up, waving his hand about. “We can escort her home, Jihoon,” he suggested, patting his general on the shoulder. “We do not need to go inside.”

“Are you sure, Wonwoo?” your husband asked, looking towards the other four. 

One of the centurions, with straight, cropped black locks framing his face, grinned smugly, holding onto his reins. “Oh, just let her leave with us!” he exclaimed. “We all know she missed us more than your stone-cold arse!”

You chuckled as Jihoon knifed the man with a glare. “A few hours in Rome, and Soonyoung is already a pain in my backside.”

The younger centurion beside Soonyoung scoffed, brown locks being caressed by the wind. “As if he is not a bother for us all.”

Soonyoung mocked a gasp. “Seungkwan!”

“Everyone, quiet down!” Another man declared, eyes closed and head raised in pride. “We all know our Captain’s wife wishes to ride with me.”

Soonyoung began to chortle at the claim. “_____, you might as well walk home than take Seokmin’s offer,” he mused, earning a near-death experience with a dagger thrown at him. 

Raising a brow at the bickering group, you raised a finger. “You know what? I think I shall ride with Chan.”

The said-boy perked up, eyes widening. “Me?” He asked, dumbfounded. “Well, of course, I just—”

“He would fall asleep mid-journey!” Seungkwan complained, crossing his arms. “It is already past his bedtime!”

“Hey!” Chan chimed in, but it did not help that he looked away, trying to stifle a yawn. Seungkwan pointed and laughed, proving his stupid point. 

“Enough!” Jihoon shouted, silencing them all instantly. “If _____ says she wants to go with Chan, then that is final.”

All of them began to complain, but one warning glare from their commander had them quieting like scolded children. Chan, being the one chosen, began to smile in innocent satisfaction, earning the evil wrath of Seokmin and Seungkwan. Soonyoung merely shrugged, whereas Wonwoo put a hand on his chest, heartily agreeing with his commander.

You glanced at the man in charge, looking as ever the victor in his royal robes. “Come home soon.”

Stealing another kiss from you, he squeezed your sides in comfort, smiling in reassurance. “I already am home, vita.”

THE LEGACY COMMANDERS ALWAYS KNEW HOW TO MAKE THE MOST NOISE.

Throughout the half-hour journey, the five men talked of their lives for the near-two years they were away—the battles they had won, and the siege they had laid over Alexandria, where Mark Antony and Cleopatra were finally defeated.

Chan glanced back every five minutes to check you were stable on horseback, urging you to hold tight whenever a rockier road was being taken. You patted him softly where you rested your hands upon him, showing him you were well. “Do not fret over me, dearest,” you assured him, earning an uneasy chuckle from him.

Unfortunately, the few centurions, riding right beside you two, heard your reassurance, and instantly resorted to striking fear. “Hanging onto Chan for dear life will not help you!” Seungkwan remarked loudly. “One wrong bounce of the horse and he is flying off!”

The youngest of the men, on instinct, tightened his hold on the horse, now fearing he would drive his commander’s wife to her death. Soonyoung laughed at the scene, but set his sights on the next youngest down. “Seungkwan should not be talking,” he crowed, galloping further ahead. “Pray tell us, how much denarii did you borrow off Wonwoo to heal your broken leg? You know, after you tripped over a tent rope?”

“Careful, Soon,” Seokmin exclaimed over the horses’ hooves. “Or Seungkwan will not hesitate to call on all the escorts you went bankrupt over in Egypt!”

Soonyoung immediately whirled his head to you, who eyed him incredulously. “_____, it is an exaggeration!” he deflected. “It was only one visit, merely to see what the women were like—!” 

“Is it true, Wonwoo?” you asked, who was fighting back a grimace at his friend’s endeavours. “Is our dear centurion as scandalous as he’s accused to be?”

The answer was swift. “Soonyoung’s cock is as clean as the city sewers.” 

As everyone cackled, the guilty flushing with embarrassment, he quickly switched the conversation to everyone’s adventures while on the road to Alexandria. Soonyoung did most of the storytelling, with Seokmin chipping in with great pride—Seungkwan had to tell the two of them off when they exaggerated their military prowess, while Wonwoo only laughed, narrating the truth of their adventures. Whatever they told you, though, you knew that they came out victorious.

The Legacy Legion was destined for greatness—especially if Jihoon Park commanded it.

By the time they were done, you had arrived at your villa, almost on the outskirts of Rome. The huge estate had been gifted to your husband by his superior, Octavian, who was thankful for the continuous loyalty he had seen from the Legion. Its exterior towered over the five horses, guards opening the gates to let you and your friends inside.

The estate was basked in whites and greys, roof the colour of baked bricks adding vibrancy to the faded walls. When entering, you were met with your bustling courtyard, servants hard at work with preparations for Jihoon's return. Within the four walls were different rooms which served different purposes—you could smell the different breads and meat being cooked on a slow heat, taking their time to be fully made. The boys began to salivate at the aroma, and when you felt Chan’s stomach grumble beneath your fingers you reined in a laugh, waiting for him to heave off before helping you down as well. 

“Take the horses to the stables,” you ordered one of the servants walking past you, who nodded, shouting for other men to come and help him. 

Seokmin groaned as he sniffed the air again, holding his armour-clad stomach. “I cannot take this any longer!” He whined, stomping to where the smell took him. “____, I must have cena now or so help me Ceres!”

“Stop complaining about lunch!” Seungkwan crowed. “I gave you half of my breakfast, and you pinched Chan’s bread too!” 

“Here we go again,” Wonwoo mumbled. He then heard grumbling in his abdomen, and knew he could not argue against his body. 

You watched the absolute creatures in tenderness, and waved them all over. “Come,” you began, walking inside the first door. “I wish to show you something.”

“This better be some roasted boar!” Soonyoung grumbled, earning a jab in the arm from Wonwoo.

The destination was not far, and with one further turn, you ended up in a smaller, yet spacious room, golden sunlight streaming through the windows. You ushered the boys in, taking up the entire space, and they were all about to complain when you showed them.

Every single man in the room melted at the sight.

“By the gods!”

“Tell me it is not an illusion!”

“This is a better sight than roasted boar!”

Laughing, you put a hand to your lips. “Not so loud now! Jihoon is not aware of this yet, and I wish to tell him myself.”

“Of course!” Wonwoo agreed, eyes dancing. “By Jupiter, he would be overjoyed!”

“I hope so,” you voiced out your wishes, glancing at the surprise. 

The boys were about to say more when they heard the distant sounds of thundering hooves near the villa, and everyone stilled. 

“Quick!”

“Everyone get out of here!”

“Seungkwan, move—”

The five greatest centurions of Rome scrambled to get out of the tiny bedroom, rushing into the courtyard where Jihoon now made his entrance, crown still upon his head. He saw the rather guilty exit of his men, and raised a brow at their strange behaviour.

“What are you all—” he was about to ask, but then the boys dashed towards him, each grabbing his arm and pushing him to their last destination. “Wait, hold on—!”

“This is of extreme importance, we assure you!” Wonwoo simpered, knowing his end was near with the behaviour he and his friends upkept. 

“Even more important than lunch!” Soonyoung added.

“Even more important than roast boar!” Seokmin chimed in.

Jihoon was about to throw them off when they pushed him into the small room, waving excitedly at you. “We will be looking for food!” Seungkwan called from the door, and Chan looked at you apologetically before following after his friends. 

Watching them busy themselves, he turned to you, cocking his head. “What was all that for?” 

“They are terrible actors, but they had good intentions.” You then bit your lip, glancing beside you. “Actually, they brought you here for a reason.”

“Oh?” He took a step forward. 

Nodding your head, you put your hand upon the stone. “Jihoon, while you were gone, I had a life-changing experience.”

Furrowing his brows, he put his hands on his hips. “And that was?”

Exposing a little smile, you ushered him closer, gazing down at the said-experience.

“My love, I gave birth to our son.”

You felt Jihoon’s world still for a moment.

Within seconds after, he closed the distance to the cot, following your gaze.

There, wrapped in blankets, lay a small baby, lost in sleep.

The general did not know what to say.

He could only watch the little bundle of life as he dreamed of things which he could not understand, tiny lips brushing against his tiny thumb. The man’s heart began to race at the sight of his closed eyes, the flutter of his lashes as he stirred in slumber. 

So innocent the baby was—so vulnerable that he wondered whether people of his time even knew what innocence meant.

He thought all good had withered from the world till his eyes beheld this child. His son.

“It was he that helped me cope with your absence Jihoon,” you continued, and you did not know why it began to hurt to talk. “You see, the boy looks so much like you.”

Your husband’s eyes flickered to you, catching the melancholy in your stare. He knew—of course he knew how you felt about him hardly being here.

You could not blame him, though. With a position of such esteem came great responsibility, which he would risk his life to fulfil. It was his honour, his undeterred loyalty in what he believed in, that made you fall so deeply in love with him. Still, you admitted that life was barely liveable without his magnetic presence near you.

He propped his hands on the edge of the cot. “May I...may I hold him?” 

“Of course,” you replied, slowly pulling the boy in your arms, cooing softly so he stayed asleep. When you were sure he was peaceful, you held him out to your husband, who took a deep, shuddering breath.

With shaking hands, he raised them towards his son, feeling the soft cotton of his blanket beneath his fingertips. Staring at Jihoon, you made sure that he would not let go—satisfied, you gave him the stirring bundle.

Another hard sigh escaped him.

The child, on instinct, nuzzled further into his hold, right into his chest, and he knew his answer straight away. His heart fluttered nervously, holding his breath to not wake him. It was so bizarre that his nerves heightened with every second, fearing he would let go—his sword was heavier than this child, yet his hold on him was shaky, uncertain. 

He wondered if he could ever get used to this feeling.

There were sensations he had experienced which brought him immense joy. His victories, his commandeering of the Roman legions, the subsequent victories that were guaranteed under his leadership. His centurions, who, despite their incessant complaining, shouting, general presences, were the catalyst to his success. You, who was behind the man that he was, and became—the reason he breathed. 

A small murmur escaped the little boy, and all the love Jihoon had lost these years had come back.

He was never the one to expose such extreme emotions, but gazing at the baby brought him such…peace. In truth, he had not felt peace in a long, long time, yet the feeling washed over him, like small waves upon the shores of a beach. Each twitch of his fingers, every kick of his feet brought his soul to a standstill, then revived it once more. 

He contributed to this creation. He was half the reason for the slumbering life in his hands.

His stare did not leave his son. “What did you name him, vita?”

Your gaze was rooted to him as you answered.

“Seungcheol.”

Jihoon’s rocking froze. 

His eyes darted towards you, and the pure shock which emitted had your heart breaking. His mouth parted, only for silence to welcome his tongue. 

It was now your hands which held onto the cot.

Seungcheol was not some ordinary name you thought up on the hour of the birth.

No, this name was originally held by the previous leader of the Legacy Legion.

Most importantly, the name was held by yours and Jihoon’s dearest friend.

Choi Seungcheol was a sweet, charismatic boy who had grown up in the same neighbourhood as you and Jihoon. He was the nail in your house of the trio, and the mastermind of the romance which weaved between the two of you. 

He had an incredibly bright future ahead of him. Under Octavian’s army he had achieved the title of primus pilus—the leadership of an entire legion—with all of the boys, including Jihoon, under his command. He was an advocate of justice, and had risked his friends many times for defending the rights of Rome and her citizens against tyrants.

It was these very tyrants that brought about his downfall.

Jihoon was never meant to leave your side these past two years. He was meant to stay in Rome under Octavian, but the rivalry against Mark Antony had crossed lines, and war was about to be waged. Seungcheol, forever the hero, vowed his undeterred loyalty to the former, and promised to shed Mark Antony’s blood.

That very night, the commanders of the Legacy Legion were celebrating the war when a group of assassins launched an ambush—the five of them managed to cut out and leave, but Jihoon was on the verge of death fighting. Your husband was to die that night.

That was when Seungcheol made a sacrifice. 

He hollered at the assassins to fight him, giving Jihoon the chance to escape. Your husband begged him to run, but he knew his friend would not listen. 

When Jihoon saw the dozen daggers slash into Seungcheol’s chest, he could not let the sacrifice go to waste.

It was this act that brought him the rage to accept command of the Legacy Legion. It was this dire need of vengeance that helped him cope with the months of stalemates across Egypt, when he thought Mark Antony was to escape.

It was Choi Seungcheol’s sacrifice that made Lee Jihoon the Eagle of Rome. 

Thinking of this particular past had your vision stinging.

Jihoon scoffed, stroking his baby’s brow. “Imagine how smug he would be now,” he mused, “If he knew we named our son after him.”

The thought had you rasping out a laugh. “Gods, we would never hear the end of it.”

He cracked a smile, gaze never straying from his bundle. He grew silent once again, clamping his lips together. Scared to wake him if he rocked him further, Jihoon settled the boy back into the pillowed cot, blinking back the stinging in his eyes. 

He turned to you, and seeing his change of expression had you stepping closer. “Darling?” you got out, your hands raising to touch his face. “What troubles you?”

Shaking his head, he wrapped his fingers around your wrist. Leaning into your palm, he replied, “Nothing troubles me, vita.”

Then, he pressed a small kiss upon your skin. “I have no more troubles now that I have seen him…and I have him because of you.”

His gaze settled upon you, eyes glossed with teary gratitude. “Thank you, my love, for bringing me peace.”

The words nearly made you cry.

Jihoon did not let you, though, when, with his other hand sliding around your waist, he pulled you to him. He enveloped his lips with yours, and with a whine you accepted him, closing your eyes. The kiss you shared was achingly soft, seething with months upon months of longing—he turned your head slightly, and his lips delved deeper, taking you fully with the strength of a waking beast. 

His hands dug deeper into your sides, feeling the desperation seep into his lips as he slowly pushed you back, your arms closing about his neck, needing him all over you. Sliding your hands within his locks, you revelled in its velvety softness, knowing you could live forever in him. 

The action had your husband humming into your mouth, a perfect incentive as he backed you against the wall, pressing himself fully against you, extinguishing any last atom of space between you two. You could not get enough of him, trying to make up months of his absence in this kiss alone, but you wanted more, needed more, or you would collapse in his arms.

It was fortunate for you that he understood you perfectly.

However, your dear friends did not understand at all, bursting into the nursery in utmost hurry.

Five pairs of eyes rooted to the passionate scene before them.

Chan let out a shrill scream.

You and Jihoon repelled from each other, breathless gasps emitting as both of you whirled your heads to the door. The five centurions gathered at the doorway, stunned at the show that went on before they interrupted.

Seokmin let out a groan, clutching his stomach. “I regret eating that entire boar now,” he rasped out, turning away from the panting couple. Seungkwan elbowed him harshly in the gut, making the former double over.

Soonyoung sauntered in, stepping past you two in mighty fashion. “You both are insufferable!” he yelled, bringing out baby Seungcheol and rocking him in his arms. “Carrying out such atrocities with a child nearby?”

“I apologise for the disturbance, general,” Wonwoo said, glaring at the man who now cooed comically at the baby. “We were just...um, we were to ask ____ of the plans tonight.”

“But y-you seem to be very preoccupied!” Chan added, pulling the men near him away from the door. “So we shall not disturb you again!”

“You should have thought about that before,” your husband hissed. “And what do you mean by plans?”

“For your return,” you answered, smiling a little as you regained your composure. “It has been too long since you stepped foot at home. Of course I am to celebrate.”

“And do we not exist to you?” Seungkwan demanded, armoured hands at his hips. “You include Jihoon only as if we were here in Rome partying this entire time!”

“I wished that were the case,” Soonyoung drawled, stepping beside you, swaying the baby the entire time. “I would rather the company of wine than you foul-smelling bastards anyday.”

Seokmin, recovering, scoffed, pointing a finger at his fellow centurion. “Oh, do let us know then, Soonyoung, who was calling us his dearest friends on the march to Alexandria?”

“That does not count!” he countered, waving off the claims. “I was beyond gone from wine, and everyone spews rubbish when drunk.”

“You spew rubbish anyway,” Wonwoo muttered.

“You are lucky I am holding Jihoon’s child right now, or I would have knocked you out.”

“Just Jihoon’s child?” you crossed your arms. “And what if you were holding someone else’s baby?”

There was a pause at that. “I shall not comment further.”

“Enough!” the general ordered, silencing the bickering group. “Out, the lot of you! Go back to your own homes and leave us alone!”

“But _____ said we can stay here and help with preparations!” Wonwoo voiced out, stepping forward in haste. 

“I never said that!”

“Please, Jihoon,” he continued anyway, “I have no wish to dump all responsibility on her.”

The said-man pursed his lips in thought, clearly in no hurry to keep his friends when he could be using this precious time to continue what he left off with you. Already his hands ached to linger further over your body, but if he was disturbed once again, then he would kill his subordinates without hesitance.

Seokmin stopped his train of thought. “Personally, I have no wish to do housework,” he jeered. 

Your husband then smiled, which was more a flash of teeth. “Brilliant. You can piss off back home, then.” He then directed his threatening stare towards the others. “All of you.”

Five pairs of eyes turned to you, hoping for your objection on the matter. However, you only shrugged, holding out your hands to the man beside you. “General’s orders, I fear.” When a series of groans followed at your verdict, you took Seungcheol from Soonyoung’s hands. “Do not whine like that, friends! I am giving you the chance to have more fun before tonight’s celebrations!”

“Whatever,” Seungkwan grumbled, turning his cloak as he stepped out of the room. “I am off to get more drinks! Anyone but Jihoon may join me.”

“Hey!” the commander shouted, but the men were already leaving, save for Chan, scratching the back of his head. 

Seokmin cocked his head in question at his friend’s stillness. “What are you standing here for, fool?”

“Well, um,” Chan started, his shy gaze levelling with yours. “I am not inclined to wine as of now, so I was hoping if I could...err, linger here and help around…” His eyes widened, raising his hands. “But if it is bothersome I will accompany the others!”

Your heart melted at his timidity. “What are you so nervous for? Of course you can stay. Those four idiots will only be causing trouble the entire afternoon.” 

“And we intend to continue such troubles at night as well!” Soonyoung declared, almost skipping to the entrance. “Honey wine, here I come!”

“Chan, are you sure?” Jihoon asked, gesturing towards the exiting group. “You should rest a little after months of fighting.”

“I am alright, I insist,” his soldier assured him, raising his arms. “Let me take care of the child.” When you obliged, handing him the stirring bundle, he slowed his movements, ever so careful not to disturb him. He darted his gaze over you. “You, uh,” he said, and he chuckled sheepishly, a blush rising upon his cheeks. “You both carry on with whatever you were doing before!”

Before you could say further, the man was hurrying out, forgetting to close the door as he took Seungcheol with him.

You and Jihoon watched him go, stunned at the sudden entrance of the centurions, and then the sudden exit within minutes. You could not help the huff of laughter that escaped you at their antics, catching his attention. “What is the laugh for?”

“Your commanders, darling,” you mused, wrapping an arm around your husband. “They are more bizarre than usual.”

Exhaling through his nose, he returned your embrace twice over, engulfing you within his hold. “My half-witted commanders,” he reminisced, running his fingers across your back. “They are delighted to be back.”

“I can tell,” you giggled out, leaning into him. “I missed them greatly.”

His face ghosted a little smugness. “But you missed me more.”

“You keep convincing yourself of the notion.”

Feeling his laughter reverberating off him, you felt yourself being pulled at arm’s length, looking up at him once more. Your husband leaned in then, gently pressing his forehead against yours. “No one is at home anymore, vita.”

A raise of your eyebrow. “Chan just asked me to stay here.”

“Oh, you know what I mean,” he insisted, brushing his nose with yours. “We are alone...with no one to bother us again…”

Much as you would like to follow his intentions, you feared the state of the pending party. It had been two years since the Eagle and his centurions’ return—their triumph will be celebrated without fault.

“Jihoon,” you murmured, taking great pains in retracting from his kisses. “I must go.”

His lips trailed down to your chin, making your willpower all the more weak. “Can you not spare me even an hour?”

If you could spare him half that hour, you would have gladly indulged him, but the party arrangements awaited. The soldiers, and your general, deserved the best of welcomes.

So you made yourself separate from his tempting hold, taking a few steps away from him. “I cannot offer even a second, my love.”

The man pretended to be beyond upset at your resistance. He waited till your feet landed on the entryway when he spoke.

“Perhaps it was better you did not give me a mere hour, vita.”

You looked back. Leaning against the stone cot, he let his lips curl upwards. “It simply would not suffice.”

The curiosity in your eyes had him further smirking. “I need an entire day to make up for the two years of absence from you.”

It was sheer luck you were holding onto the doorframe. 

“Careful, love,” he cooed, which only had you stumbling further out of the door in shock. His laughter followed you faintly as you left the room, blood rushing to your cheeks in drastic speed.

You hoped ardently, without shame, that he would carry out his intentions.

Then, you aggressively shook your head, heading straight to the kitchens. Not these thoughts at the moment, _____.

You have a party to prepare for.

THE NIGHT OF THE WELCOMING ARRIVED AS QUICKLY AS YOU HAD HOPED.

The guests began to enter your estate as soon as the sun descended on the empire, bringing words of praise and gifts to your husband and his soldiers. Your pride swelled exceedingly at hearing the positive messages, encouraging everyone to drink to their health. The smiles did not cease, widening further when the men and women fawned over your child. They wished for your baby to grow up just like the man he was named after, and you smiled, scared that one word from you would have your tears gushing.

You had everyone lay on their seated beds, surrounding tables filled with nourishment. Orders spilled from your lips to never stop the plates of beef and veal and fish and infinite other meats—tonight, your guests would feast like emperors. 

Eventually, the stars of the legion arrived, howling in celebration at seeing you adorned in indigo-coloured finery. You reckoned that they had drunk a fountain’s worth before showing up here, but you only hauled them inside, showing them to their place—cushioned couches all set up around low, circular tables, food nearly toppling off the edges. 

Seokmin drooled at the sight. “Out of the way, bastards!” He declared, running straight for the bedding in the middle part of the cushioned arc, settling himself nicely before digging in instantly. “Tell your slave Chan to bring us some wine!”

As if on cue, the soldier came rushing in with huge jugs of the featured drink, looking at you. “Is this alright?”

“Of course, Chan,” you said, taking the jugs from him. “Now you lay beside your friends! You have helped me enough.”

“Where is that man of yours, my lady?” Soonyoung drawled, snatching a cup of honey wine from the servants. “He did not accompany us this afternoon.”

“He had to go meet Octavian,” you answered, the rest of the centurions lodging themselves on the cushions. “There were honours he had to receive from him before he could officially celebrate here.”

“As long as he gets drunk with us, I do not mind,” Wonwoo voiced, raising his cup in toast. 

Seokmin, seeing Chan looking around in embarrassment, poured a cup full of alcohol and pushed it in his hand. “Drink up, boy! I am not having you shy away from your victories!”

The latter seemed much inclined to throw away the wine, but his friends began to groan. “Fine, fine, but only a sip!”

Seungkwan downed his cup, sighing into it. “He will never grow up.”

Wonwoo eyed you with concern as he plucked a grape from its pack. “Will you not have a rest with us?”

“You men have your fun,” you insisted. “I will settle when Jihoon comes home.”

Fortunately, that did not take more than ten minutes, you catching the sound of hooves outside the estate. Footsteps sounded from the entrance, and you whirled to see your new arrival.

The primus pilus of the Legacy Legion looked every bit his title—regal, powerful, magical in his purple robes, hemmed with gold as it draped over his loose white shirt, exposed on his right arm. His locks, longer than his hair months ago, curled slightly along his neck, roughening his usual soldierly demeanour.

Squealing, you rushed to him, greeting him with a kiss. “Come, come!” You exclaimed, ushering him inside.

“The general’s arrived!” Seokmin before you with the others following, albeit with more difficulty.

Jihoon directed a soft smile at you before sneering at his friends. “At least finish chewing on your food, you babies.”

“Care about your own baby before calling us such, you prick!”

“You are very lucky you are drunk, Wonwoo!” 

“Sit with them,” you said, tugging him to a free space between subordinates. 

As your husband obliged, he let his curiosity wander. “And where are you off to?”

Your gaze went beyond the dining hall, into the leeways that brought you to the kitchens. “I am a host, dear, and that means making sure all my guests are accommodated for.”

His grip on you was strong. “When will you come back?” He asked, thumb brushing over your hand.

You let your lips slip into a small smile. “Soon.”

And you were off, letting Jihoon’s eyes brush over you instead of his touch.

A few hours into the party and the chaos began.

You knew it was bound to happen eventually, with the amount of wine being consumed—your friends alone downed half the deposits, the consequences of such reckless drinking being exposed by their behaviour.

The centurions’ area was by far the loudest: Seokmin drank to the point he pissed in the jug that stored his wine, Seungkwan then threatening to topple that very jug atop his head. Soonyoung resorted to self-praise in his stupor, with Wonwoo shaking his head, yet laughing uncontrollably at every unfunny quip the former slipped out. Chan giggled as he sipped his alcohol, Jihoon watching all his friends with a full cup in his own hand. 

It was around midnight when you heard the voice of your beloved calling for you. 

“Vita!”

Excusing yourself from your tipsy guests, you walked to your dear men, who were creating a ruckus in your home. You felt soft fingers caress your shin within your dress, and you looked down to see your general smiling at you.

“Sit, my love,” he said, tugging you down to him. “You have made me wait a while.”

“Fine!” You exclaimed with mock exasperation, laying down next to him. 

He wrapped his arm around you, pulling you to him, your entire back pressed against his front. “There,” he whispered, and the proximity of his breath had chills running down your spine.

You hoped he could feel the warmth radiating off you.

“_____!” Seokmin exclaimed, pointing his cup at you in accusation, wine sloshing out and spilling. “I have a bone to pick with you!”

“Oh, gods,” Jihoon cursed quietly.

“So I found out from our esteemed general that you named your son Seungcheol.” The man scoffed. “How could you commit such an action?”

When you raised your eyebrows, he smirked in disbelief, gesturing towards himself. “My lady, I am offended you did not name him after me.”

Wonwoo spit out his drink, unable to control his laughter. Seungkwan poured himself some more, clicking his tongue in amusement. “Gods forbid we have another Seokmin in our circle.”

“Now what is that supposed to mean?” the man demanded, bunching his robes from his arms. 

“I know you are not that stupid,” was his sly answer. 

“Boys,” Jihoon seethed, glaring at the two about to send the estate down with their fists. “Lay off the anger or lay off the wine.”

Grumbling as they broke off their spat, you looked up at the mediator, swirling his cup. “You know you do not have to be a general here.”

Your husband hummed absent-mindedly, lazily running his hand along you. “I know, vita. Can I ever rest, though, when I have such rowdy dogs barking around me all the time?”

Chuckling, you leaned into him, his honey-like scent engulfing you. “Have you drank?”

“Only a little.” You felt a lilt to his voice as he continued. “Sober enough to see clearly how divine you look. Especially in this dress.”

You stilled as his hands began to wander downwards. 

Your voice barely came out as you said, “Jihoon, what…what are you doing?” 

He did not respond, instead adorning a small smile on his face as his fingers ghosted down your body, to your stomach. On instinct you stopped his trail with your own hand, gripping his wrist. “Jihoon!” you hissed. “There are people right beside us!”

“People who do not know what is going on around them,” he added, gesturing to his friends. Sure enough, each and every one of the centurions were out of their minds, save for Chan, who was too preoccupied trying to take away their drinks. 

Jihoon turned to you once more, eyes inviting. “I mean, I will stop if you wish.” His movements turned slower, your hand still on his. “If you have other…pressing matters.”

Your mind could only think of damning whatever ‘pressing matters’ there well to the underworld. Perhaps he could see it too. “If roaming eyes are what you fear,” he whispered, “Then let me solve that problem.”

In a flash, he brought one long slit of his toga, resting the huge sheet of fabric upon you so your entire body was cloaked, along with his wandering fingers. So casually he began his journey once more, widening your eyes with each finger spiralling downwards.

When he reached the spot, shielded only with your silk, his head rested softly against your neck. “There we go.”

He barely grazed the slit, but the very sensation had you squeezing your own hand upon his. “Easy, darling,” he whispered, as if he was not the reason for your change. “I haven’t even done anything and yet you falter.”

“Not my fault you went away for two years,” you hissed. It was a terrible thing to say, really, but your desire was bubbling. Your rationality, in turn, simply had to depart.

The comment only made your husband chuckle. “I was saving the Empire, vita.” His other hand, completely free, occupied itself, his solitary finger ghosting along your skin. “Would you rather I damn the world to the gods and serve at your feet instead?”

“As if you do not already,” you murmured, your hand loosening on his wrist. 

Earning another soft laugh from him, his new freedom had him sliding down further. “And where did this…newfound confidence come from?” he asked, one finger delving into your slit and eliciting a shuddered breath. “I’d only hear gasps from you before.”

His slow endeavours found your clit beneath the silk, and the seething gasp that tore from your mouth had the bastard sighing in satisfaction. “Ah, see?” He continued, his hand upon your shoulder now sliding beneath his cloak. It found refuge upon your breasts, perked from the sheer desire burning inside. “Fuck, I missed, I–” His fingers circled your clit, and you closed your eyes, heart beating rapidly underneath his other hand. 

Your breathing turned harsh, eyes darting to the members of your husband’s legion—completely unaware of the shuddering mess of nerves you had become. “Look at you,” Jihoon sighed out, fastening his fingers. “Acting out with our loved ones under this roof.” Your soft whines were music to his ears. “Whatever shall I do with you?”

“Maybe you should—fuck,” you cut off, your legs tensing, a dull, delicious ache growing at the small of your back. “Jihoon, I—”

Your line of speech was interrupted by another voice. You had hoped it would be your husband, taunting you further into oblivion, but it was a voice of pure concern.

“By the gods, _____, are you alright?”

You blinked back to see Chan, holding two glasses of wine, shaking off Soonyoung’s hands. Your eyes then widened, acutely aware of Jihoon’s fingers slowing, your release fading. 

Sly as an asp, your husband retracted his hands, still under his cloak. “What is the matter, dear friend?”

The centurion had his gaze fixed on you, confused at your state. “Is _____ okay, general? Her breathing, she…it sounds uneven. Even her eyes are dazed.”

Soonyoung, taking the lucky chance of his friend’s engrossment, snatched the wine from his hand, downing the bowl. “She is drunk, you fool!” he exclaimed, loud enough for Wonwoo to double over, cursing his rowdy mouth. “And you should be as well, instead of ruining our fun!”

“My lady, allow me to indulge you with wine,” Wonwoo sang out, trying to catch a jug of alcohol from thin air. 

Seungkwan snorted at his attempts, successfully stealing Seokmin’s drinks and chugging the lot. “Oi, you prick!” The latter yelled, nearly bringing the estate down. His friend merely laughed, calling him names and finishing the rest of the wine.

Chan, glancing for a moment away, focused on you once more. “Jihoon, I fear for _____.”

You feared for yourself too, but not in the manner the soldier spoke of—more your sanity at the pulsing, the near undoing now far from being reached. 

Jihoon pressed a kiss to your temple, smiling at Chan’s words, despite differing intentions. “You worry too much, Chan,” he said, beginning to get up from his cushions, taking you gently into his arms. “It is as Soonyoung says. Mea Vita here has had a drink too much.”

The centurion seemed a little unconvinced, but his trust for his commander outgrew any suspicions. Seokmin scoffed at the couple attempting to leave, shaking his bowl at you both. “And where are the lovebirds off to?” he demanded.

“Lady _____ is tired from the honey wine,” Chan explained. “Jihoon is helping her sleep.”

“Ha!” was the boy’s reply. 

“Are you really that dim-witted?” Seungkwan asked, laughing darkly at the youngest’s naivety. 

“Huh?” Chan glanced at his general.

The general declared to his guests, “I will be retiring with my wife, but enjoy until dawn, friends!”

Cheers arose from every corner of the estate, no doubt eager to live up to his request. Jihoon then rested his eyes on his soldier, who looked up at him with great bewilderment.

He only offered a sly wink before slipping into the hallways. 

Chan’s confusion only deepened. 

Soonyoung spluttered into laughter. “You poor fool!” 

Seungkwan’s smirk was prevalent as, taking the bowl filled with fresh honey wine from the tables, he sat beside Chan, offering him his first drink. “Let us educate you, dear man, on what exactly is about to happen between our general and his wife.”

IT TOOK APPROXIMATELY TEN SECONDS BEFORE YOUR PATIENCE SNAPPED IN YOUR DARKENED HALLWAYS. 

You slapped your hands against Jihoon’s purple-clad chest, and tried to push him back into the stone wall. Of course, when one had the strongest general in the Roman Empire as a husband, physically overtaking them is an impossible action.

Which was why he began to laugh at your efforts before casually taking your wrists, whirling you about.  Suddenly your back was against the wall, with his face near inches from you. 

“Cannot control yourself for even a minute?” He purred, bringing your hands above your head. “Has the journey to our bedroom become too difficult?”

“Stop fucking about with me” you got out, aching to have your hands freed, touch his face, his lips, but he was too strong. 

The man leaned further. “No, vita…it has been too long.” 

He brushed his nose along with yours. “Don’t think I’ll be satisfied with simply fucking you against the wall.”

His words alone had your heart beating faster, eager to see how he would play the night out. It had been far too long since you had felt such promise of pleasure in these years.

“I won’t be either, general,” you mused, and the fire that sparked in Jihoon’s eyes could have very well brought you your undoing then. 

That was enough for him to swoop in, damning all sweetness to the underworld as he collided his lips with yours. 

You swore you could never tire of Jihoon’s lips as he moved hungrily, grip on your wrists tightening. A small noise lodged in the back of your throat, aching to be released but to no avail. His mouth refused to pull away, miss even a moment of how you felt against him. 

The years away made you realise how much you missed his touch—lips in sync, bodies snuffing out any distance left—you had no choice but to whine into his mouth, opening yourself up fully to him. You wanted him all, without a single drop of hesitation.

Feeling the exact same, he happily delved further, an eon-old kernel of fire singeing his lips and searing you with his desire. His tongue, catching onto his lust, slithered past your teeth, swirling your tongue with his and increased the volume of your moans. 

Gods, your moans, your little voices of passion were like victory trumpets to his ears, every single ah! or fuck! riling him further into a frenzy. He had not forgotten these glorious sounds when he was thousands of miles away, but it had been so fucking long since he had heard them in person, and not just his dreams.

So he relished in your moans. Completely engulfed himself in your bubble of desire as his one hand strayed from your wrists, skirting downwards along your body. Grabbing hold of your skirts, he raised them to your hips. He caught sight of your cunt, and he swore his mouth watered. 

“Stop it…stop stalling, Jihoon,” you seethed, soul almost withering in wait for your husband to ruin you already.

Fortunately for you, he was the most accommodating man.

His hand freeing yours, it journeyed downwards to the real treasure. Your eyes widened at his finger sliding inside you, and the pure, ethereal sensation of his touch finally attaining your cunt had you dazing off completely. Your mouth forgot all words, as if forgetting how to speak the languages which Jihoon whispered now on your skin.

With your hands gaining newfound freedom, they carded through his hair, finding refuge in the soft, growing locks, tidied for the party. You would have done more had Jihoon not circled your clit, and the delirious sensation was back—your legs nearly gave way, and you let out a whimper as you held onto him tightly, lest you fell at his feet. 

His sharp eyes caught onto your weakening state, slowing his ministrations. “How about I take this somewhere else?” He rasped in your ear. 

Not waiting for your answer, he slid his hands underneath your thighs and picked you up, you instinctively wrapping your legs around him. He did not cease his kisses, his tongue dancing inside your mouth while finding the door to the bedroom. 

He did not waste a single moment—kicking the door open with his foot, he settled you on the table right beside, throwing the objects to the floor. Giving you a small peck, he journeyed downwards, slowly kneeling before you while opening your legs.

His husky chuckling rang in your ears. “Gods, after so long…” he could not even finish, pressing airlight kisses upon your inner thigh, each phantom touch nearing the kernel of arousal. “So…fucking long…”

The minute he reached his destination his tongue slipped free of his mouth. Holding onto your thighs, he let himself take the last step.

His tongue sliding along your cunt had you melting on the table. 

You were certain the table had crumbled beneath you, the ground fading as your husband explored you, lapping up the arousal dripping since the moment he graced you with his touch. A satisfied noise left his occupied mouth, you tasting like the honey wine you poured for him not an hour ago.

This. This made fighting relentlessly for two years worth it. This made every single drop of blood, buckets of sweat and floods of tears worth it. Life was hard, torturous even away from Rome, from you, but all that dark anguish in the time lost between you two was worth it if this was his reward.

And Jihoon would make sure this, too, would be worth it for you.

His tongue found your clit, and if you were not a mess before, the tendrils of pleasure that came with reduced you to cinders. He circled the bud like a slow march, growing faster with each passing beat. You moaned his name, a mantra on your lips which only rang louder. 

“J-Jihoon,” you kept whimpering, and his tongue would circle faster. You begin to thrash against him, unable to sit still while he brought you such unadulterated thrill. You would have happily grinded against his face had his hands on your thighs not tightened, indicating to stop fidgeting.

In honesty you tried—you endeavoured to be composed, but the bastard made the task impossible. The writhing continued, and would have kept going had Jihoon not halted his actions.

You let out an agitated yelp. 

“I’m sorry, vita, but you have to stay still,” he replied, fingers running along your thighs. “Do you not want to enjoy this?”

His lips glistened as he spoke, courtesy of your cunt. With his head in between your thighs, he was a feast for your eyes. “Fuck, Jihoon, I…I already am.” 

Maybe he agreed that he was a fine feast, for he curved his shining mouth in a dark smirk, eyes not leaving yours as he slowly slung a leg over his shoulder. “Well then,” he began, repeating with the other leg, fingers skimming the naked skin. “Let me add to your pleasure.”

This time, when he dove in, he was relentless.

You gripped onto the edge of the table, fingers digging into the wood as he quickened the rhythm of his tongue, working on your bundle of nerves so deliciously you wondered how your soul still survived inside your body. 

The wondering stopped, your questions answered when his finger joined in on the ravishing, sliding inside you and knocking the breath out of you. He was so undeniably good, knowing you liked the insertion slow, almost testing the waters before completely undoing you.

And gods bless him, for that is all he intended to do. The Eagle of Rome only knelt for the gods, but you, your whines, your writhing pleasure he drank like a man parched…

You had become a deity in his eyes; and a celestial figure deserved the best of service — hours upon hours of honing your desire because he was the only one who was capable of ruining you.

Another finger found itself inside you, and your cunt began to pulsate at the fullness it achieved, inching along the growing tension bubbling deep within your gut. Beads of sweat dripped down, your willpower to not thrash against his face about to snap, and when he fastened his pace an obscenely loud moan ripped through your mouth. 

You were much too close to the final high.

“Fuck, Jihoon—!” you nearly cried, hands unable to stray from his hair, his wonderful, lustrous hair. “Jihoon, please, I’m so clo—”

His free hand on your thigh squeezed you ever so slightly, as if aware of your near absolution. He only sped up his work, his fingers gliding in and out so quickly you could not keep up. If that was not enough, his mouth sucking on your clit was ready to bring the sky down on your head.

But Jihoon was ready to risk the destruction of all the world. Ready to face the gods in his last hour as he swirled your swollen bud with his tongue one last time.

That was enough to come undone.

Your release came crashing, curls of pleasure riding all through your body as your mind misted into fog, no thought or idea save for the slow assistance of your husband, easing your throbbing. A lust-struck sigh came out of you, hand falling from his hair onto his tensed shoulder. Sensing your high washing over, he slowed his tongue, fingers withdrawn from your cunt.

He caught your gaze in his, two slick fingers hanging between you two. He dared you to look away as he brought them to his lips, slipping them inside and tasting the residue.

That sight alone could have made you come for the second time. 

The bastard knew it too, for a ghost of a smirk exposed itself on his face, once his fingers were clean of your arousal. “Could not let it go to waste,” he murmured, as if your wetness was liquid gold. 

Hands back on your thighs once more, he lifted himself up gently, toga in disarray over his service. With you sat upon the table, his fingers found home upon your chin, lifting your line of sight on him.

Pure hunger lay dormant in his eyes. 

Not just his eyes, but his mouth still, when he leaned in and kissed you. You returned it without question, desire coiling around your soul as if it had not been released mere minutes ago.

You did not care. Not when you had waited so fucking long.

The man smiled between the burning kisses, humming at your lusted agony as he slid an arm around your waist. “My love—” a kiss upon the corner of your mouth —”What more shall I do—” another kiss, to the other corner—”For you?”

If he kept at it like this, you were going to forget your mother tongue. “Inside me…” you mustered between his lips on you, on your skin. A pathetic attempt, but your mind was still recovering from your release.

He paused, a malicious grin curving. “Pray, mea vita, my sweet, was I not just inside you?” Tugging you off the table, he held on tight as your knees buckled. “See? Even your body speaks for me.”

Your leg brushed against the weakness of his argument, almost tenting his toga. “Does yours?” you managed to remark, catching the defeated furrow of his brow. 

His stare had you silent once again, butterflies forming in your stomach. Leaning in, his lips brushed against the shell of your ear. 

“I’ll have your body screaming for me when I’m done, vita.”

Your body, in his response, shuddered against him.

Jihoon did not wait for more as he slotted his mouth along yours, igniting the flame again, unable to have enough of you as he whirled you around, eliciting the same little whines he adored so ardently.

He swooped you up in his arms, knowing your legs could not take the walk to the bed. Never stopping his kisses, he knew where to go by memory, hands skirting along your skin as he neared the final haven of tonight. Despite his words, he laid you gently upon the bed, continuing his trail upon your cheeks, your jaw, anywhere where you would allow him. 

Your heart sang at what was to come. Memories flooded you, passionate nights of years ago reminding you of what had been, and what distance had snatched from you. You had never forgotten the last time you both had made love, the very last night you both had been offered before he was to sail away to satiate his need for vengeance. He had asked nothing from you, not a single request, even though he knew you would have given it to him in a heartbeat. 

No, that night, he had explored every inch, every crevice of your body—burned his presence onto your skin till the entirety of Rome knew that Lee Jihoon had left a piece of himself in you. That piece morphed into the child you bore, but Jihoon had never really left your soul, despite the thousands of miles stretching between you two.

“Never again,” you let yourself whisper as he broke away, your hands fisting themselves in his toga, tugging off the fabric which was another form of distance. You needed him once again. Yes, you had withstood miles upon miles away from him. But now, you could not handle even inches apart.

He understood. He always understood, slipping off the clothing till it reached his hips. Climbing over you, his abdomen exposed, you could not believe your cheeks burned at the sight of him half-naked before you. A small chuckle escaped him, and he stole a quick kiss before burying himself into your neck.

His fingers reached for the loose straps of your dress, barely of use. “Take these off for me, darling,” he whispered, and the order vibrated along your skin, ready to be followed. While you desperately tried to pry your dress off, he pressed open-mouthed kisses along the base of your throat, making your simple task an impossible mission.

One strap fell, and Jihoon’s teeth slowly sank into your skin, sucking at the spot with such passion a soft groan trambles out of you, unsure whether you could get the other half of your dress off. Thankfully, with someone as accommodating as him, he pressed an unironically chaste kiss before finding the last straps himself. 

The pure smugness in his eyes had you in near tears. “One little kiss, and you’ve ceased working,” he drawled breathily. “Must I do all the work, my sweet?”

You would have cursed his ancestors had he not brought your dress down, tossing the clothing to the side and drinking in your bare figure. 

A breath shuddered out of him, certain that you could inhale the pure lust oozing from him. “I can’t…I cannot believe I went two years without…without this—”

The words were left unfinished as he wasted no time, indulging your mouth for moments before pouncing downwards, taking your left breast in his mouth and skimming his teeth softly against the nipple. The man was riling you up now, you taking his hair in your hands, certain you were trying to tear his locks out with the way you held onto him. Jihoon did not seem to mind, too occupied with your breasts to pay heed to your damage.

“Jihoon, please, I need you to—fuck!” cut off with his tongue encircling your breasts, you nearly had had enough. Your cunt ached for the final descent, your patience growing thin. “Please, I-I need you inside me!”

His answer was allowing one last lick to your right nipple, cold striking your breasts as he looked down at you, eyes glossed over with carnal delight. With his hand he ripped away the toga pooling at his hips, and his cock was freed, almost enraged to be cloaked away in silk. 

You looked like a fool staring at it, but you could not help it—you did not remember it being so huge, even though it has been inside you countless times. Another piece of evidence that he had been away from you long enough.

“Ogled enough, darling?” his voice snapped you back, and you were almost embarrassed at the shit-eating grin that lit up his face. 

“Shut up,” you mumbled, but you could not say more, you being silenced with his searing kiss. 

Pulling away, his forehead rested against yours, black locks tickling your cheeks as he held your one side in one hand, and his cock in another.

Nudging your legs apart, the tip brushed against your folds, and your soul nearly departed from the ghost of a touch. “Careful,” he warned, thumb stroking your hip, and he stole a glance at you.

“I love you, vita,” he whispered.

And began the final descent.

His cock slid inside, slowly, ever so slowly, but with every inch you felt each layer of your spirit stop to a standstill. Jihoon never stopped watching—catching your parted mouth, the shallow, uneven breaths you took, the knitted brows, your fingers holding onto him for dear life. He could not help it, see—these few seconds, these few, transitory moments, where both souls are on the edge of the world, and none know whether they’d hang on, or fall to their doom.

This moment encompassed such an image within the features of your face.

And he relished it. Captured the image, and used it as fuel to his carnal fire as he buried himself into you, releasing a breath he kept inside the entire time. Maybe it was after so long, but the two of you stayed still, your husband fearing you might snap. A frivolous thought, of course, but one can believe anything when one is so vulnerable.

One look from you, though, had his doubts disappearing in an instant. You let a small smile escape, and it was all he needed before he slowly withdrew, the mere action so gratifying you wondered whether it was another one of your dreams, a vision granted by the mercy of the gods.

Maybe the gods were extra pleased, for Jihoon was no dream—only a very pleasing reality, waiting for your whimpers to fill the room before thrusting back into you again. The rhythm was beginning to strike, and you were its follower; the shy hesitations started to fade, and you could feel his desire burning with every slide out, and every slide in of his cock into you, holding onto your hips to keep you steady. 

With each thrust you felt the stakes of your pleasure reach higher and higher. Tendrils of delight rippled through you with his movements, quickening yet keeping his fluidity, like an elegant dancer in a warfield, somehow managing to emerge victorious with his body alone. Of course, you could never doubt your husband. He was the favourite of the Empire for a reason.

“By the gods, you—” he plunged into you once more, and he grazed a certain spot inside you that had you seeing the universes. “You’re so fucking good to me, you—”

Never finishing his sentences, never even finishing his line of thought, the sole thing in his mind being your delicious fucking folds, your cunt which felt so perfect around his cock. He leaned in further, teething sweet love bites onto your neck, revelling in your pleasured groaning, growing louder and louder with each quickened thrust. “Yes, vita, just like that!” he exclaimed, never stopping. “For all of Rome to hear!”

He did not care a bit if the world heard them now. All that mattered to him was you, you and only you.

More so when that familiar, growing ache of nerves was back, warning you of your impending release. Jihoon was ruthless to you, relentless with his cock, unforgiving with his tongue and teeth which managed to devour your every inch. There was no escaping it—the ache was like a tightened knot, with his actions well on its way to unravel it.

“I-I’m close, Jihoon,” you breathed out, pressing your lips on his chest, his shoulder, anything you could grasp. “Please, love, I need to—”

“I know, vita,” he guttered, as if he, too, was close. He did not care much for that, though, when all he could focus on was you, all broken words and teary gazes beneath him. “I know.”

To add even more to your doom, he brought back an older prospect, fingers circling your clit and heightening the delight swirling within your gut ten times over. The nerves were pumping, faster and faster, and you were deathly aware that it was now or never.

Your eyes, seeing stars throughout, found your husband within the mist of desire. “J-Jihoon…”

Everything was forgotten. Not a word remembered in the fog of your mind but your vita’s name, your lover’s name, bright as the summer sun, as bold as the royal colours he adorned in his triumph.

As true as the love never lost between the two of you.

It was enough for the Eagle of Rome to capture your lips, holding you in a heart-wrenching kiss.

It was enough for you to completely ruin yourself.

Your cries drowned onto his mouth as release came crashing, legs shaking as you died and resurrected all at once, came undone within his hold. The world slipped away in that moment, with him as your anchor, saving you from being eternally lost.

While you lay breathless, Jihoon slipped himself out of you, breaking away from your kiss to cry out himself, spilling himself onto you and the sheets. A haggard fuck escaped him, arcing over you before throwing himself beside you. 

Silence welcomed you after that.

The din of the party remained, and both of you gasping, but a silence followed, like a warm winter blanket. Both of you stared at the ceiling, the moonlit parts of the surfaces, trying to catch your breaths after what you both just experienced.

Turning your head, you caught Jihoon already stealing glances. They were heavy-lidded, unsurprisingly, yet you found it endearing, despite the circumstances.

“What?” you got out, cocking your head at his soft staring.

He shook his head, smiling tiredly. He stretched his arm out towards you, murmuring, “Come here.”

Obliging, you followed under his arm, resting your head against his chest. Despite the granite-hardness of his body, no other surface would suffice. Your head rose and fell along to his uneven breathing, a small comfort. 

As the general gazed down at you, the softness returned; his thumb stroked along your cheeks. “I…” he began, voice huskier than usual, you humming in satisfaction. 

“Yes?” you got out, hanging onto his every word. 

Glancing away for a second, he looked to the window, and the view it offered of the world beyond.

He then glanced back at you, a better world he had found of his own.

“I am…so happy…” he whispered. Whispered because he had to tell his world what he felt. “So happy to come back to you.”

Your heart but into a thousand butterflies.

A smile as wide as you could muster was your response.

And as he continued stroking your hair, and you leaning into his hold, you too, knew that you felt the exact same.

For the Eagle of Rome had returned to you at last.

CENTURION LEE CHAN HAD WITNESSED HORRORS.

He had seen thousands of dead men, scattered across the sands of Egypt. He had seen ships sink before his very eyes—by the gods, he had even seen the beginnings of death, when he nearly drowned at the final naval battle that secured Legacy Legion its victory.

None of these events, however, made him more queasy as realising that you, while you were laid beside your husband, were not experiencing intoxication from honey wine. It was an exhilaration of a completely unusual kind, a feeling that had the tips of his ears reddening. 

His fellow men’s reactions only made it worse. “What did you think they were going to do?” Seungkwan only demanded. “Sleep it off on their first night together?”

“Well, how was I to know?” the youngest visibly shivered. “I do not know how married people work.”

“Poor soul,” Soonyoung tutted out, no plans for pausing his drink. “I fear for when he is to wed.”

“I still do not understand,” Seokmin voiced out. “They have a whole child together. How did you not…”

“My apologies for not pondering over our general’s intimate life,” Chan grumbled. “How idiotic of me.”

“Do not mind these deviants,” Wonwoo assured him, handing him a fresh cup of wine. “You just drink their awful comments away.”

He spared a fearful glance at the cup, filled with honey wine. “I should not,” he meant to declare in a confident stance. His voice, already weakened from a previous revelation of his commander’s, had rendered his declaration as a childish mumble. “The baby would need my attention sooner or later.”

“Fuck the baby!” was Seokmin’s great exclamation, clicking his tongue. “He is already the star guest of this damned celebration. We—!” he patted his chest repeatedly—”We were supposed to be the ones our people fawn over!”

“Your need for attention never fails to astound me,” Wonwoo remarked, circling his drink. “The boy was named after our murdered friend.”

“It happens to men like Seokmin,” Seungkwan drawled, slinging an arm around him, “To those men who received no attention at home.”

“Fuck off!” Seokmin jeered, rasped out from the alcohol buzzing in his system. “At least our Roman women fawned over me this afternoon. Where were your girls?”

“My, my, our dear Seokmin’s imagination runs so wild!” The second-youngest cooed condescendingly, grabbing Wonwoo’s cup, which had the latter furrowing his brows. “He dreams of female attention when we have seen no evidence of it!”

Soonyoung wished to join in on the bullying, chiming in, “And now he envies a child that cannot control its own piss!”

As everyone laughed at the poor, drunk soul, who genuinely looked as if he might cry, Wonwoo waved his large hands around, as if attempting to calm everyone down. “No more harassing the unloved virgin.”

“We were not talking about Chan though,” Soonyoung instantly piped up, his next said-target narrowing his eyes. 

“Just because I choose to save myself for someone I love,” he grumbled, which had chuckling resonating around the group.

“Gods help her when she turns up, then,” Seungkwan sighed out, drinking Wonwoo’s wine. 

Perhaps Chan might have said something in retort—might have even garnered the strength to punch the honey wine out of his friend’s insides when one of the servants came hurrying. 

He identified her as Myrtia, your personal maid, who looked incredibly distressed. “Centurion Lee,” she immediately began, “Seungcheol keeps crying!”

“Oh, gods,” Soonyoung crowed, “Wet-nurse first, soldier second, is it?”

“At least he is not a whore first, Soonyoung,” Seokmin muttered.

“Both of you, shut up!” Chan finally snapped, turning to Myrtia once more. “Where is he right now? Will _____ not tend to him?”

“Our dear _____ is a little occupied being tended to herself, remember?” Seungkwan reminded him, his smirk malicious. 

The youngest flushed scarlet, shaking his head. “Right, of course…” He heaved himself off the cushions, to much of his friends’ agitation. “I will see what to do.”

“What?” Soonyoung sat up, but the alcoholic daze had him swaying slightly. “Wait, wait, wait, don’t just leave!” 

“Take me to Cheol,” Chan said to Myrtia, but before she could even agree, four rounds of disapproving voices hurled towards the poor boy.

“No!” Seungkwan exclaimed first, taking great pains to hoist himself off the long tables. “No, no, you cannot go on your own!”

“Exactly!” Seokmin joined in, using Seungkwan’s toga to try hauling himself up. “You will die in there!” 

Wonwoo clicked his tongue, even though he, too, was beginning to follow after his friends. “Chan is not going to die with a mere child.”

Chan watched his superiors rise carelessly from their furnishings, already feeling a little frantic. “What are you all doing?”

“Why, coming with you, of course!” 

“Myrtia, my sweet,” Soonyoung purred, patting a hand on her shoulder, “You lead us straight to the baby!” 

Hurriedly nodding, she turned and headed towards the destination, five centurions hot on her heels as they were led down the familiar hallways. Chan muttered to himself, but did not have time to self-ponder when he was constantly being distracted.

“How much longer is this going to take?” Seokmin whined, holding onto the walls for support. “And since when did the lamps on _____’s walls start shaking?”

“It has not been a minute and you’re complaining!” Seungkwan snarked out. “It’s a wonder you managed to walk forty miles everyday, lazy git.” 

“Not lazy enough to slice your mouth right off!” 

“Just this door here,” Myrtia said, turning into the empty doorway, dipping her head in respect as she stepped out of the way, allowing Chan to enter first, the rest stumbling behind him. 

Sure enough, the first noise heard in everyone’s ears was the wailing—a screechy, whiny sound which reverberated off the stone walls, striking discomfort, irritation, turmoil in the hearts of whoever heard them. The man who felt it the most dashed to the cot, brows joining together in agitation over the sight of the baby. 

“You would think Chan was the father,” Seungkwan retorted. “Do something about this crying, boy!” 

“You really are heartless,” Wonwoo scolded, following after the youngest. Observing the crying child, he pursed his mouth into a thin line. “How does one…stop a baby from crying?”

“Only a mother can take care of her child,” Seokmin voiced out, as if he thought of a ground-breaking notion akin to Plato’s wisdom. 

“We are not disturbing _____,” Seungkwan rebuked, shaking his head vigorously. “Those two have waited nearly two years to fuck each other again.”

“Let them have their fun!” Soonyoung roared, which had the baby crying louder. “Gods, Chan, you are the youngest after Cheol. Handle this sobbing mess!”

“I have seen twenty summers,” Chan muttered.

“Yes, so a baby in my eyes!” 

“Of course you are going to consider Chan as a baby, you geriatric. It’s a wonder you did not collapse on the battlefield.” 

I will kill you in the next war, Seungkwan.”

As the rest started grumbling amongst themselves, the youngest gently picked up the bundle, slowly rocking him in hopes to calm the crying. Seungcheol’s face was reddened with the constant sorrow, and it broke Chan’s heart a little, hoping that he would gain some newfound power and solve whatever problem ailed him. 

A sigh escaping him, he began to mumble sweet nothings to him, morphing those whispers in a quaint song he heard from his own childhood. His melody was like honey wine, words so soft, his voice so sweet, that the men that accompanied him began to quieten, turning their heads to the origin.

Wonwoo watched the scene, smiling lop-sidedly. “You are a natural!”

“It is quite embarrassing,” Seokmin admitted, scratching the back of his head, “That the youngest of us is the only one able to calm a child.”

“None of us claimed to be good with children,” Seungkwan thought out loud, observing the younger soldier tend to the sobbing, which had quietened to mere whimpers. 

Soonyoung tried to raise a brow—strong on tried, but he was too drunk to carry out such a simple action. “You always boasted of your relationships with your nieces and nephews.”

“That is different. I could care less about random urchins.”

“Seungkwan!” Seokmin exclaimed. “Seungcheol is no urchin.”

“He was though, was he not?” The man scoffed, albeit a bit tenderly as he began to reminisce. “Gods, did you forget how insufferable he was?”

“Always on our arses, too,” Soonyoung agreed, snickering. “Do you remember when he got us in shit with Octavian?”

“Talking back to Caesar’s successor during our first military session.” Wonwoo visibly shivered. “The punishment still haunts me.”

But the distant memory only made the rest chuckle, as if the centurions had not received verbal lashings from the leader of Rome at that time. Silence bathed the room, only Seungcheol’s voice sputtering through the surface of calm. It had only been a meagre two-and-half years since the inspiration behind his name had passed, but with the hardships of the Alexandria campaign, it had felt like decades. Even Chan felt the age of this campaign, although he was young when he suffered the loss. 

He sensed the loss a little more that night as, walking away from the cot, he leaned against the wall. As if unable to stand, he let his legs buckle a little, sliding down and settling on the floor, feet spreading out before him. “I sometimes see him in my dreams,” he admitted. 

There was a heavy pause. 

Then, “He visited me more a year back.”

Everyone focused on Soonyoung. Travelling to where his youngest friend sat, he copied his position, continuing, “I told Jihoon about it, actually, right before Actium…I deemed it a sign of the gods.” A small laugh huffed out of him. “He then corrected me, saying it was all Cheol.”

“Typical,” Seungkwan said, smiling. “Take all the might of the gods and reward himself for it.”

“I cannot blame him, though,” Wonwoo countered, wandering over to the seated duo, looking down at their general’s son. “A loss of faith can come with a loss of a loved one.”

“Yes, but look at us now!” Seokmin reasoned, gesturing to them all. “Victors of the coming generation!” 

“But these so-called ‘Victors’ cannot stop a baby from crying,” Wonwoo murmured, sitting beside Chan. “I doubt we deserve that title.”

“Hey, at least Chan deserves it.” Seokmin hurried to sit beside the former, watching tenderly over at the baby. “Look, he is silent now!” 

“No way!” Seungkwan exclaimed, sauntering to the group and settling beside Soonyoung, reaching over to inspect the claim.

Sure enough—at the centre of the most powerful soldiers in Rome, almost slumbering in complete peace, was a silent Seungcheol, happy Seungcheol as he stirred only if Chan moved his hand, or shifted his legs. It was not as if they had not seen a mere child before, but, once again, this bundle, so full of life, was different. This was their commander’s legacy. Their leader’s soul extended from his own life-force, his evidence that he loved. 

This Seungcheol that the five men stared at was the new beginning. 

It was a long time before anyone spoke. “Do you think he looks more like one over the other?” Wonwoo asked.

“All babies look the same to me,” Seokmin offered his opinion. 

By Seungkwan’s incredulous glance, it seemed it was not appreciated. “No one let this idiot have a child of his own.”

The accused frowned, genuinely hurt. “Hey! I should like to have a family one day. Give you all opportunity to become uncles again.”

“I would recognise your baby anywhere,” Soonyoung crowed, “Because it shall be the ugliest out of ours.”

The gasp that escaped Seokmin had Chan choking out a laugh. Seungcheol stirred at the action, which had the latter immediately stilling. “You guys need to insult each other’s future children a little quieter,” he whispered. 

The former had other plans, though. “Wait, can I hold him?” 

Chan shot a concerned glance. “Fine, but be careful!” he insisted, slowly handing over the bundle to Wonwoo, who, after smiling at him, passed him over at the end. 

Seokmin began rocking the child, who glanced up at him, languidly blinking up at the soldier. He was ecstatic, softly touching the tiny nose, and feeling his mouth widen into a grin. “See? He likes me already!”

“Yeah, after Chan has done all the hard labour,” Wonwoo commented, beaming at the baby’s expression. 

“I want Cheol after you,” Soonyoung demanded, crossing his arms, “So he can see what a real man is like.”

“Real jester, more like,” Seungkwan muttered, earning himself a hard elbow in the side. 

What Seokmin wanted to do was tell the eldest to wait his turn. He did not have the opportunity when he smelt the air around him, and found it most foul.

Chan noticed it immediately as well, and within the next few seconds, the others caught on. Five pairs of eyes whirled to the baby, who had the audacity to giggle.

Seokmin let out a scream. 

“BY THE FUCKING GODS—!”

Everyone scrambled to their feat, the rest struggling to hold back their amusement. “Not so loud!” Chan hissed, though he was restraining a laugh, only successful by the finger on his lips. 

“Stupid damned baby!” Seokmin screeched, holding the bundle at arms length. 

Wonwoo could not help his laugh, which spluttered out of him. “You cannot blame a baby for acting like one! It is like scolding a dog for running after a bone.”

The comparison had Soonyoung bellowing out, holding his stomach. “I always knew Seungcheol was annoying, but shitting on us is another low!”

Seokmin visibly shivered, patience running thin. “I hope he is rotting in the underworld,” he cursed, completely merciless. 

“I hope he is laughing at you,” Seungkwan prayed instead, wiping a few tears from his eyes. 

Chan only shook his head, walking to the doorway and stretching his head out. “Myrtia!” he called out, catching her tending to the guests in the dining areas. 

Quickly she arrived at the scene, understanding immediately what had occurred, judging by the men’s reactions. “Hand him over, Centurion,” she ordered, he obliging her instantly. 

“Sorry?” Seokmin offered, as if he was the one who soiled his toga. That had the others laughing even more, which had him furrowing his brows. “You men are the worst!”

“After ruining Chan’s night with all our complaints, it is only fair that we turn to you!” Soonyong explained, as if that was perfectly reasonable. 

Seungkwan cackled darkly. “We really are each other’s worst enemy.”

Wonwoo somehow found that incredibly sentimental. “I would not have it any other way,” he said, slinging his arm around Chan, ushering the other three to join in. “After all, who knows us better?”

“You make a stellar point!” The eldest clasped onto Chan’s free side, poking him in the cheek. “I would not wish to befriend any other wretched bastard.”

“You do not possess the ability to make friends, Soonyoung,” Seungkwan pointed out. 

“Then what are we?” Seokmin demanded, offended, the last to join the group. 

“Comrades?”

“Colleagues?”

“People who have seen me naked?”

But it was Chan, who was quiet all this time, observing his older—usually irritating, sometimes diabolical, yet always beloved—superiors, there formed an answer which had been settled in his heart the moment he had found their company nearly a decade back.

“Brothers.”

The men surrounding him stilled, gawking at the centre of their group—the centre that was always the core of their brotherhood. Although there was ample opportunity to poke fun at the situation, they found no ground for such humiliation. They only watched as, in an almost comical image, four pairs of eyes softened at the boy who had grown right in front of them. 

Wonwoo ruffled the youngest’s mop of waves. “And you are the dearest out of us all.”

“And do not forget it,” Seungkwan said. “Even if we make you seem otherwise.”

Chan smiled at them all, face flushing at the amount of attention received. A comfortable silence fell over them, everyone pondering over different notions, reminiscing of their times together. 

Soonyoung, however, possibly still a little intoxicated, thought of a completely different opportunity—thoughts of the very near future. 

“Men,” he began, “I have a proposition.”

The soldiers perked up, about to brace themselves for a revolutionary idea.

“Who wants to spy on Jihoon and _____?”

There was a momentary pause. Chan, visibly horrified, whirled his head left and right, praying to the gods that his fellow brothers felt the same. 

“Go on, then.” 

And as the four eldest centurions shuffled to the nursery’s entrance, Chan scrambled for a solution, because he would have rather been Mark Antony’s prisoner than listen to his commander and his wife…solidify their reunion.

He sucked in a sharp breath. 

“Wait!” 

The men paused, looking over their shoulders. “What is it?”

That intake of breath was released in complete devastation. So much for calling these utter shits brothers. 

“How about we all drink? I shall…” A hard gulp. “I shall join you properly all this time.”

They could not believe it at first. Chan, however, trudged over to them, grabbing onto whatever shoulder was nearest. “I mean it.”

He swore his brothers seemed happier in that moment than they had been cradling Jihoon’s child. 

“Well, what are we waiting for?!” Soonyoung roared, already leaving the entrance. “Let us empty the coffers!” 

And as the five most powerful men in Rome ran to be utterly gone with alcohol, Chan could not help but huff out a laugh, and hoped he had done his primus pilus a favour. 

YOU HAD ALWAYS ADORED THE WAY YOUR HUSBAND SLEPT.

As one of the most esteemed, strongest generals ever walked on Roman soil, Lee Jihoon looked as vulnerable as your baby son as he lay next to you. His body rose and fell with every breath, his arm a strong comfort around you. 

You could not help the smile that slipped past your mouth, watching him rest so peacefully after two years. You loved every single inch of your husband, but these little pieces of him, offered to you on rare occasions—with the sun bleeding through the bedroom windows, cool air drifting inside, kissing your skin—were a treasure rarer than all the wealths of the empire. 

You dared not wake him, lest the moment ended, only allowing your fingers to stretch a little forward. Your fingertips caressed the small cuts, scars on his skin, wishing you could fill every crevice of his battle-worn face with your liquid love. 

How beautiful he was, with or without what his experiences added onto him. 

Perhaps he could feel the adoration radiating off of you, for he began to stir faintly, humming to your caresses. His arm around you pulled you closer, and you were mere inches from face. 

What fortune to be so close to him, because you witnessed his eyes flutter open. Dark, chocolate irises welcomed you, and you wished with your heart that you could dive into them, and be forever lost in their haze.

“Morning,” you uttered, smiling.

He offered a lazy one in return. “Morning, my love.”

You almost beamed. “I love it when you say that.” 

His brow raised absentmindedly. “What? Morning?”

You tutted. “I think you need to sleep some more.”

“Hmmm…” he nuzzled into your neck, closing his eyes. “I will if you sleep with me.”

“But I already am.”

He craned his head back, nestled in your chest. “I think you know what I mean, vita.”

Involuntarily, you caught your lower lip between your teeth, and by the look on Jihoon’s face, he had half a mind to copy your actions.

Perhaps you would have let him too, if you did not hear a suspicious sound.

You perked up, head turning towards the door, where the origins of the voice—voices, as you listened in—lay. Your husband, catching onto your change of countenance, stretched himself before sitting up straighter, eyes squinting at the door.

Grabbing onto your clothes, which lay unceremoniously on the floor, you half-dressed yourselves before you reached just before the entrance of the room. The voices were much louder, a sense of agitation filling each one.

The loudest of the noise, amongst all the bickering, was a soft wail.

“—you stupid prick, I told you not to feed it that!”

“Well how was I supposed to know what it likes?”

“I hope you and Seokmin never have children—”

“Gods, Jihoon is going to be raging mad—!”

“What it deserves for being called Cheol—!”

You did not get to hear the end of the discussion, for Jihoon grabbed onto the doorknob and burst open the door.

Shrieks were heard on the entrance, five centurions stumbling into your bedroom, one with a special, wailing package in his hand.

“By the gods!” your husband exclaimed, shaking his head at his subordinates, scrambling to stand straight. “What are you all doing, muttering about behind our door?”

“Uhh…general!” Wonwoo declared, earning a sharp hiss from his friends. “We actually…uhhh…” He looked at the others, confused. “What were we here for?”

Soonyoung, rubbing his temples, seethed, “Seungcheol, you idiot!”

“Ah, yes!” Wonwoo straightened, deepening his voice to pretend sobriety. “Seungcheol!” 

Seokmin’s eyes widened. “But Seungcheol died years ago!”

Seungkwan then smacked him around the head. “Not that Seungcheol, you fucking idiot!”

You are the fucking idiot, you ugly bastard!”

You glanced at Chan, whose focus only lay on the crying child. The one who held him looked as if he might burst into tears too, but you spoke up before you had any more crying children in the house. “Here, let me tend to him.”

The boy handed you your son, but you noticed he dared not look you in the eye. “Is something the matter?” you asked him softly.

Soonyoung scoffed at your question. “Silly little virgin has been shitting his toga ever since he heard you two fucking like rabid dogs.”

“Watch your filthy mouth,” your husband guttered, which had the scolded-man shrinking back behind Wonwoo.

Seokmin snickered, Seungkwan smirking as you glanced at the youngest. “Chan…” you trailed off, not really sure on what to say.

Thankfully, your husband seemed to have a solution. “Chan, please grow up,” he remarked, crossing his arms over his tousled clothing. “You were holding my child mere seconds ago.”

“He just needs to stick his cock into someone,” Seungkwan said, a bit too matter-of-factly.

“Or something,” added Seokmin, the honey wine clearly still talking.

You saw Chan physically recoil from the statement. “What did you even have in mind?” Wonwoo asked, nose scrunching in distaste. “Actually, I do not want to know.” 

“Sober up, the lot of you,” you said, unable to stay serious, despite the death glares Jihoon offered them. “I need you all to help me clean the place up today.”

Everyone unanimously groaned, causing the latter to get irritated. “If I hear a sound from you pathetic drunkards, then it’s 40 miles around the city.”

Soonyoung turned his head to you, clearly exasperated. “_____, did you bite his cock or something?”

“Soonyoung!” You gasped. 

“I need to lie down,” Wonwoo groaned, turning towards the door. “I shall be dunking myself in a well nearby.”

“Take Seokmin with you,” Seungkwan drawled, fixing his hair. “Maybe this time he will actually drown.”

“If I drown little man, I’m taking you with me,” the man snapped. 

“Chan, dear, please sort them out,” you requested, hearing him sigh.

“I shall try my best, my lady,” he mumbled, knowing that his best efforts will be in vain. 

As he began to leave, you called out his name. He looked back, and you smiled as you rocked Seungcheol in your arms. “You are his favourite, Chan.”

The revelation had his frown morphing into a small smile, bowing his head ever so slightly before turning to his centurions. “Let us give our general some privacy.”

Seokmin grumbled underneath his breath, following after Chan. “As if they had not had enough privacy…could have made another baby for all we know…”

Jihoon focused his gaze on Soonyoung and Seungkwan. “Remember. No fucking about or it’s 40 miles.”

The latter waved his hand, opening the door. “Yes, yes, we are aware.”

Soonyoung mocked a salute, adorning a most dramatic drawl. “Of course, your excellency, no doubt at all, your royal highness, please, do give us further idiotic orders to taunt us with, your magnanimous majesty!”

Jihoon’s glare did not waver. “Get out.”

“…right on, general.”

And so the last of the centurions were out, you standing at the door as they made to leave. Before they exited, though, they all simultaneously waved at you, some a bit too enthusiastically, others a soft gesture. 

“Ave, _____! Ave, general!”

And they left, laughing already with plans to bring more merriment into their lives.

Your husband joined you, leaning against the opposite door frame. “I have a feeling they’re going to drag poor Chan into some brothel.”

“I think the boy would pass out before that would take place,” you said, chuckling as you glanced down at your child. “At least he takes care of Cheol well.”

“Does he?“

“…better than the average soldier, then.”

“At least they had fun yesterday.” Jihoon took a step closer, observing his son giggling at his mother’s entertainment. “Though they test my patience everyday, they deserve all the reward.”

“Do not exclude yourself, my love,” you reminded him. “You did not enslave yourself to your armies to disregard yourself like that.”

“I do not exclude myself.” His hand reached out, holding Seungcheol’s little head. How strange, that his entire head could fit in his palm. “I am simply happy with what I have right now.”

He offered you a smile. “I am more than happy with you and my son beside me. I ask for nothing more.”

You returned his smile, heart bursting at the seams as he leaned in, enveloping your lips with his in a sweet kiss.

And as the two of you played with your son in the morning light of the Roman sun, you snuck glances at your husband, the light of the Empire. The Eagle of Rome.

Finally, your home was now complete.

[daphwritesworld]

#22 O. Batlle & #7 S. Paralluelo x Reader— MEDDLE ABOUT. (PART ONE)

(A/N: shoutout one of my Tumblr bestie's for pushing me to write this— WHEW!! this is very very self indulgent but idc. my page my rules lol)

content: American!reader, stripping in front of a crowd, mentions of past sexual encounters, drunk Barca girlies getting crazy at Alexia's house, sexual tension so thick everyone can notice, nothing too too steamy just yet

warnings: intoxication & alcohol use, beer pong ball to the forehead, mentions of secret hookups, public nudity, teasing banter among teammates, and I think that's it for now tehee

synopsis: What happens when you fall into bed with two of your new teammates, and swear on keeping them hidden from each other? Might be harder than you think…especially when they've been hooking up for years before you came into the picture. A team bonding night at Alexia's may be just what you all need to get on the same page.

word count: 4.2K

!! MINORS DNI!! 18+ CONTENT

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The sweltering heat of Barcelona beats down on your exposed skin as you step out of the car. You’ve been invited over to your new Captain’s place, a team pool party to break the ice and get to know the girls better. It’s been a flawless transition into the Spanish team aside from the language barrier. You’re learning Spanish and most of the girls know enough English to get through conversations. A light dusting of sweat starts to form on your palms, nerves settling in with each step you take closer to the door. You can already hear the music and mingled laughs pouring out of the backyard. The thoughts swirling in your head do a good job of distracting you, because you don’t even notice the body standing behind the glass door watching you approach. At least not until you reach for the handle and the door glides open before you can blink, a familiar voice filling your ears. 

“¡Hola niña bonita!” The blush can’t help but creep up to your cheeks under her gaze, rosy enough to blame on the heat if you needed to. (Hey pretty girl!)

Ona stands before you, wet hair slung to one side of her neck as a towel loosely hangs from her hips. Your eyes can’t help but follow the water droplets falling down her muscular form, toned stomach so perfect it looks like the Gods chiseled it straight from Tuscan Marble. 

“¿Cómo lo dices? Ehh my eyes are up here,” the smirk on her lips doesn’t go unnoticed. (How do you say?)

“I know,” you finally meet her gaze. “Can’t a girl enjoy the view?” 

She laughs at that, a hand coming up to grab your own as she drags you into the house. “Only if I get to return the favor.” 

The teasing tone behind her words lights a fire underneath you, a need to have her hands back on you growing by the minute. You should probably be using this time to get acquainted with different players— you’re familiar with Ona, comfortable even. Within a week of your arrival you found yourself falling into her bed, but I mean who could blame you? Too much Tequila after your Barca debt was maybe a bad idea in hindsight, but the hangover was so worth the orgasms. Ona had made a perfect pass to you not even 5 minutes out on the pitch, and you took full advantage. Not only did you make the winning goal, but secured the player of the match title as well. It was only fitting that your partner in crime celebrated the night with you. 

You pull out of her grasp and your hands go to the hem of your tank top, a smile gracing your lips as you slowly pull the piece of fabric off. Ona lets her lip fall between her teeth as she watches your little show, your shirt being thrown at her before you move to the shorts covering your bottom half. Goosebumps cover your skin as the air conditioned breeze glosses over your body as you expose it. Heavy eyes following your every move with ease, her hands quick to catch the discarded clothes thrown towards her chest. 

“Eres un problema,” she breathes out with a sigh. (You are trouble.)

“Yeah but you like it,” you start to lean into her body. 

She mirrors your movements, eyes trained on your lips as your face grows closer. You can feel her breath hitting your lips, breathing in the same air as you pause less than an inch away from her. “Come on,” it’s whispered so light Ona barely catches it. “¡Vamos a mojarnos!” And with that you pull away from her intoxicating presence, leaving her to collect her thoughts and sanity alone in Alexia’s living room. The tile beneath her feet is quick to become her new place of solace, a few breaths to steady her heartbeat and then she's out the door after you. Trying to play it cool like she isn’t losing her ever loving horny mind in front of her teammates. (Let’s go get wet!)

“Hola Y/N!” It’s echoed around the pool as you exit the sliding glass doors. You give a smile and a wave, moving around to give hugs and greet the girls as you try and find the cooler. God knows you need a drink after that foreplay inside the house. “Where are the drinks?” You ask your captain. Aside from your pussy making friends with a couple of your teammates, Alexia is one you’ve refrained from fucking so far. She’s been a mentor, a friend, and like a big sister these past few weeks. “Not even a hello? ¿Saludas a todos excepto a tu anfitriona? You Americans are rude!” (Do you greet everyone but the hostess?)

“Ale! Hi hello, now where is the cooler?” You give her your best innocent smile, a pout soon to follow when she still doesn't answer your question. “Over by Ingrid and Frido in the shade,” Alexia can never stay upset or annoyed at you too long. Maybe it’s because you're still new, but the Captain has a soft spot for you that you always play on to get your way. “Thank you! Beautiful home by the way, brick work is amazingly detailed!” you call out as you skip over towards the Europeans. 

You faintly hear the dramatic words spoken by Alexia as you carry about, “¡Ella actúa como si nunca hubiera estado aquí antes!” (She acts like she’s never been here before!)

“Beer me please,” you call out as you approach the girls. Ingrid has her nose in a book, trying to find some peace in the chaotic environment surrounding her. Fridolina is already in the cooler, pulling out a seltzer for herself. “Watch this one Frido, she gets crazy after 6.” Ingrid’s eyes are covered by her sunglasses, but she can’t hide the smile on her face as she says it. She and Mapi had roomed next to Ona that first night you let yourself fall under her spell….safe to say they’ve kept your extracurriculars a secret so far. 

“Don’t worry i’m on a 2 drink limit today, I drove myself here so I can’t get drunk sadly.” 

“Oh what a tragedy,’ Frido laughs as she opens your drink and hands it to you. “I car pooled so I’m limitless tonight. Now go mingle and get to know the younger players. You’re their age and always hang with the old heads– go make friends Y/N!” 

“You say that like you don’t enjoy my presence!” You fake a gasp as a hand goes to your heart, “I’m the life of the party and you know it Rolfö!” 

“Oh I know it, now go show them that!” 

You chug the first half of the beer, nerves settling as the alcohol hits your tongue. You look around the extravagant patio, trying to find where you’ll venture next. You ultimately settle on joining some of the girls in the pool as they start a volleyball game. You walk over before setting your beer down on the side of the pool, “Can I join?” 

“Por supuesto! We need someone to join Salma’s team so it works out perfectly,” Mapi happily agrees. (Of course!) 

Your eyes find said teammate through the net, her hair wrapped up in a bun to keep it out of the water. She’s already looking at you, well your body if we’re being specific. Eyes trained in on every detail of your skin she’s explored with her hands, lips, and tongue. Reminiscing as you make your way over to her side of the water. A hand comes up to help you steady yourself down into the pool, sliding down to linger around your waist as you find your footing. “Gracias,” you swiftly move around her frame to get into position. (Thank you.)

“En cualquier momento, hermoso,” Salma replies. She licks her lips for a second, having to use all her strength just to look away from you and focus on the game at hand. (Anytime, beautiful.)

“I hope you're ready to go down, abuela!” You call out to Mapi as you’re handed the ball to serve from Salma.

“Oh, bring it on chica!” She calls back at you. “La edad trae sabiduría!” (Age brings wisdom!)

“Yeah and brittle bones,” you snap back before raising your hand to serve.

Some of the girls around you laugh at the remark, Vicky too distracted repeating the joke to notice the ball heads straight past her. 

“1-0! ACE serve from Y/L/N!” You cheer out as your teammates exchange highfives.

“Did she mention she played all through school before switching to football?” Alexia says as she slips into the water on Mapi’s side. 

“CHEATER!!” Screams from the other side of the net call out as you stick your tongue out at them, your middle finger sliding up as well. 

“It’s called being multi-talented! You should try it some time,” you give a teasing smile as the words leave your mouth.

“Play nice, Y/N!” Is shouted from Ingrid as she joins the side of the pool, her legs dipping into the water as more players come over to watch the game.

“¡Ella no está acostumbrada a eso!” Mapi responds. (She isn’t used to that!)

“The Ref hates to see her coming,” Ona joins in on the banter.

“Nuestra propia Yellow Card Cutie,” Salma agrees. (Our own)

“Are you gonna keep smack talking or actually hit the ball?” You call out to the otherside of the net. “Losers pay for our next team dinner!”

“Tráelo, Y/L/N!” Patri finally gets in on the action. (Bring it)

Cata goes to serve it  for their side, your eyes anticipating where she’ll try and go. Just as the ball starts to come down in the air you call out to Clàudia, giving her a heads up to block on her side. The water splashes as she jumps up, hands making perfect contact with the ball as it bounces back down towards the other side of the net. Vicky tries to dive to save it, but she slips at the last second. She goes under the water as the ball smacks in the ripples she left behind. 

More cheers sound out as your side celebrates its early 2-0 lead. You turn to congratulate Salma, but she’s already behind you. You bump into her frame and she lets her hands find your waist again to help steady you. “Qué suerte tengo de tenerte en mi equipo, Star Girl,” it's whispered against your ear. Her lips ghosting along your neck as she pulls away. (How lucky I am to have you on my team)

You take a deep breath as you try and steady your heartbeat, body and mind betraying you in ways you wish they wouldn’t right now. You’re supposed to be acting discreet, keeping your flings underwraps– especially from each other. But at this rate you’re gonna be found out before you can even make it to beer number 2. Lord help you. 

“Stop flirting already and get your head in the game!” Pina lands a slap to the back of your head. 

“OW! I-I’m not flirting! It’s called sportsmanship!” You pout at the Spaniard, hand coming up to rub the spot she’d just whacked. 

“¡Pina!¡Sé amable con la novata!” Alexia calls out from across the pool, a motherly finger wagging in her direction. (Be nice to the newbie!)

“Yeah, be nice Clàudia!” You squint your eyes as you say it. 

“And you,” Alexia’s finger now turns towards your direction, “¡Deja de pensar con el coño!” (Stop thinking with your pussy!)

Your mouth falls open at the accusation…really on observation if we’re being honest…which we aren’t. “Ale!” 

“Close your mouth, chica,” Ona’s voice is closer than you remember. “No quiero que atrapes ninguna mosca.” (I don’t want you to catch any flies.)

You feel her touch before you see her, toned abs meeting your back as one of her hands comes up to close your mouth. She lets her fingers linger under your chin, her touch sending jolts of electricity through your nervous system. “Can Kika and I join?” 

“Of course!” You answer a little too fast and a little too eager. “The more the merrier right!” 

You make quick work of separating yourself from the sex on legs behind you, needing the space to get your head back on right. FUCK. Ona and Salma less than 5 feet away from you? This is actually your worst nightmare and ultimate fantasy all wrapped into one. Okay game time. No more accidental strip teases or too friendly of touches for the rest of the night….let's hope. 

— 

The game goes by quickly, your team dominating the match. Not to diminish the other girls' efforts…they got a whole 4 points during the 3 sets. Which is actually pretty good with you on the other side of the net against them. You're now 5 beer pong games deep, taking a win against every team so far. You and Patri teaming up was like the stars aligning just right for an unstoppable duo. Alexia had agreed to let you all stay the night after endless begging to turn the team bonding party into a sleepover, so now you’re well past your original 2 beer limit. With the freedom of your new abode you take the opportunity to have a few cups of the liquor being passed around– and of course it’s Tequila. You know what your national teammates say? Tequila makes Y/N’s clothes fall off. 

“¿Quién es el siguiente?” Patri announces as you two do a celebration dance against Esmee and Jana. (Who is next?)

“¡Tu reinado de terror está a punto de terminar!” Has the hair on the back of your next standing up. (Your reign of terror is about to end!)

You turn around quicker than you’d like, losing your balance as Patri’s quick to help you stay upright. It’s Salma and Ona, water still dripping from their bodies as the setting sun casts a sparkle from the light catching them just right. “¿A menos que tengas miedo?” Ona’s quick to jump in with Salma’s teasing. (Unless you’re scared?)

You recover quickly, attitude a natural reflex you can’t quite seem to tame. “Of you two?” You can’t hold back the laugh that dances past your lips, “Nunca.” (Never.)

“Ohhh,” Patri’s already resetting the cups on the table. “¡Tiene algo de fuego en ella!” (She’s got some fire in her!) 

The two girls across from you smirk at that, sharing a look before mirroring each other’s words. “No tienes idea,” and then they’re taking their spots. Leaving you to ponder what the hell they’re playing at. (You have no idea.)

“¡Apresúrate!” Patri calls for you. (Hurry up!)

It snaps you out of your daze, walking back over to your side of the table. The red cups in front of you become a million times smaller with two girls you can’t seem to stop spreading your legs for placed behind them. It has you glancing anywhere but in their direction, alcohol already clouding your judgement and reservations. 

“Winners first,” Ona calls out across the table. 

You pick up the small hot pink ball, dipping it into a cup of water before taking your stance. You take a deep breath, settling in on the middle cup and letting it fly as you exhale. It sinks into the desired cup and you jump up as you throw your arms in the air. “All air, no cup!” You cheer around Patri as she takes your previous spot. Your partying is put to an end when she misses her shot, a pout quick to reach your face as Salma chases after the neon green ball of Patri’s. “Drink up ladies, I still sunk mine!” 

“Oh it’s on now!” Ona calls out, a smile so big you’d think she’d just won the lottery. 

“Don’t be so cocky,” you roll your eyes. “It’s not a good look on you.” Yeah you are LYING straight through your teeth. In fact it might be the hottest she’s ever looked– but you’d never admit that out loud. Especially not when the sight of the two girls in front of you taking a swig from their cups has your legs ready to buckle. 

She cocks her head at that, a reply on the tip of her tongue as she contemplates saying it aloud. Ona decides on a quick shake of her head, a small smirk working its way onto her lips as she picks up the ball you’d thrown. Salma approaches the table as Ona throws her ball, sinking the same one you’d done to them. You groan at that, hand already lifting your cup to your lips for an unmeasured shot. It was honestly more like 3, but you’re so far gone at this point you can’t be trusted to know. “Oh, what was it you said? All air, no cup, right?” 

You can’t help the rush between your legs as you take in her confidence, thighs slightly squeezing together as you try and be discreet. You hope she doesn’t notice, but of course she does…along with her partner next to her.They once again exchange a look between each other– speaking without needing words. God you wish you knew what the fuck they were saying. Nerves filter into your system, palms starting to sweat as Salma takes her place for her turn. You take this time to stretch, arms going up above your head as you let the stress of the day leave your shoulders…you may also arch your back a little, a pretty sigh leaving your lips with your tits on display as you bat your eyelashes at the Spaniard across from you. 

It seems to work, too. Because her ball goes bouncing off the seam of two cups, a frustrated look shot your way in the process. You match her frustration with a sly smile, sliding into position as you reach for your lucky ball. “Losers have to jump naked in the pool,” you say before tossing your shot– sinking it in the front cup. Your opponents flash you a look you can’t quite place, but agree nevertheless.  

The energy seems charged since your offer– tension so thick in the air you could choke on it. Within minutes both teams are down to their final cup, your heart about to beat out of your chest. “Come on, Patri!” Pina shouts from the sidelines. The other girls crowd around the chaotic scene unfolding, cheering for different sides as the balls keep flying– one missing after the other. It’s like you’ve all lost your groove at the final moment, furrowed brows and curse words slipping from your lips. 

You take your place once more, taking in a deep breath before attempting to finally end this…and see two majorly hot women skinny dip. That’s a pretty good fucking motivator if you ask me. You use all your strength to focus, eyes lasered in on the single cup across from you. Your arm bends back, and just as you go to throw it? You catch the women across from you subtly flexing, muscles slightly bulging as you get lost in the ripples of their forearms. The ball flies straight into Alexia’s face, nowhere near the table and causing even more chaos to unfold around you. 

Your hands go to cover your dropped open mouth, feet moving as you run over to apologize. “Oh my god! Capi, I'm sorry!” Your face is beet red from embarrassment. “¡Lo siento mucho, Ale!” (I’m so sorry!) 

She’s dramatically holding the spot on her forehead, a permanent scowl stuck on her face as she rubs her head. “¡Te dije que dejaras de pensar con el coño!” You smack her on the arm, a pout appearing on your face as you deny the allegations being hurled your way. “Now look what you’ve done!”  (I told you to stop thinking with your pussy!)

She jabs a finger into your chest, “¡Probablemente tengo una conmoción cerebral! (I probably have a concussion!)

You roll your eyes at that, eyes narrowing in on the tiny red spot present. “Oh, don’t be ridiculous!” You flick the spot with a finger of your own, “¡No hay ni una sola marca!” (There is hardly a mark!)

She pushes you away from her and back towards the table, “¡Estoy cambiando de equipo!” (I’m changing teams!)

You fake a gasp at her declaration, the back of your hand going to rest on your own forehead as you play up the act. “Oh no! How will I ever survive!” 

The girls around you laugh at that, already used to Alexia’s dramatic antics. You make your way back over to the table, Ona having already retrieved the ball in the midst of all the commotion. Patri misses her shot, a mix of boos and cheers sounding out from the peanut gallery. A frustrated noise finds its way out of your mouth, head thrown back as you send up a prayer. Salma is first to throw this time, mixing up the sequence to see if it’ll shake things up. You bite your bottom lip, anticipation enough to make your head spin. Her arm comes up, hand comes back, and she locks eyes with you. She doesn’t even look at the cup, sinking it while a smirk appears on her lips. They don’t even take the time to celebrate, Ona already lining up to finish the game off. 

Her muscles bulge as she takes her stance, tongue peeking out of the corner of her mouth as she concentrates on the task at hand. She makes quick work of it, making the same cup as her partner mere seconds before her. The girls around you jump up as they explode from the fiery finish, a drunk Aitana screaming out about taking more shots. 

“Las perdedoras pueden decidir,” Salma says. “Shots before or after?” (The losers can decide.)

You instantly know what she means, heat rushing to your face as the realisation dawns on you…DAMMIT. You just had to up the stakes with skinny dipping, didn’t you?! But momma didn’t raise no bitch, so with a sigh and a shake of your head you reach for the half empty Tequila bottle.  “Bottoms up bitches!” You yell out before turning the glass back, so much alcohol already in your system it doesn’t even burn anymore, it’s more like juice now. The cheers surrounding you only fuel the fire, and when the bottle comes down from your lips you’re instantly yelling for someone to put on some music. If they want a show they’re sure as hell gonna get one.

Irene is the one to move first, drunk hands stumbling with Alexia’s ipad hooked up to the speakers littering the patio. “¡Lo rompes y luego lo compras!” Ale calls out from the couch. (You break it then you buy it!)

The blonde defender doesn’t even have a chance to reply before music is blasting out to cover the small talk going around. The familiar chords of Carlos Sanatna floating through the air has your body reacting on instinct. Your hips start to sway to the beat, arms coming up over your head as you let them slowly fall down to start caressing your body. Your hands stop around your neck for a second, fingers untying the bikini string before they continue their journey down. The screams and claps of your fellow teammates only makes you grow more confident as the fabric falls down your chest to expose your tits to the girls around you. It’s not cold but chilly enough to make your nipples harden when the nighttime breeze brushes against them, the string around your midsection still keeping it from fully leaving your frame. You do a slow spin to face towards Ona and Salma, hips still swaying as your fingers slip into the hem of your bottoms as you tease them down, then up, then back down again. It’s enough to get some of the girls to look away from the sheer promiscuity of it all, mouths dropping open accompanied with widened eyes to match. They’ve seen their fair share of crazy shit in their days, but never from a fellow teammate. In the club? Plenty of times. Hell even fans on the street have flashes them a few times, but for one of their own to be the center of all this attention? It’s never been done before, at least not to this extreme. They dance dirty, they’ve participated in shit they’d die if it ever got leaked– but holy fuck. You’re really giving them a strip tease that would even make the most seasoned freak blush, and it’s exhilarating– not just for them but for you, too. 

You’ve always been more on the wild side, your national teammates already knowing too well of your antics. But never on a club level have you truly felt so free and involved. They truly see you as part of the team– no, a family. They dont judge you or give you any reason to feel insecure. You were a rising star back in the states, but with the added support and love from your new team? You’ve been excelling in ways no one expected. That alone has your confidence high enough to feel this free around them…and the liquor definitely helps.

Your national teammates might be onto something…Tequila really does make your clothes fall off. 

[steponupbabe]

Why Try? | Kwon Jiyong

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Summary: y/n and jiyong are in a toxic relationship. and even though all jiyong does is bring y/n down, she can’t seem to leave.

warnings: foul language, angst, asshole! jiyong, toxic behaviors, cheating, smoking and drinking.

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You really don’t know how this argument started, but then again, you never really know how any of yours and jiyong’s arguments start. Your voice was raw from screaming, your head pounding from crying, and your face blank as jiyong paces up and down the living room of your shared loft. it was now currently 3:00 in the morning and you two have been arguing for hours not really seeming to get anywhere, and going completely off topic from what started argument.

You were sitting on the couch across from jiyong, who was now sitting on the opposite side of the room, jaw clenched and his hand underneath his chin, staring at the wall like it was the most interesting thing.

you sigh, voice shaky from nerves. “jiyong, please.” you say softly “i’m tired, its late, can we just forget about this and go to sleep?” you couldn’t stand another minute of silence and you were so exhausted you didn’t even care that you were mad anymore. and from the look on jiyongs face you didn’t think he cared either. he looks at you, taking his gaze off the wall, eyes red and droopy with sleep. he sighs deeply, standing up and walking over to you reaching his hand out for you to take. you look up at him sadly, taking his hand and standing up.

jiyong pulls you into him, hands hugging your waist and kissing the side of your head. “i’m sorry jagiya. whatever i did to make you feel upset i’ll work on. i’m so sorry. let’s go to sleep.” he says softly while walking you to your shared bedroom. you both lie in bed, pretending like you didn’t just have one of your worst arguments yet, clinging to each other like the other would disappear. you both fell asleep quickly, the sound of jiyongs heart beating calming you down rather quickly.

and for a while, things were normal. jiyong was finally changing, he was working on himself , barley any fights, no more feeling like you were alone. you were happy.

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jiyong finished the night of his first show on tour, the club was hectic, loud music, bright flashing lights, drinks being passed around like it was going out of style. you were enjoying yourself, you and jiyong in a booth in the corner of the club with all your closest friends. you were talking with hyorin, sipping on some fruity drink, joking, singing, laughing and enjoying yourself for what felt like the first in a long time. jiyong had left the booth 30 minutes ago but you payed it no mind. you wanted him to enjoy himself aswell. as you were laughing with hyorin when something, someome, caught your eye.

you thought your mind was playing tricks on you at first. it was jiyong and some girl, who looked familiar but you couldn’t quite pin point who it was. they were flirting, the girls arms wrapped around jiyongs neck, and jiyong just smiling and laughing about something she just said. you could feel your whole body go numb. it suddenly felt hot, the room started to spin and your clothes felt too tight on your body.

your whole face fell to the floor, hyorin noticed. “is everything okay, y/n?” you snap out of the daze you were in, plastering on the best smile you could. “yes, i’m fine! i just, im getting a little tired so i think im gonna go. if jiyong asks tell him i wasn’t feeling well.” you say trying your best to sound believable. hyorins frowns slightly, concern written all over her face. “do you want me to tell youngbae or daesung to drive you home? or i could drop you off?” you smile at your friend, her concern making you feel just the smallest bit better. you stand up from the small table gathering your things ready to leave. “no, no, no! i’m fine i don’t want to ruin anyone’s fun. i’m okay i promise. enjoy rest of the night.” you say waving goodbye to your friend.

as you walk to the car you can’t help the tears that start to fall. he said he would change. he was changing, he was doing so good. he hadn’t hurt you in so long, you thought he was finally doing better. but you we’re proven wrong once again. you don’t know why you still stayed. this wasn’t the first time Jiyongs done something like this. and then he tells you he’ll stop, he’ll change, he only loves you. and you fall for it. every. single. time

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you don’t even know what time it was. as soon as you got home you changed into one of jiyongs t-shirts and a pair of shorts and went straight to sleep, you couldn’t handle thinking about Jiyong and the girl any longer. you were awoken to the door being slammed shut. you didn’t move from your place in bed, to hurt and tired to even see if it was Jiyong or not.

you heard footsteps making their way towards the room. stumbling into the room and on the bed jiyong speaks up. “why did you leave so fast? i wanted my girl with me and you left me alone.” he says coming up behind you trying to hug you, his words slurred from being drunk and tired. “you didn’t look alone to me.” you say quietly, vemon dripping with every word.

Jiyong is confused for a second, but than he remembered the girl. the backup dancer that was flirting with him, touching him. he didn’t do anything besides kiss her. he didn’t even like her. she was just there. he only loved you. “jagi i didn’t even do anything with her. we were just talking, that’s all.” you turn around, facing him now. eyes filled with hurt and puffy from crying.

“jiyong how many times are you going to tell me that?, huh? how many girls are you gonna flirt with, touch, do God knows what else with and then just go and say it’s ‘nothing’. i’m sick and tired of your lies and your bullshit.” you can’t do it anymore. your tired of repeating the same cycle over and over again. you start to raise your voice slightly, tears forming in your eyes once again.

“all i do is love you and care for you, and you don’t have the fucking human decency to not cheat? Jiyong i can’t anymore. i’m exhausted.” you sigh, letting the tears slip from your eyes once again. Jiyong stares at you, jaw clenching and eyes glossy. “Y/n nothing happened! I don’t like her, i don’t want her! shes nothing to me, okay? i love you so much. i don’t wanna hurt you.” he says, sounding all to convincing, but you know it’s bullshit. maybe he does love you, maybe he really does only want you. but his actions say otherwise.

you get out of the bed, head spinning and tears blurring your vision. you start getting dressed, not saying a word scrambling to find your other shoe as jiyong looks at you with hurt and confusion. “Jagi, what are you doing?” you swallow the lump in your throat, looking jiyong in the eyes. “i need to get out for a little. clear my head.” throwing on a jacket grabbing your purse and phone, walking out of the room, Jiyong follows you out of the room stand by your side. “Y/n it’s 3:00 in the morning and it’s raining, where are you gonna go? please just stay home.” Jiyong tries to convince you to stay but you can’t. you need to clear your head. you don’t say anything else as you walk out the door and slam it shut. Jiyong just stares at the door, jaw clenched running a hand through his hair. cursing himself and pacing around the room.

You get to your car, starting it up not waiting for it to heat up. you drive for what feels like hours, sobbing, hitting the steering wheel while music plays softly in the background. you park your car in a fast food parking lot, drinking water to calm your nerves. you were in no rush to get back home to Jiyong, knowing that he did God only knows what with another woman for what felt like the millionth time. you were staring out the window tears streaming down your face when your phone dinged, a text from jiyong.

Ji🖤:

i’m sorry baby, please come home. i love you so much. your my everything. ❤️

you stare at the text message blankly, debating whether to respond or not, tears still streaming down your face.

Y/n💗:

be home in 30.

You cursed yourself as you responded to Jiyong, throwing the phone down into the center console. you start the car up again and make your way home. because even though he hurt you, you couldn’t leave. your love overpowered any other feeling or voice in your head telling you to leave. he was everything to you. even though he continues to hurt you over and over again, he was all you had. your first everything. you couldn’t leave him. and who knows, maybe this time he really will change.

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Authors note: ahhhh!!! first ever angst fic🥹 this was so fun to write and i hope you all enjoy it! 💗

Also let me know if you want to be added to my taglist!💗💗

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[heavenlybodies333]

Under Investigation -S.R

Spencer Reid x Hotch’s daughter!reader

The walls of the interrogation room were cold and concrete grey, but it was your silence that chilled the air more than anything else.

You sat slouched in the metal chair like it bored you—legs crossed, tongue pressing the inside of your cheek as you ignored the subtle panic crawling beneath your skin. You knew your father was behind the mirrored glass. You could feelhis eyes boring through the reflection, trying to will the truth out of you without stepping foot in the room himself.

Too bad he couldn’t.

“Come on, sweetheart,” Emily coaxed gently, seated across from you, her tone all soft concern and trained sympathy. “We just need to know if you’ve seen anything. Heard anything. The last girl was found not even two blocks from your sorority house.”

“I already told you,” you said flatly, eyes locked on the glass. “I didn’t see anything.”

Emily hesitated. “We have reason to believe you were at the Alpha Sigma party last Friday.”

You smirked. “Well then. Guess that solves your mystery, doesn’t it?”

JJ came in second, and that was your cue to start lying.Her warmth was different—maternal. Sweet. Manipulative in a way that worked on suspects who didn’t grow up having SSA Aaron Hotchner for a father. You met her gaze with that same cold stubbornness you inherited from him.

“No, I didn’t go to that party,” you said.

“No, I didn’t know any of those girls.”

“No, I haven’t seen anything suspicious.”

Your lies weren’t even good. You didn’t want them to be. You just wanted him to see you lying.

JJ’s face barely faltered, but behind the glass, your father was cracking.

“She’s lying straight to your face,” he snapped at no one in particular. “I told you—she knows something.”

“She’s just trying to get a rise out of you,” Rossi said dryly.

Hotch ran a hand through his hair. “Send Reid in.”

Morgan frowned. “You sure? He’s—”

“I said send him in.”

Your heart hiccuped. You didn’t show it. But when the door opened again, and Spencer stepped through with that jaw locked tight, tie loose around his throat and fury barely restrained behind his eyes, something twisted in your stomach. A slow, deliberate ache.

JJ paused as he passed her. He leaned down and whispered something low in her ear, and her brow furrowed before she nodded once and exited.

“So this is the part where you try to emotionally manipulate me into cooperating?” you said coolly. “What is it? You going to tell me I’m better than this? That I should help because girls are dying?”

“Oh, spare me the helpless victim bullshit. You’re a liar.” he said.

That got your attention. Your head snapped toward him. “Excuse me?”

“You heard me,” Spencer replied, voice low but simmering with restraint. “You’re sitting in here playing games while we have three dead girls, and another one might not make it through the night. You think this is about you and me?”

“Don’t you fucking start—”

“You’re mad. I get it,” he cut in sharply, taking a step forward. “You’re pissed off. You think threatening to blow it all up makes you powerful? Makes you untouchable?”

You stared him down. “I think it makes you scared.”

Spencer’s mouth twitched, not in amusement—more like something between frustration and hunger. His voice dropped an octave. “I’m not scared of you.”

“No?” you leaned back in your chair, crossing your legs, your skirt sliding just an inch higher. “You sure about that? You looked pretty fucking scared the last time you begged me to keep quiet. Whispered how much you’d miss me while you were still inside me.”

His jaw tightened. His nostrils flared. You knew what buttons to press.

“Watch it,” he warned, voice barely a whisper now. “Your dad’s ten feet away.”

“Yeah,” you said, tilting your head toward the mirror, a vicious glint in your eye. “Wonder what he’d think if he knew the reason you wouldn’t let me go to that party last week had nothing to do with safety, and everything to do with the fact that you were jealous.”

Reid moved so fast it startled you. He slammed both hands on the table, leaning in close, forcing you back just slightly with the sudden crack of fury in his gaze.

His voice was calm. Deadly calm. “You’re not going to self-destruct your way through this just because I didn’t let you ruin my fucking life,” he said, teeth clenched. “You want to pretend this is all just some messy fling? Fine. But you don’t get to lie about what you know. Not when people are dying. You want to punish me? Do it later. Right now, we’re going to talk about the party. About the guy who wouldn’t leave you alone. About what you saw.”

“So what you came in here to psychoanalyze me, Dr. Reid?”

“I’m here because your father’s about five seconds from putting his fist through a federal wall,” he replied smoothly, finally stepping forward, the table now the only thing separating you. “And you're playing games while five girls are dead.”

You shrugged. “I’m not playing anything.”

“You’re lying.”

“Prove it.”

“Okay,” he snapped, voice raising for the first time, the heat beneath it barely restrained. “You want me to list the inconsistencies? You said you weren’t at the party, but your name is in three group texts sent that night from the house. Your roommate placed you on Greek Row. You weren’t home until four in the morning.”

“I was with someone,” you said flatly, folding your arms.

He stepped closer.

“Who?”

Your lips twisted up. “Why do you care? Afraid someone else might’ve fucked me that night?”

He flinched—visibly flinched—and your heart squeezed just a little because it wasn’t just anger in his eyes now. It was pain. Jealousy. That raw, unfiltered thing he’d always tried so hard to hide with logic and statistics and lectures about boundaries.

You leaned forward on your elbows, voice low and mocking.

“Stop,” he said, jaw tight, hand splayed on the table like he needed something to anchor him.

“No,” you whispered, “you stop. Stop pretending like this is just about the case. You hate that I’m being questioned, sure. But what’s really got you pissed off is the idea that I might’ve gone home with someone else after you pushed me away.”

He stared at you, breathing hard.

The door creaks open behind him, and you instinctively glance over Spencer’s shoulder—JJ slips in quickly, shutting the door just as softly behind her. She moves, leaning in close to whisper something into Spencer’s ear just as he’s about to re-enter.

“He said go ahead,” JJ murmurs low. “Push her. Whatever it takes—he won’t step in.”

Spencer goes still. JJ's voice drops even lower. “But Spence… she’s gonna cry. You know that, right? She always does when it’s about him.”

Whatever she said to him, it was too quiet for you to hear but Spencer doesn’t nod. Doesn’t speak. He just blinks slowly, jaw tightening before he exhales through his nose. JJ squeezes his forearm once—sympathetic and then slips out.

He turned, taking slow and deliberate steps that made you shrink back in your seat even as your eyes followed him.

You looked up from your seat at the table, head tilting, expression soft and uncertain. “Spencer?”

“You’ve been lying since the minute we walked onto that campus. Hiding things. Avoiding questions. Manipulating people who care about you.” His voice climbs now, sharp and fast, emotions pushing to the surface.

You shake your head, swallowing hard, but your chin betrays you—quivering as your hands tighten into fists in your lap.

You blink quickly. “I—I’m not—”

“Yes. You are.” He slams his hand on the table and you jolt. “Jesus, you’re so used to getting away with it, aren’t you? Using that last name like a shield. Using your tears like a weapon. You cry and everyone backs off. They feel bad. They think you’re just a kid. But you’re not and acting like it’s your daddy’s job to fix everything for you.”

Your mouth opens, but nothing comes out. He cuts you off anyway.

"You're spiraling, and you know it. But you’re too much of a coward to admit why. So you act out. You play dress-up in pain, hoping someone will finally notice. But the truth is—" he leans in closer, voice rising now, sharp and scalding, "—you’re just another spoiled little girl who never learned how to cope without making herself the victim in every story."

"Shut up," you whisper, but it's already happening—the tears start streaming down your face one by one, each faster than the other.

“And there it is,” he said, gesturing toward you. “There’s the beginning of it. Go on. Cry. That’s what you do, right? You cry, and suddenly no one’s allowed to hold you accountable.”

Your breath hitched as your eyes welled. “Fuck you,” you whispered, voice cracking.

His voice is vicious now, cold and exacting. "Cry because you're scared. Cry because you know you're lying to yourself. Cry because you fucked this up the second you started lying to me, to your father, to Emily and JJ.”

Tears spilled hot over your cheeks, and you tried to wipe them fast, but he was relentless.

“You think I wanted to be the one to do this? To sit across from you and pick you apart until you break?”

Your shoulders shook, your breathing ragged and uneven. You opened your mouth, but the words got caught in the sobs.

“Answer me!” he demanded. “You think this is easy for me?”

“STOP IT!” you screamed, fists pounding the table. Your head dropped, face in your hands. You were crying like a child—heaving sobs, shameful and loud, the kind you couldn’t stop if you tried.

“I didn’t know he’d do that,” you whimpered. “But it feels like it’s my fault. She’s dead because of me.”

You didn’t even lift your head. You just recited it through the sobs like a confession.

You were shaking, hiccupping your way through the words. “I made him mad and now she’s dead and it’s my fault. It’s my fault!”

“Name.”

“Jake! Jake Weller, he’s a senior at Georgetown law, he—he lives on campus—we only went out once. H-his number’s in my phone, I’ll give it to you, I swear—”

Before you could finish, the door swung open again. Your father stood there, grim-faced, lips tight. You turned your face away in shame, still sobbing uncontrollably.

“Spencer,” Hotch said, his voice calm but steely. “That’s enough.”

You heard the sharp steps from his polished shoes towards you as his warm, safe hands stood you up slowly. You turned and buried yourself into him without a word, your hands clinging to his blazer like it was the only thing keeping you from collapsing. He didn’t let you go. Didn’t tell you the truth either—you just let him wrap his arms around you as you cried into his chest.

Spencer stood in the corner, watching your father hold you, knowing you didn’t yet realize that he had ordered the whole thing. That Spencer had become your executioner not because he wanted to—but because Hotch had asked him to be.

When Hotch walked you out of the room, you couldn’t look at Spencer.

And he didn’t look at you, either.

Later that night, the walls of Spencer’s apartment weren’t concrete grey. They weren’t government-issued, sterile, or cold.

But they might as well have been, the way you felt standing inside them—arms crossed, heart slamming in your chest like it didn’t know whether to break or explode.

You hadn’t knocked. You’d used the key. The one he didn’t even realize you’d never given back.

Spencer looked up from the couch, startled at first, then guarded the second he saw your face. His book was open in his lap, untouched. He didn’t move.

“I didn’t know you still had that,” he said softly.

You ignored him. Walked straight into his living room like it didn’t hurt to be here. Like you hadn’t spent the last two hours in your bedroom trying to scream your lungs out into your pillow.

“You don’t get to sit there and act like you didn’t just psychologically nuke me in front of half the BAU.”

Spencer exhaled slowly through his nose. “You told them what they needed to know.”

“Oh, fuck you,” you hissed, storming forward, jabbing your finger into his chest. “You told me what you needed me to say. You tore me apart like I was a suspect. You humiliated me. You watched me fall apart on purpose and then—what—just left me there?”

“I didn’t have a choice—”

“You always have a choice.” Your voice was rising now, heat climbing up your neck, your hands trembling even as you shoved him hard in the chest. “You chose to do it. You chose to hurt me.”

He grabbed your wrists before you could shove him again, but gently—his grip tight enough to stop you, not to bruise.

“You think I wanted to do that?” he asked, voice low, chest heaving now to match yours. “You think I liked watching you cry like that? Listening to you blame yourself for something that wasn’t your fault?”

“I don’t care what you liked,” you said bitterly, shaking your arms free, backing away. “You betrayed me.”

“I did what your father asked,” he snapped, the words out before he could stop them.

You froze. Your chest rose and fell in silence. “He what?”

Spencer closed his eyes. Regret bloomed instantly across his features, but it was too late.

He asked me to—” He faltered, voice catching, running a hand through his hair like it physically pained him. “He said if anyone could push you to admit it, it was me.”

You stared at him like he’d hit you. “So you volunteered to be the one to ruin me?”

“I didn’t volunteer,” he said, stepping forward. “I begged him not to make me. I told him I couldn’t—”

“But you did.” Your voice cracked. “You walked into that room, looked me in the eye, and did it anyway.”

His jaw tightened, and something sharp flickered in his gaze now—defensiveness, self-hatred, guilt. “Because I knew you wouldn’t break for anyone else. Because you don’t trust anyone the way you trust me.”

Your vision blurred again. “Not anymore.”

He moved before you could finish the question. Closed the space between you in three short steps, fingers brushing your cheek like he wasn’t sure you’d let him. When you didn’t flinch, he let his hand settle there, thumb stroking just under your eye.

The silence between you hung heavy—until you surged forward and shoved him again, hard.

He stumbled back a step, breath catching as your hands fisted in his shirt.

“You broke my fucking heart,” you hissed.

“I know,” he breathed, lips barely an inch from yours.

“I hate you.”

“I know.”

His hands cradled your face, fingers slipping into your hair as his mouth found yours with bruising pressure, tasting salt on your lips from tears that hadn’t dried. You whimpered into him, hating how much it calmed you. How fast it shattered you again.

You tugged at the hem of his sweater and he let you, breathing hard, heart pounding. But when your fingers dipped under his waistband and your lips ghosted over his jaw, he paused.

“Are you sure?” he asked hoarsely. “You’re not okay. I don’t want to—”

You closed the distance between you before he could say a word, grabbing his shirt and pulling him into you, mouth crashing to his with more anger than grace. “Don’t make me beg,” you snapped, biting his lower lip. “You owe me this.”

He lifted you with a strength that surprised you both, your legs wrapping around his waist instinctively as he slammed you up against the nearest wall, lips devouring yours like a man starving. Your skirt rode up higher, and his hands were everywhere—spanning your hips, gripping your ass, fingers sliding beneath lace and heat like he’d been dreaming of this exact moment every night since the last time.

You moaned into his mouth and it was involuntary—embarrassingly needy, like you’d been waiting for permission to fall apart. His hand fisted in your hair and he tugged your head back just enough to bite your neck.

Your hips were rolling into his now, frantic and slow and unforgiving, and you could feel just how hard he was beneath you.

You shoved him toward the couch, and he took the hint, sitting down as you straddled his lap in one furious motion. His hands settled on your thighs, thumbs pressing bruises into your skin like he couldn’t trust this to be real.

You reached between you, guiding him inside in one slow, cruel thrust—both of you moaning at the contact, the stretch, the way he filled you like you’d been aching for it since the moment you stormed into that room.

Spencer held on like a man about to drown. “I’m sorry,” he panted, his head falling back against the cushions as he watched you bounce on his cock, lip bitten raw. “I’m sorry. I’m sorry. I’m so fucking sorry—”

You slapped a hand over his mouth. “Don’t talk,” you breathed. “Just make me forget.”

He groaned into your palm, hips rising to meet every drag of your body, his eyes wild and glassy with emotion. Your name left his throat in broken syllables as your walls clenched around him, tears still clinging to your lashes.

You tightened around him on purpose, watching his jaw snap shut. “Fuck. You made me feel like I was nothing.”

He wrapped his arms around you, panting now, desperate. “You’re everything.”

You slammed your hips down harder. “You made me cry.”

His head fell forward to your shoulder. “I know. God, I know.”

And then—his voice cracked.

“I loved you.”

You stilled.

“What?” you breathed, voice suddenly too soft for what this moment was supposed to be.

“I loved you,” he repeated, barely able to say it. “I tried to stop because I thought it would protect you. But it didn’t. It just made it worse.”

Your chest tightened. “Say it again.”

He looked up at you—eyes glassy, lips parted.

“I love you.”

The tears came again—but not the ugly, choking sobs from the interrogation room. These were quieter. Slower. They slipped down your cheeks as you moved again, slower now, your bodies finally syncing in rhythm, no longer just about punishment or guilt.

“I love you too,” you whispered.

a/n: clearly therapy isn’t working lmao

⋆•★⋆ MASTERLIST ⋆★•⋆

[wosospacegirl]

Tornarem - Kika Nazareth

Summary: little bit of reader and kika after the loss at the UEFA

Word count: 1.1k

a/n: this was a request. also, last writing about the uefa champions league!

..

The taste of defeat was bitter. It stuck to your mouth, coating your palate and teeth as you swirled your tongue against your canine, biting down hard, trying to make yourself bleed, hoping that the taste of iron would ground you. But it didn't.

You watched as Arsenal players ran around the pitch, happiness shining on their faces while their fans chanted their club songs in triumphant chorus.

You were walking, not sure where. To your right, Aitana sat on the grass, head in her hands. To your left, Alexia was consoling some of the younger players, her captain's armband still wrapped around her bicep.

You were caught in between.

You weren't one of the older players, so you didn't need to pull on a brave face and show everyone that it would all be better, that you would come back stronger next season. You also weren't one of the younger ones, so you couldn't cry and hide your face against somebody's neck, seeking comfort in their embrace.

You were in between. Completely hopeless. Completely helpless.

You have had your fair share of losses with Barcelona, but this one was agonizing. The team had made such a good season, played such powerful and well-executed games. You weren't sure where it all went wrong.

Well, you could pinpoint some things. How you wasted the chance to shoot when Alexia made that perfect pass to you. You weren't fast enough, and Caitlin–or was it McCabe?--was on you before you could react. You didn't remember anymore. It was all a blur.

You were seeing in a blur too, though you didn't know why. Maybe it was tears. Yeah, definitely tears. Good. Now you were trophyless and completely pathetic.

You didn't see a problem with people crying, you only had a problem with yourself. You didn't want to cry, didn't think you were deserving of tears. You were able to play, you were fit, different from some of your teammates who couldn't play even if they wanted to. You had the opportunity, and you wasted it. Completely threw it in the trash.

Not only were you sad, but you were also worried. You were the second-best club in Europe, of course, the silver medal choking your neck showed that. But this wasn't enough for the club, for the institution of Barcelona. Would they send you on loan? Would they just wait for your contract to expire so they could send you away?

Your hands were shaking, feeling overwhelmed by everything, but you felt like your world was really collapsing when you saw Kika crying.

Maybe there was something worse than losing a Champions final after all. Seeing Kika cry broke you completely.

You two weren't dating, but you weren't just teammates either. Calling yourselves friends seemed... wrong. There was something more, something undefined that hung between you.

Carla was hugging her, Kika hiding her face against her shoulder. You didn't think…you walked straight to them, wrapping your arms around Kika and pulling her gently into your body. You nodded to Carla, who moved to comfort Vicky instead.

"I'm sorry, Kikinha," you said, feeling her tears against your jersey. "We said we would make you proud. I'm sorry."

Disappointment was a weight on your back, a burden you carried to the locker room with your arm wrapped around Kika's shoulder as the Barcelona girls made their way off the pitch, hearing Arsenal sing "We Are The Champions" in the distance.

Kika didn't say much; you knew she couldn't when she was emotional, so you just stayed by her side, trying to hold her together.

The team had come to her house, to her country, and wasn't able to do what they had promised her. You had been on the sideline a few times because of injuries. You knew how hard it was watching it all and not being able to do anything. You couldn't even fathom what Kika was feeling, having been stuck on the bench as Arsenal grew more and more into the game.

Alexia put on her façade–one you were very used to–as she said some words of encouragement and consolation, but the players weren't buying it. No one was. There was no way to make this better.

Kika sat on one of the benches talking with Ellie as you changed your clothes. Alexia was by your side, facing her locker, a bit away from the team with her face hidden against the metal structure. You could see how devastated she was beneath the captain's mask.

You and Alexia weren't really good with words, especially personal ones, so you just placed a hand on her back.

"Tornarem," you said softly. We'll be back.

Alexia nodded, a small smile ghosting across her face.

The whole team made its way to the bus. Some fans were there to salute the team, and even though you didn't feel like you deserved it, it was nice. It brought some sort of consolation.

On the bus, you sat in your usual seat by Kika's side.

"You were good," Kika whispered after minutes of complete silence. "You made me proud. You always do."

You looked at her, not knowing how to respond. It felt like there was something stuck at the back of your throat, so you just smiled.

"Obrigada," you tried a bit of Portuguese, using the word she had taught you a few weeks ago.

Portuguese seemed better than Spanish now, more simple, more raw. You stuck to it.

All the girls made their way to their hotel rooms, especially the ones who were called up for international break. Whoever had camp needed to leave the hotel in a few hours. You were one of those.

Kikinha was your roommate. She sat on the bed watching as you packed your suitcase. You had hoped to put your gold medal inside one of your clean socks, but it didn't happen. Instead, your silver one was there. Suddenly, the suitcase seemed too full, too heavy.

You finished packing and checked your watch. You still had two hours before the van would pick you and some other girls up for the airport.

Kika was laying on the bed now, eyes up, looking at the ceiling. It was white, too white.

"They could have painted it blue," you said as you threw your body on the mattress next to her, your arms brushing each other slightly.

"Why blue?" she asked as she intertwined her good leg with yours, bringing you closer.

"Don't you guys have a whole cultural thing around making blue porcelain?" You turned your head to face her.

"I think we stole that from Asia, actually."

"Oh."

"Yeah."

"I was trying to make you feel better by mentioning something from home."

"You failed," she smiled at you. "But it's okay."

The silence stretched between you, comfortable despite everything, despite the loss. Outside, you could hear the distant sounds of the city, but here in this too-white room, it was just you and Kika. 

"Two hours," you whispered. “I'll have to go.”

"I'll stay”, Kika said, her fingers finding yours in the space between your bodies.

Tornarem.