#and if only! if only i could let myself know people when i had been hurt without being so worried that i would upset them
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Coastal Part One - ts3 version
Okay we're going to kindly ignore my awful preview and focus only on the items lol
Was requested to convert the build items of this set and did as much as I could but some items were too similar to already existing cc or were too tall to be resized and fitted to ts3 walls. So as little gift I also added 4 items I did for myself a while ago hehe
>Mesh/texture credits go to Harrie, original ts4 post is >here<
>Mostly low poly items, but as usual all polycounts can be found under the cut (;
>Everything is fully recolorable!
>Some notes: Most animations look bad but when I manage to get them to look pretty I'll fix these items (they still work and are perfectly functional tho) / 3 tile arches don't have a diagonal version, though if several people ask me to make it I will! / One of the arches shown in the preview looks weird but it's been fixed / Also please let me know if the chair/stool look good as I lost the original files and had to unmerge them hehe
>DOWNLOAD< (always free on patreon)
Accent Window Medium - 564 poly
Accent Window Medium Open - 564 poly
Accent Window Short - 516 poly
Accent Window Short Open - 516 poly
Coffee Pouf - 850 poly
Cottage Door Short - 734 poly
Double Cottage Window Closed - 368 poly
Double Cottage Window Open - 372 poly
Fireplace - 738 poly
French Door Short Closed - 1k poly
French Door Short Open - 1k poly
French Single Door Short - 618 poly
French SIngle Door Short Open - 618 poly
Front Door - 728 poly
Front Door Short - 964 poly
Garage Door Closed - 1k poly
Garage Door Open - 1k poly
Georgian Sash Window - 794 poly
Georgian Sash Window Open - 794 poly
Georgian Window Square - 388 poly
Interior Arch Med - 382 poly
Interior Arch Med 3 Tile - 396 poly
Interior Arch Med 4 Tile - 428 poly
Interior Arch Short - 216 poly
Interior Arch Short 3 Tile - 218 poly
Interior Arch Short 4 Tile - 216 poly
Interior Double Door - 748 poly
Interior Double Door Open - 748 poly
Interior Single Door - 484 poly
Interior Single Door Open - 484 poly
Nursery Spindle Accent Chair - 3,7k poly
Nursery Spindle Foot Stool - 914 poly
Peace Window - 876 poly
Single Cottage Window Closed - 276 poly
Single Cottage Window Open - 284 poly
#ts3cc#s3cc#ts3 custom content#s3 custom content#download#ts3 download#s3 download#conversion#4to3#4t3#harrie
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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 s : 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 up 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 your fat arse—”
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.
You see, 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.
#seventeen imagines#lee jihoon imagines#seventeen smut#lee jihoon smut#woozi imagines#woozi smut#svt imagines#svt smut#svt x reader#seventeen x reader#lee jihoon x reader#woozi x reader#jihoon imagines#jihoon smut#jihoon x reader
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alright, friends, i might say something you don't like but i think it's important. not just to defend a character, but because i think this is literally making people's experience and relationship with this game worse.
give jimmy like two seconds to exist.
by hating jimmy so much you refuse to even say his name, and judge real, living people for liking him, you are cheapening your experience by boiling down the main character to the most ~yuckiest~ moments. and, by not making a seperate space for hating on him, you are drowning out the voices of people who actually have nuanced things to say about his character. you know, the skilled writers and artists that feed the fandom? limitation is what kills fandoms, you have to know that.
is jimmy a good person? no. is he a good captain/companion/worker? Absolutely Not! he crumbles like dust under any pressure and he immediately shifts blame off of himself, he is an actively harmful individual and it's right to be upset by his actions. i literally had to stop myself from saying "man FUCK jimmy." multiple times because i didn't want to spoil how terrible he got to my friends when i showed the game to them.
but you have to understand; people are more than their actions. thats part of the entire point of the game. thats why its so abstract. you are meant to think about the nuances of their situation.
we can agree that anya was way more as a woman than what happened to her and what she did as a result of it, right? that despite her best efforts, she was a victim of circumstance, and she deserves to be understood and analyzed fully?
then why, seeing a fictional man who has done immoral things, are you so disgusted you won't even draw, write or discuss him outside of hate? what is that doing for you, to ignore literally the main character of the game because of his actions?
now, this is not to say people can't hate jimmy. i understand it! as someone who has been a victim of s/a and abuse, i understand if you hate him and are even triggered by him to the point of avoiding mention of him. (but...why are you in this fandom? ((not aggressive im genuinely asking)))
you can feel however you want about any character, my goal is not to control people. but i thought it was common knowledge to not hatepost about someone in their tag? over actual insight into his character and, you know, the main themes of the game?
jimmy is a man who has struggled his whole life. both him and curly confirm that in the game. he's unable to control his emotional outbursts, and he likely had no idea what to expect from being in fucking SPACE for over a year with people he probably didn't even know before that trip. and pony express and their corporate safety corner cutting certainly didnt help, did it?
for one reason or another, he most likely was never actually taught how to manage his emotions. that's just how it is sometimes, growing up as a man. and it would make sense if he was forced to deal with everything himself, no? he always complains, but he still says he'll handle it. because that's what he's always had to do. and this is just the start of what i could say about what made him the way that he is.
he's a victim too, not only of his own actions.
surprise surprise, people who do awful things can also be victims.
honestly, this entire situation baffles me. how are you going to avoid one of the main characters of the game, let alone the one you play as ninety percent of the time? mind you, curly is also guilty, and i am happy to see at least some people giving him space for nuance. because he is also a victim!!! why is it so impossible to see jimmy as nuanced, when literally every other character also has incredible depth to them??
you're tarnishing and spitting on the beautiful writing of this game just because one character is too icky for you to feel comfortable thinking about for too long. it's horror, you absolute morons. it's supposed to make you uncomfortable.
if you hate jimmy, i dont blame you. but please, please, make your own space for it. be kind to people who want to explore jimmy and the darker themes, and like him for what his character represents. this is a video game fandom, not a witch hunt. and please, learn some fandom etiquette while you're at it, okay? okay. thank you
also just say his name. its not a slur youre not gonna go to hell if you say jimmy. like this isn't as important but still it just feels like a microcosm of this whole thing.
#mouthwashing#mouthwashing jimmy#jimmy mouthwashing#mouthwashing crew#mouthwashing spoilers#mouthwashing anya#mouthwashing analysis#i am seriously so tired of seeing this#i tried to word this as nice as possible but#GggRRRAAHHH#HES A FICTIONAL CHARACTER HE IS MEANT TO BE EXPLORED.
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i've got no idea if you are writing right now but i would love myself a fem!reader x kageyama. love you xx
U KNOW WHAT NONNIE i would love myself a kageyama x reader too hehe so here u go!!
p.s. i was half asleep when i wrote this literally i was fighting to keep my eyes open so its not my best pls forgive me i tried
you remember the conversation you had with tobio so, so clearly, almost as if it was yesterday. which, you think, isn't entirely untrue considering it occurred barely two weeks ago.
tobio had outright rejected the idea of keeping your relationship a secret.
"why would i want to hide the fact that you're my girlfriend?"
and you try not to melt into a puddle over his bluntness, the way the words my girlfriend rolled off his tongue with ease. he didn't stutter. didn't trip over his words. you were his.
you cite a few reasons why he would consider it, all of which are valid in your eyes. backlash from fans. reduced sponsorships. less guest appearances on evening talk shows. factors that were valuable to his career. but he had told you, with an almost terrifying conviction, that he doesn't care. so long as he still gets to be on the court, the less-athlete and more-celebrity side of his career doesn't matter to him.
so you two agreed on a compromise. you would ease your relationship to the world, slowly letting more and more people know until it's out in the public.
and the first ones to know are the ones closest to you both. your family and his sister. your friends and his old teammates from highschool.
shoyo had been the first person he called when you agreed to be his girlfriend on one of your at-home dates. you can recall peering into your apartment's living room after a quick trip to the bathroom, watching tobio with his back hunched near the corner.
"she said yes." he whispered into his phone, and you could hear shoyo's overexcited screaming even though he's not on speaker.
next, was your boss. though workplace relationships aren't explicitly stated in your contract to be forbidden, it's highly still discouraged. in turn, you two had gotten an almost hour long lecture about policies and rules. about what this could mean for not only your careers, but for everyone else on the team as well. about the public's possible response.
and with a practiced, corporate smile, you reassured your boss that you have it all under control.
the last people in your four-part plan to find out would've been tobio's teammates and coach, before you (when you're both ready) make an announcement on all of schweiden adlers' social media accounts.
it was so easy, and tobio had agreed to follow through with it. you remember because he swore with a kiss on the edge of your lips and a shy smile that he would.
which is why you're equally dumbfounded and shocked when he announced your relationship to the public. during a post-match press conference. on live, national television.
satisfaction began to settle in halfway through the presscon. the team was doing great. they answered every question with ease, behaved as well as they could. there were moments of playful banter between the members that the fans would go crazy over. every reporter followed through the brief you gave them earlier about which questions they could and couldn't ask (heavily emphasizing no questions about kourai's height).
it was going so well.
until one of the reporters asked one particular question. it was done in good faith, you could tell by the small grin on her face and the quiet chuckles from everyone. she was playing off an inside joke from the adlers' fanbase which, to your confusion, seemed to adore you just as much as the members of the team.
"is your manager single?"
hirugami laughs, toying a bit with the microphone in his hand before he opens his mouth to answer the question in the same lighthearted nature.
except, tobio beats him to it.
"she's not."
the room falls silent. everyone, even his teammates, look at tobio with intrigue.
"r- really, kageyama-san?" she's damn near shaking, the poor lady, when she realizes tobio's eyes are on her. all bright and blue and intense.
he decides to spare her when he takes a moment to look at you, standing near the side of the stage. you're glaring daggers at him, trying to convey with your two eyes multiple warning signs in big, bold, and red letters.
please don't.
and tobio, who has grown to be perceptive when it comes to you, knows exactly what you mean. he just doesn't have it in him to care right now.
"i should know. i'm her boyfriend."
your mouth falls wide open. the only thought that runs through your mind is you two are so fucking screwed. this wasn't part of the plan you meticulously arranged and presented to your boss.
you don't know how long the silence lasts until kourai decides to break it.
"i knew it!" he says, slamming the velvet cloth covering the long panel table. the sound brings you out of your daze. "i knew something was going on between you two."
you think there's no possible way this situation can get worse, but wakatoshi nods in agreement, which brings about an onslaught of hungry reporters asking questions left and right. you take this as your cue to rush in and call off the presscon.
"is it true?"
"how long have you two been dating?"
"did kageyama-san really ask you out?"
you drown them out to the best of your abilities, ignoring the less than kind and backhanded questions directed towards you. tobio looks into your eyes as he passes by you in the line of players you're ushering off the stage, but you quickly avert your gaze.
"we'll talk later." you mouth.
after gathering their belongings from the locker room, the team piles onto the bus to head back to their home court. tobio settles into one of the seats near the back, saving the window seat for you.
he waits, watches in anticipation as you step inside the bus. you catch his pleading eyes right as you're about to take a seat in an empty row on the front.
you try to resist. really, you do. but you've never been the best at denying tobio. for more times than you care to admit had you been the subject of teasing by the team for entertaining each and every request that tobio makes.
so you sigh, before making the long walk to the back of the bus.
tobio allows you to scoot inside after helping you with shoving your backpack inside the overhead compartment. the bus springs to life right as you take your seat, engines silently roaring as it begins the trip back home.
a moment of silence passes before tobio takes your hand in his.
"i'm sorry." he says, dragging his thumb over the lines on your palm with each syllable.
"are you really?"
tobio pauses, almost contemplating. "you'd feel better if i didn't answer that."
a quiet laugh falls off your lips. of course you already knew the answer to that. tobio has always been unapologetically open about what he wants.
screw his old teammates for going with all his demands.
tobio's ministrations on your hand doesn't stop. in fact, it grows more frantic by the second. lazy movements turn into his thumb rushing back and forth against your skin. it means he wants to ask you something, and he's hoping this will silently convey his question.
"i'm not mad." in an instant, his worries are quelled. you move closer to lean your head on his shoulder. he plants his head on top of yours.
your limbs melt into each other until you're not sure where you end and tobio begins.
"but you didn't have to say that, you know. hirugami was handling it." you give him a light nudge.
"they were asking if you were single," tobio scoffs, turning his head so he can nuzzle his face against your hair. he breathes you in. your scent overtakes his senses until the only thing he knows is you. that you are his. "i think i have the right to answer that."
"god your publicist must hate you." you roll your eyes. "our boss must hate us right now too."
"don't care." he pries himself off the crown of your head, leaning down to latch his lips on your jaw.
tobio leaves one kiss, right at the very edge. you tip your head to the side so he can leave another on the flesh of your neck. he's about to plant a kiss just above your collarbone when wakatoshi chimes in from the seat in front of you.
"it's not very appropriate to make out on the bus."
you jump away from each other, cheeks flushing red now that the entire team's attention is on you. but you can't find it in you to care enough to tell them off. the hollering and the teasing matters less than the fact that you have tobio, right by your side.
dividers by @cafekitsune
#kageyama tobio#haikyuu#kageyama tobio x reader#haikyuu x reader#kageyama tobio fluff#haikyuu fluff#hq x reader
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⋆⋅☆max v. with a trans masc partner☆⋅⋆
max verstappen knew what he liked. while he usually put the front as a heterosexual man, he had always been a little more fluid about his sexuality outside of the limelight. he had kissed many men in his life as with women, even those who were neither men nor women. kissing was fun, sex was fun. and he wasn't going to limit himself to one set of tools to get the job down. a cock down the throat could be as delightful as sinking into a sweet pussy.
so it was more of a surprise for you to receive max's advances than it was for him to give them.
you remembered when you grandmother told you that she was concerned about you transitioning because you may "never find love" and you told her that it didn't matter. cars were your love, you didn't need a person to fill that gap. so when you met the three time world champion as the new mechanic for the 2024 season, you honestly didn't think too much about wooing him romantically.
but, max was wooed by you. especially when he saw that your lockscreen of your phone was a picture of your two cats, and when he brought up his cats, you just lit up. max liked that you treated him like he was a person. and you simply said, "mate, i'm pretty certain they don't let robots drive these cars." then slapped him on the back, "but i will make you bleed red if you total my car." then flashed him a smile.
you remembered the first time max kissed you. the dutch grand prix had been a total success and within the quietness of the garage post-race with the trophy max had won near by. he took you by the waist and kissed you. he'd later admit that he wanted to do it right on the track.
"do you kiss all your mechanics like that, verstappen?"
"no, only the ones who allow me to win." you two had spent almost the entire season bitching about red bull. max wondered if or when he eventually jumped teams, if he could take you with him. as he held you in his arms. chest to chest.
you admitted close to his ear, a little insecure, "i hope you know. i've built myself... i was born a girl, but became something more. different." then tried to pull back, fearful of his response. you weren't trying to trick him, you'd rather have it on the table.
but he pulled you back in, his blue eyes on you, "you act like i don't know what transgender people are, mechanic." he said as he leaned you back a little, to get a fuller look at you, "you act like i've never been to bed with one."
"i don't want to be a one night stand." you said, your hands on the front of his polo shirt. his hat long hit the floor in the heat of the kiss. you swallowed, "i won't be a toy, verstappen. i have too much respect for myself."
he chuckled, "that's what i like to hear." he held you around the waist and you kissed once more. he could feel the rise in his blood pressure. while you could've easily done it in the garage, max gave you the address of where he was staying and the lie to tell security.
the mechanics team were in another hotel, but if you wore your red bull branded uniform and had your mechanic's pass then you'd get in easily. they'd never suspect that you'd be intimate with the star of the team. and you did just that. even flashing a smile at security before you headed up to the elevator. they didn't even ask questions, which made your life easier.
you found max's room and he happily brought you in. but once the door was closed behind you. his strong arms were around you. he smiled at you, happy to see you. you carefully touched his face, part of you believed this was a strange dream after too many rum and cokes. but as you felt his facial hair under your hand, this was all painfully real.
"do you want this?" he asked.
you nodded and responded with a question of your own, "do you?"
his smile grew a little more, he leaned in closer to you. you only now realized how blue his eyes were, "since the moment i saw you come to the garage. you were more impressed with the car than with me... i found it endearing." he chuckled.
you held his face with both hands and gazed at him, "yeah, because it's a piece of shit car for a champion. it's like giving the king aluminum instead of gold."
he laughed before he leaned in for a kiss. you held his face close to yourself and you felt something bloom in your gut. eventually you got your worn sneakers kicked off and the jacket of your uniform off. it left you in a white t-shirt and max started to strip as well. you eyed his form and he eyed yours.
you felt his heated gaze linger on your chest for a moment and without thinking you crossed your arms across where your top surgery scars were. it was habit at that point.
max was in just his jeans and socks. he reached for your arms. feeling your warm under his palm as he carefully moved your arms away. he wanted to admire you, all of you.
"must've felt very different after the surgery." he said as he held your wrists, his eyes gazed on the fading scars. he was in no way to judge about scarring. at least yours were for something worthwhile, to change yourself in such a fundamental way, "was it scary?"
you shook your head, "no... i wanted to do everything afterwards. my doctor basically put me on bed rest because i was trying to push myself too hard. what was a four week recovery turned in seven."
he placed his hands on your flat chest and could feel the slight raise of the scars under his palms, "you push yourself too hard."
you swallowed, feeling the heat in your cheeks, "if you want to be the best. you have to do more than your best." your gaze met his. it felt so painfully intimate. this wasn't just sex in a hotel room, this was intimacy. max wanted more than your body, he wanted to know all the nooks of your soul and what inhabited them.
he leaned in once more, "we have that in common." before he kissed you once more. his kiss was sweeter, an assurance that you and your body were nothing to be ashamed of. if anything he admired it, even though he couldn't relate to the feelings you carried. he could at least understand the guts it took to go through it.
to become more than you what was given to you. it endeared you to him as you broke the kiss and continued to get undressed. the more of your bodies exposed to one another, the hotter the room got. even with the air conditioning rattling in the room. you could feel the heat between you two.
max sighed, "i don't have condoms... i can pull out or we can do something else." he explained as he got into the bed with you. both naked. his broad hand grazed across your body.
you responded and placed his hand on your lower abdomen, right before your pussy, "hysterectomy. six months before i started. are you clean though?"
he replied, "yes. been a long time since i've been with someone anyway." he was telling the truth. since you started at the season, everything had become a blur with you and the championship being a central focus.
his pointer finger trailed across the scar for a moment before he took your face in his hands and kissed you once more. you could go on about the shape of your face, but in his hands it felt very small. you hadn't realized that max verstappen had paws instead of hands. the thought made you giggle a little into the kiss.
he pulled away and looked at you before he laid you out on your back. he asked with a small smile, "what are you laughing about?"
you looked up at him and said, "didn't realized that formula one drivers had such big hands. every seen them up close like this before." then yelped a little when max grabbed you by the hips and pushed himself up against you.
he curved his back over you and maintained eye contact, those blue eyes were swimming with lust, "well. it's good you haven't seen others this close up. i might get a little jealous."
you looked away for a moment with a stupid grin on your face, "okay, flirt. why don't we get to it before i melt into this bed." then a soft moan left your lips as he rubbed his cock up against your wet cunt.
he admired you for a moment, hoping the image of your naked body stayed with him for weeks to come. you looked masculine. he wasn't going to say "technically" it's not having sex with a man. you were a man just as much as he was if not more. you had to create your manhood and you made it to perfection.
"i want you." you said softly.
he leaned forward and kissed you gently on the lips before he eased his cock into you. he replied with an equal softness, "i want you too, mechanic." the nickname made your ears hot as he moved against you. he thrusts were gently but gained a steady momentum.
you held onto the covers under your back and let him move against you. once you got a hold of his rhythm, you were able to meet his movements as well. the kisses you two shared grew hot as max planted both hands on either side of you and moved.
you two were moving against one another, locked in a heated kiss. the bed shifted slightly under your movements. max was thankful that were was not a bed on the opposite side of the wall. and that this place had enough insulation to keep your noises muffled.
the last thing he wanted was your integrity to come into question. that you only got to where you were because of your seductive ways. the noises between you two were soft. there was no need to rush, the race was over and tomorrow you'd be on the flight to the next one.
he took your hands and held them by your head, which kept you two close but also allowed him to keep you pinned under him. when you broke the kiss, you rested your forehead against his. the noises were harder to keep under wraps the more you moved. the pleasure felt like fireworks in your brain.
you moaned a little bit before you said, "i was thinking something stupid."
max chuckled his sweaty forehead against yours, "tell me."
"i realized what your eyes remind me of." you admitted softly, "i couldn't quite pin it after we met." you were breathing heavily as you locked your fingers further with his.
"and what do they remind of you?" he asked, curiously. he had heard people refer to them like the ocean, the sky after a store, the definition of blue.
you replied, "home. the lake near where i lived. not scary like the ocean. familiar like the lakes i grew up near."
max had no words, he simply laid another kiss on you. his hands grasped your tightly as you two moved together more. the pace quickened and max knew that he wanted to be in your life for a long period of time. he wanted you to be his home.
you moaned against the kiss, feeling the heat leap in your belly as you felt closer to orgasm. you came first with your lips against his. your back arched but your hands were pinned to the bed. it felt good as pleasure rushed to your brain.
max broke the kiss and continued to move against you. he let go of your hands in favour of your hips where he bounced your further against his cock. it made crackles of pleasure appear in your brain. and he was no better, his heavy breathing and occasional moan fueled his need to finish. and when he did, he did so inside of you. max never thought too much about the surgery you had, but he was thankful for it tonight.
he stayed inside of you for a moment as he cooled down before he left a kiss on the corner of your mouth. full of such tenderness as he pulled out of you and ran his fingers through his short hair.
you laid out next to him and heavily panting, feeling so vulnerable. he stayed closer to you, eventually pulling you to him and resting his chin on top of your head. you got comfortable against him.
"if you have any questions, i can answer them... about the whole trans thing." you swallowed, even now you felt embarrassed bringing it up. you felt it was a mood killer.
he took you by the chin and made you face him. he smiled down at you. he asked one question, "are you happy? did you get the life you wanted?"
you nodded in response, "everything and more." and that was enough for max. anything else you felt the need to tell him would be told with time, after all, max expected to be in your life for many years to come. both as his mechanic and lover.
-
max would only come clean about the relationship two years later. the end of his contract with red bull and a final championship was enough for the driver to retire peacefully. and when he retired, you retired and you made a home in monaco.
the coming out post set the internet ablaze. especially given how long you two had been together. wasn't anything too special, just a small collection of photos that he had taken over your time together. like the time you wore his helmet in 2025 with a big thumbs up. and that time you thoroughly messed up a birthday cake for him, and with the camera in your face, he rubbed the icing off your cheek. the one that really captured eyes was the one that a friend took of you at a house party when max came to visit your home country, with his legs over your strong lap and his lips against your face. you were smiling like the sun. being the center of a media storm was only braved with max by your side. at one point turning your phone off and throwing it onto the couch. his kisses were still loving as always, his words soft, and his affirmations of your gender were often so sweet that you'd cover your face in embarrassment.
you were always comfortable with the idea of not meeting your 'other half', you had been given a second chance at life once you came out. and if no one could accept you then so be it. but as you laid out on the couch laid out against your boyfriend with sassy at your side and your cat between the crook of your knee, you felt loved. <3
a/n: i do write for masc readers as well, both cis and beyond. just not as often because many request femme readers. but if an idea is cooking in your head. hit me with it!
#bunny writes#trans reader#trans male reader#f1 x male reader#reader insert#formula one imagine#formula 1#formula one smut#formula one fanfiction#f1 smut#formula 1 fic#formula 1 rpf#formula one#formula 1 fanfic#f1 rpf#f1 x reader#f1#max verstappen x you#max verstappen x reader#max verstappen smut#max verstappen#mv33 drabble#mv33 x male reader#mv1 smut#mv1 x reader#mv1#mv33 x reader#mv33 smut
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I've noticed the other day how life is fundamentally different when living out of abuse. I had an experience of waking up in the morning, sleepily tapping over to the kitchen in my pajamas, wondering what to make for breakfast, and making a plan for the day. Completely careless and unselfconscious, thinking only about the food and what I wanted to do with my day. It hit me then how impossible every aspect of this would be, had I still been living in the abuse.
If I was still around abusers, my first thought in the morning would not be 'oh I'm so sleepy I'm gonna find something to eat', it would be 'Are they in the house, are they in the room, are they already mad at me'. I would be looking around cautiously, listening for every sound that indicates they're near me. I would be checking the clock to see if their schedule had already put them in their workplace or wherever they go, and then still peering trough the doors anxiously to see if the hallway is clear, if I can get to the kitchen. I'd be checking how I look to see if I'll be reprimanded for being in the pajamas in the common area. I'd change just to avoid the possibility. I'd be checking each item of food and wondering if it's okay to take it, or whether there's a chance I'll get yelled at or blamed for taking it. I'd be analyzing the last words and actions we exchanged to try to predict how close the abuser is from blowing up and possibly attacking me.
The rest of my day would be scheduled around avoiding them, or alternatively, being in the place where they could easily find me, because if I'm not where I'm expected to be, they might get mad. All of my activities could be stopped and prevented at moment's notice if they decided I need to be doing something for them at that moment. I could be yelled at for not doing something for them sooner, for 'making them say it'.
If I wanted to go out, I'd have to consider if this is allowed, and if they'd want me to stay inside for one reason or another. If I am outside, I'd have to worry about what's going to happen to my stuff if I'm not back whenever they're expecting me to be there, or what kind of angry state I'd find them in. It would be safest to notify them of everything I'm doing, but they might immediately call it unnecessary, stupid, offensive or otherwise inconvenient, and force me to drop it and do something for them instead. Secrecy was the only way to do things, but also risky in case some part of it turns out to be not allowed. There were never any clear rules to what is okay, it would change with their moods.
If I could hear the abuser's car parking in the driveway, I would run back inside of my room, as if it was the 'safe area', when it wasn't. It would at least take me out of their view, so they wouldn't immediately think to start at me. But if they wanted to, they could just go inside of my room and charge at me then. I would just delay being the target, putting myself out of immediate sight. Of course this also meant I couldn't leave any trace of doing anything in the home, so it wouldn't be noticeable I just ran away. Everything has to look untouched.
And then when they interacted with me, I had to make sure to not show emotion on my face, to not look overly confident or happy, to not show any fear or anxiety, to not look sad or upset, to not look angry. I had to act normal, or else. I had to try and defend my own actions and interests walking a fine line of 'trying to let them know I'm upset and unhappy about this, without setting them off and causing them to blow up at me for talking back'. And I'd be told off for this too, because 'how could I complain when people have it soo much worse and I am ungrateful for having a roof over my head'. I had to do whatever was asked out of me, and restrain from even expressing it wasn't what I wanted, for the fear of losing the roof over my head.
Unbelievable I just lived like that for many years. And now I can flop in my pajamas to the kitchen, eyes half closed, make a mess, and think of nothing but food and plans for the day, not worrying for a second that someone could target me for any move I make. I still get scared easily, but nobody attacks me anymore. I can take any item of food, for it is all mine. I can decide to go out anytime, come back anytime, no consequences. I decide what is good for me to do, and nobody else gets an input. I can think of my own interests, and disgreard what anyone else in the world could want from me, because I don't exist for their convenience, and I don't have to worry about it anymore. What I lived before feels absolutely intolerable now. Even one second of that is unsurvivable.
#living in abuse#abuse vs freedom#escaping abuse#abuse recovery#abuse reference#cptsd#tw mention of abuse
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eyes || matt sturniolo
matt x fem!reader
summary: matt is making a tiktok with reader when she is with the animals from the petting zoo video
warnings: fluff
word count: 692
a/n: I know its been months but I thought about it and I mix some new content with the request. Hope thats okay. have a good week besties 🍒
based on this request
I was so excited that Matt let me hang out with the animals after they finished filming the video. Chris and Matt surprised Nick with petting zoo in the living room and I was on another planet when I found out. The lady brought the animals as we helped her and I was so happy that I didn't even care if I was on the video or not. For the main part of it I went and hang out upstairs because I still rather not want to be the main attraction of it. When I was reading my book I was just waiting for the text from Matt that I could come back down because they finished filming. And when I got it I almost jumped out of bed. I was mostly excited to hang out with the goat and the little hedgehog.
"What did you think?" I asked Nick with a big grin as I kneeled to pet the goat.
"I am never leaving the house again" Nick answered me and I laughed.
"They all are the cutest" I said in the baby voice as I walk to Chris.
"May I hold him now?" I asked him for a turn with the hedgehog.
"Of course" Chris nodded and carefully handed me the animal.
I held him and talked to him as my eyed were focused on the animal all the time. I was tickling his belly as I was smiling and talking to it as I would talk to the baby. I wasn't aware of Matt filming me.
After we said goodbye to all the animals and cleans the house as we could I helped Matt cleaning his room a bit.
"We need to hire people to professionally clean the hose because I swear I still smell the barn" He said as he came back to his room in only a towel. We took turns in taking a shower after we were done with the animals.
"Yes, I usually would say you're being dramatic but now I actually smell it too" I said putting clothes back to his closet.
"Thank you, you shouldn't do that I would clean it myself" Matt said while putting clean underwear on.
"Well I didn't have space on the bed so I had to do something" I laughed and handed him pair of pajama pants.
He laughed while he took them from me. After he put them on he wrapped his arms around me and kissed my temple.
"You're the best...Sorry it was such a mess here buy I just had to throw everything from the living room" He said as he tugged string of my hair behind my ear.
"It's fine I do not care" I said looking up at him.
"Oh I know you do" He smirked.
"You right...."I said and he leaned down and gave me a sweet kiss.
He knew I had a bit of a thing if it comes to having a clean space.
"Wanna watch something?" He asked as he moved away and he went to put a shirt on.
I nodded and climbed in bed. I found the remote and put on the tv.
"I will grab some snacks and water" He said and left the room.
As I was waiting for him to come back I checked my phone. I had so many TikTok notifications. I was bit surprised when I checked and saw that Matt tagged me in a video.
It was him looking at something with a big smile and then camera switched and there was I with the animals. It was a very cute video I smiled and licked it and commended with a heart. People were being very nice in the comments so I did answered some comments and when he came back I smiled at him.
"You posted me on TikTok" I said.
"I did...Sorry I did not asked you, is that okay?" He climbed next to me.
"It's fine I like it... love you Matt" I said and kissed his cheek.
"Love you too y/n" he smiled putting a blanked on us.
Could not imagine this day to be more perfect.
#sturniolo triplets#matt sturniolo#matt sturniolo x reader#sturniolo fanfic#sturniolo x reader#matt sturniolo fluff#matt x reader#matt sturniolo blurb
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HABITS TO DROP WHEN GETTING YOUR LIFE TOGETHER
➝ CREATING UNAUTHENTIC & UNINTENTIONAL GOALS
the biggest mistakes you can make when creating goals is making goals that aren’t true to you and making goals for the sake of making goals.
it can be so exciting when you decide to get your life together. I mean, of course it is! there are so many possibilities! but when you start planning, don’t just write down the goals you see circulating on social media. what works for someone else may not be what works for you. don’t make your goals and habits based on what’s trending or popular in the self improvement community.
think about what you actually need for a minute. what is actually necessary? your goals and habits aren’t here to be glamorous, they’re here to help regardless of how simple or small they are. the point of thinking up new habits is to improve your life, so be intentional with your goals. what will practicing this habit or achieving this goal give you?
when you’re first starting out, your goals don’t have to be anything too crazy or intense. for example, let’s say you want to become a pink pilates girl and get into fitness. you shouldn’t jump right into it and say your goal is to work out for 2 hours 5 times a week. let’s consider some factors first. have you been living a completely sedentary kind of lifestyle? then try looking for exercises that’ll wake up dormant muscles. your goal should then be to repeat those exercises for how ever many times a week. then you’ll work your way up from there. (it’s important we don’t harm the body, so be mindful with your fitness goals.) what about your schedule? how much time can you actually give to working out? can your body even endure working out for that long?
anyways, hopefully you see what I mean. when creating goals, it’s not about having the “aesthetic” habits and goals that you may see on tiktok or tumblr. it’s about doing what is actually good for you and what’ll help you the most with where you are now in your journey. so please put some thought into your goals and where they’ll take you. creating unauthentic and unintentional habits will also mean you’ll be less likely to keep practicing them after a few times. at the end of the day, that doesn’t help you achieve anything and you’re left with a broken promise you’ve made to yourself. which leads me to my next point…
➝ NOT KEEPING YOUR WORD WHEN IT COMES TO YOU
let me start off by saying this— if you don’t even listen to yourself, why should anyone else? (harsh, ik)
a HUGE reason as to why people have no self confidence is because they don’t listen to themselves or keep the promises they’ve made to themselves. if you have no self trust, how could you have any self confidence?
now, building discipline can definitely be a challenge so if you want to start somewhere easy, nip your false promises in the bud and stop yourself from making them. that’s what I did when I was first trying to stop this habit. when my addiction to tiktok was at its peak I would always tell myself the usual “ten more minutes and then I’ll stop scrolling.” when I wanted to stop making false promises, I knew I had no control or discipline so the only thing I could do is be real with myself. I’d cut myself off when I heard myself say “five more minutes” because I knew it wasn’t going to happen. if I wasn’t going to quit my bad habit, then the least I could do is be honest with myself.
the things that you are constantly telling yourself, whether they’re mindless or intentional, matter.
so, stop telling yourself seemingly harmless lies. unnecessary false promises that you know are false will only fill you with tension.
➝ STOP SEEING FAILURE AS AN INVITATION TO GIVE UP
this applies to so many things.
you wanted to be consistent with your reading goals but haven’t read a chapter in a week? dont give up. don’t tell yourself that being consistent is too hard for you, that since you missed a week this habit isn’t for you. make your goal a bit easier or give yourself another chance.
you wanted to spend more time doing art but it’s not turning out how you expected? dont give up. dont give yourself the title of a “bad artist” and never pick up a pencil again. move forward, give yourself another chance.
you wanted to quit your Instagram addiction but after a couple days you went back to scrolling for hours on ig reels? Don’t give up. dont tell yourself that this addiction isn’t gonna go away, don’t go back to the bad habit because you slipped up. give yourself another chance.
I think a lot of us (myself included) tend to give up at the first sign of failure, instead of reminding ourselves to keep going. it’d be wonderful if you could get it right on the first try. if you could read ten books a month right away after not reading a book in three years. if you could watch hours worth of tutorials and sketch the perfect portrait on the first attempt. if you could uninstall instagram for good and never feel the urge to go back. that would all be so amazing, but it’s not always the reality. expect the best from yourself and do the best you can, but also give yourself some compassion. keep in mind that you won’t always do things perfectly right away and that’s one thousand percent okay. when you feel yourself slipping up on your brand new goal, don’t end it there at the first failure. allow yourself to move forward, because the only other direction to move is backwards.
#it girl#self improvement#wonyoungism#that girl#pink#dream girl tips#dream girl life#study motivation#self concept#self confidence#self improvement tips#self care#productivity tips#it girl mentality#it girl lifestyle#dream girl#dream life#hyper feminine#self love#clean girl#pink academia#pink pilates princess#studyblr#glow up#glowing up#clean girl aesthetic#healing girl era#becoming her#healing#it girl energy
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your golden arrow went through my heart.
dancing together at a wedding.. he can’t help but think about your own !⠀⸻⠀na jaemin x gnr ⠀ fluff he’s soooo downbad ⠀ wc 1.5k ⠀ now playing . . ☆
생각⠀FFFFFFUCKKKKK I NEED HIMMM. plagiarising myself sorry yeonjun
the smell of champagne, perfume, cake, and smoke was rife in the large hall, multicoloured lights bouncing off every wall and poking into every crevice of the high ceiling. you knew jaemin’s family was fairly large, of course, but for every guest they must’ve extended an invite to at least three of their friends as well—everywhere you looked there was another person: a niece there, a work friend of his father’s here, an uncle there.
but you supposed the extravagance and the sheer size was necessary for a wedding—jaemin’s cousin’s, to be specific, who looked gorgeous in a gold-accented gown with the train and jewels to match, and who was currently being spun around on the dance floor by her newly wedded husband. the ceremony was beautiful, the reception was beautiful, and perhaps the most beautiful of all was the who-knows-how-many-tiers of wedding cake that you’d already helped yourself to three slices of, as well as reluctantly feeding jaemin bites of when he’d pouted and tugged at your hand until you’d given in.
he looked satisfied now, nestled into your side in the quietest corner of the almost-pitch-black hall while the music played and people danced, his younger relatives twirling each other in circles or skidding along the smooth flooring with balloons tied around their wrists and confetti stars glittering whenever they caught the lights from where they were tangled within their hair. other guests had chosen to hang back, settling at the tables nearer the other end of the venue (and nearer the food) with glasses in their hands and smiles on their faces.
the pair of you hadn’t spoken in a while, content to sway gently to the music, and you assumed he’d fallen quiet because he was tired; worn out from the job that was trailing around the hall and saying hello to all the people he knew and a few he didn’t. and while that had taken a little out of him, the reality was that jaemin was only silent because he was biting his tongue—out of fear he’d do something stupid like get on one knee and propose to you right there and then, with nothing except his pocket square as a makeshift ring and the burning urge to ask you to be his for as long as you’d have him.
he wouldn’t do that, of course. it’d get him kicked out for stealing his cousin’s thunder, for starters. it’d be like his aunt standing up on a table and announcing that she was pregnant. the second reason was simply that he didn’t know what you’d say.
well. actually, not really. he would bet fairly confidently that you’d say yes—but you’d say it eventually. now was.. too soon. he’d need to have drawn up a down-to-the-last-detail plan, secure approval from all of your friends and family, and asked renjun for the best place to get the rings before he could even think of asking. it was just—how could he be standing here with you, in amongst all the love and the glitter and the music, and not think of dropping to one knee? he was holding on, but just barely. it would’ve taken nothing more than seeing the disco lights reflecting in your eyes for all his resolve to deplete, and so he focused on melding himself into your side and staring out onto the dance floor.
that was, until you slid a hand from out of his hold and around his waist, tugging him to face you and gesturing towards the place you’d both just been watching, asking without saying a word. he could do nothing except nod and let himself be led, teeth pressing into his bottom lip. “marry me,” he wanted to scream, but instead he slung his arms over your shoulders and leaned in to rest his head too close to yours, breaths intermingling as you began an easy sway to the music.
the slow dancing had long been left behind, so your relaxed pace was slightly out of place compared to everyone else, but neither of you could really bring yourselves to care. jaemin would’ve been content to stay like that until the lights turned on again, but was startled by your sudden whispering: “you okay?”
he recovered quickly, easy grin on his lips as he replied, “of course. why wouldn’t i be?” but then he was looking into your eyes as he said it, and the song was just right, and your touch was so gentle—he was tripping over himself into his next words, head crashing down onto your shoulder as he pulled you closer. “i was just.. thinking about the day it’s us doing this, is all.”
when jaemin felt you still for a moment under his palms, his heart dropped to his feet—worried he’d overstepped by even bringing it up, head whipping back up again to laugh it off. but what he found in your face wasn’t disgust or discomfort, it was more gentle surprise, mouth opened with nothing to say. his hands slowly rose to cup your cheeks, and the warmth that met his palms made it impossible to hide the jaw-aching smile his mouth stretched into.
you shied away from his touch, shoulders hunching up in embarrassment at his smile, and jaemin was going to die. his heart was going to burst all over you in a shower of golden confetti and multicoloured stars, he was sure of it. he pressed as close as he possibly could, determined to leave absolutely no space between you, and brought his hands to rest lightly on either side of your neck, fingertips almost touching at the nape. your lips moved to speak, and your voice was quiet, shy. he fell in love all over again.
“jaem. you can’t.. you can’t say that here. it’s too—i’ll get—you just can’t. really.”
“why?” and he had no shame in his whiny tone, pout already on his face. your slow movements turned a little frantic when he twisted the both of you side to side in protest, ignoring a few looks from others on the dance floor. “i’m excited! just—just imagine. me and you. married. it’s gonna be the best.”
eyes locked with yours, he could see the exact moment you decided to indulge him. “oh really? what colour’s your suit gonna be?”
“your favourite colour.” and jaemin knew he was being over-the-top, knew you’d only scoff and roll your eyes back at him, and he didn’t care. it was true. his suit your favourite colour, the cake your favourite flavour, the music your favourite playlist. he’d do it all for you.
“so sappy, jaem,” you teased, head leaning forward until your foreheads rested against one another. “keep it up and i might start to think you’ve got a ring box at home.”
not yet. but soon. after a talk with renjun. after a little more time. some part of jaemin wished he did have one stashed away in an unused draw, though. so he could spring it on you as soon as next week, get all the words he wanted to propose to you with out of his head, to hold your hand and feel the cool metal of an engagement band against his skin. not yet. soon. he repeated the words aloud to you, delighted at how the skin of your nape flushed hotter under his touch.
“i wanna kiss you.” his gaze was unwavering, hands desperate around your neck, cheeks red and grin gleaming at you through the dark.
you flustered again, hands dipping in and out of his back pockets just for something to do, somewhere to put them. “not—not here. everyone can see.”
jaemin was still unbothered, knowing, annoying. “don’t care. i’ve been showing you off all night, they know you’re mine. and it’s dark!”
your shoulders heaved in a put-upon sigh, and he knew he’d won, leaning in and smiling into it. no matter how many times he’d done this, it always felt like the first time for jaemin—colours exploding behind his closed eyes, his whole body feeling golden. he chased you every time you tried to pull away, coaxing you back in, not letting you up for air until both of you were desperate for breath.
“one day,” he mouthed into your jaw, voice no louder than a whisper. “it’ll be us. it will. i’ll be so—i’ll make it—just. i promise.”
“okay, jaem,” you whispered back, hands now fully settled wrapped around his waist. “okay.”
the song shifted into another, and it was one you both knew; both loved. he couldn’t stop smiling even when you halted your soft swaying in place of more energetic, fitting movements, and instead joined in with you—fingers interlocked, his eyes on you the whole time. talks of weddings and proposals and suit colours could easily be discussed another time. tomorrow, if he wanted. it’d been fun entertaining ideas for a while, but tonight, now, he was going to enjoy himself. with you. the only reason he was having those dreams at all.
#⠀⠀⏖ works ⊹ ᶻ ⁺⠀⠀#⠀⠀재민 ⠀ ✿⠀⠀#jaemin#na jaemin#jaemin x reader#na jaemin x reader#nct dream x reader#nct dream fluff#this was originally for chenle but#then he came out as straight#🤷♂️🙅♂️
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The tale of two cities according to Heiko and Stephi - Part 500
Unbelievable! This is the 500th part of our "Tales"! So Heiko and I thought that something special was needed.
But first of all, we want to thank you. You are fantastic, and without you and your comments, this wouldn't have been the same.
In the past years we have visited each other a few times, and this week we both wrote something about what we think the biggest differences of our hometowns are.
Let's start with Heiko's text and the photo (the first one) he took in Munich:
Today is our 500th Tale, which is pretty unbelievable. Yet, I admit that we are repeating ourselves a lot when it comes to the seasons (watch our for Christmas time) and we might even have repeated ourselves in some subjects. Still, we are doing the Tales for almost 10 years, a feat neither Stephi nor myself would have ever thought we would accomplish.
We also visited the other person’s city a couple of times and there are some differences about them. Picking out one, I would say that Munich is just bigger and you really need some time to explore the city. It just looked vaster to me. It seemed that you always need e tram or train to get to another spot. In Cologne, on one of Stephi’s trip, we went on foot and within a couple of hours I was able to show her the heart of the city with some of the most important places. I admit that if we took a tram, we would have been able to see other spots as well that are not in the center but more on the fringes, but you can spend a couple of days in Cologne by foot and see a lot of great and important places. I never had that feeling in Munich as the tourist attractions and other cool places were further apart.
Basically, you can spend a day in Cologne and see a lot of the city. I don’t think that would have been able in Munich. Yet, it’s well worth to spend more days in Cologne and go into some local pubs to get to know the people of the city and it’s flair. That will pass you by when you are only in the center that is usually crowded with tourists.
Another difference are the temperatures I experienced. Today it was cold and windy in Cologne. But I have never felt temperatures like on that trip in January 2017. That was cold and could have served as my own personal hell.
My picture from Munich is from that cold January trip and I am trying to show the vastness of the city.
Other things are petty similar though. I have seen some cool parks in Munich in which people hang out. The same is true for Cologne.
Since I spend most time with Stephi and Pete (and Fern on one trip), I didn’t get know other people from Munich. But according to Stephi, the people are pretty cool and open minded, other than the impression you get from Bavarian’s politicians and the way people vote. Cologne also praises itself for being open minded and I usually find that to be true.
I could probably go on for a while but I still want to thank you for sticking with us, reading our Tales and responding from time to time. I rarely respond but I really do appreciate your comments and feedback, read and enjoy it. Thank you all very much.
Now to my text and the photo I took in Cologne:
I think, Cologne and Munich are both great but very different cities. During my visits to Cologne, I was most impressed by the cathedral and the river Rhine. We inhabitants of Munich love our cathedral but - if I'm honest - the "Frauenkirche" isn't very impressive. At least not as impressive as the "Kölner Dom". Munich has a sweet little river, the Isar. It's nice for swimming and for spending some quality time. The river Rhine is way bigger and more impressive, but it's not a good idea to swim in it. I guess, you can't have everything. In my opinion, both rivers belong to the highlights of our respective hometowns, but in a different way.
Munich is close to the mountains and has beautiful surroundings. If you ever visit Munich you should take the time to visit the surroundings as well. Munich and Cologne look very different but the biggest differences for me are the people. When I was in Cologne, I found the citizens so nice, and refreshing, funny, and honest. During my first visit to Cologne, I took a taxi and the taxi driver wasn't only funny, he even wanted to share his breaktime snack with me and offered some radishes. I can't imagine something like that happening in Munich. Munich's citizens are more stiff and not as open as the ones of Cologne are.
Have you ever visited both cities? What do you think are the most differences of our hometowns?
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Well if given how the anime will adapt the Manga, it makes me wonder about the savanaclaw adaptation given how many delays due to the artist's personal life that octavinelle Manga came around and is now have overblot Chapter before Savanaclaw does. I wonder if the author will have time to finish it and given how heartslabyul will release in October 2025, it might take awhile to animate savanaclaw.
[Referencing this news!]
Decided to put these together because the topics were similar enough and I have similar advice for both asks. To briefly clarify the second ask, I believe the Anon made a typo and meant to say "Yana Toboso was NOT involved in the anime's production". This is because Yana made a tweet recently stating that she and her team were surprised and honored that they were making an anime adaptation based on the manga.
Now, about the first ask: we are not aware of what the manga and anime creation process looks like for Twst. Yes, the Savanaclaw manga has had a number of delays, but we cannot be sure if this impacts the anime at all. For example, we don't know how much of the Episode of Savanaclaw anime is even done yet. We don't know if the anime team is going to be in talks with the mangaka to coordinate things. We don't know when the Episode of Savanaclaw will air (and for all we know, it could give the mangaka ample time to finish up). There are many things we do not know, so it would be VERY hasty to conclude anything now.
Regarding the second ask: Yes, it does seem like Yana had no involvement in the anime. This, however, should NOT be taken as an immediate sign that the anime will be poor quality or that the anime will deviate from the main story in large (and bad) ways. Nothing of the news we've heard so far would indicate any sweeping changes. This is equating a past occurrence with something that has yet to even happen without even knowing if the production circumstances are even the same between them. The only thing we know that is linking the animes of early Black Butler and Twst is Yana's lack of involvement. This doesn't account for ANY other factors in production, and it's also assuming that Yana's mere presence makes a product good--and, conversely, her absence automatically makes a product bad. I don't think this is the way to go, as it's jumping to conclusions based on minimal evidence and it's putting way too much weight on Yana's shoulders to carry the quality of the Twst anime.
And that brings me to the thread linking together not just these two asks, but a lot of the anime-related posts and asks that I've been seeing as of late: fearmongering and doomposting. Lots of it.
As I’ve said multiple times now, it's fine to be hesitant about the anime. I'm hesitant of it myself! However, let’s not draw preemptive conclusions or fret over what are ultimately hypotheticals. It’s so far off, and we have zero of the actual final product to look at and judge the quality of. I'm seeing so many people make mountains out of molehills, working themselves up over nothing, assuming the worst-case scenarios... 💦 and again, all of this based on little to no information. I can't help but that time and energy could be better spent on other fandom efforts or things we actively enjoy. It's valid to be anxious about the anime and how it presents something we care so much about, but putting those feelings in a public space paints the fandom in a bad light. It gives the impression that we'll jump the gun and claim something is bad before letting the product speak for itself. If you're a current Twst fan that is excited for the anime, it may not feel so good seeing others theorizing about how bad it will be. If you're a potential new Twst fan seeing this stuff, you'd feel very unwelcome or unwanted. I worry this will fester and create divides in the community... unintentionally creating an environment that isn't fun to be in, and that's the antithesis of what I think fandom should be. I guess I'll end on this note: There is a difference between being healthily skeptical and assuming the worst of a production. Please take a moment to reexamine your concerns about the anime and ask yourself "Is this a reasonable fear?", "What am I basing this off of?", and, "How, if at all, will this affect my own enjoyment of Twst?" If it gets to be too much for you, then please, please step away from social media (where a lot of these fears are being touted) and take a break. Do something you like, take a walk, whatever. I just beg of you, don't allow yourself to be consumed by feelings that will bleed the fun of fandom out of you 💦
#disney twisted wonderland#disney twst#twisted wonderland#twst#twst anime#twisted wonderland anime#notes from the writing raven#Black Butler#Kuroshitsuji#advice#episode of savanclaw#episode of savanaclaw manga
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Genuinely think half the problem here is a lot of parents are not in a place themselves where they can teach their kids how to recognize when something is good, and how to handle the intricacies of emotions, attraction, and decency while navigating social relationships with other people.
When I was growing up, the way adults talked about relationships, both amidst themselves and directly to me, gave me the idea that marriage just sort of happened, like it was something you tripped into without conscious choice and were now stuck with. This led to a conclusion by me that any male I met could possibly be my future husband, which colored every interaction with stress and awkwardness and fear and kept me from actually being normal around other kids, because I had artificially inserted this importance into interactions that should have just been. Well. Interactions.
Looking back on it now, I can see that every single crush I had had absolutely nothing to do with looking at another person objectively, judging their character and decency, or even seeing if I liked them; if they made me feel safe, or engaged, or reinvigorated. I only had crushes on boys who I found cute or attractive. None of those necessary thoughts ever went into it, and none of the boys even liked or noticed me. Maybe one or two of them were actually people I liked and talked to. Hindsight also helps me see that when a guy was interested in me or had a crush on me, I was oblivious to it and was incredibly uncomfortable, because we were all kids and didn’t know how to talk or act and it just came off like them showing off around me or trying to talk to me when I didn’t know them, which led to avoidance on my part.
My husband was the first guy I ever met whom I actually liked and was interested in, and he was the first one who actually seemed openly interested in me. When I daydreamed about marriage as a kid, the only thing I thought about was a boy liking me. I never thought about what I would like about him, just about being appreciated and valued myself. Selfish, right? But I was emotionally neglected and it came out as desperately longing to be important to someone. And then when I found it, I realized it naturally came with a reciprocal effect on me. I do find my husband fascinating and comforting and I enjoy his company, I want to do things with him, experience new things with him, build a life with him. That couldn’t have happened if I dismissed him right away because I wanted to avoid the awkwardness of getting to know him.
I am aware we got incredibly lucky with each other, and I’m grateful for it. But what we have also took work that we both consciously chose to do. We had the guidelines of knowing that premarital sex wasn’t an option for us, and that certainly helped. But it’s tragic to think how many people could build happiness with someone if they could just let go of their fantasies and expectations long enough to see what’s really there and what could be if there’s mutual effort. But how could they? No one taught them, because no one knew how themselves. So many families of origin weren’t formed by conscious choice but by natural consequences of behavior, even if your parents are decently healthy and love you, they might well have no clue how to navigate relationships with others.
trads who use the term "courtship" are an immediate red flag to me
#idk what the answer is here#i think a lot about people who are delightfully emotionless about things like this#and not in a ‘i don’t give a shit’ way#but in an ‘i’m not tangled up in expectations and buried longing and loneliness so i can tell you there’s nothing there’#emotions are meant to be good things but in circumstances like relationships you have to watch them#that they’re not distorting your reality and making you put up with things you shouldn’t#even outside of abuse#maybe you’re just putting all your longing on a person who doesn’t feel the same for you#and you deserve better than that
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𝟑𝟎- 𝑩𝒆𝒕𝒕𝒆𝒓 𝒃𝒐𝒚𝒇𝒓𝒊𝒆𝒏𝒅
𐂂 𝙲𝚑𝚛𝚒𝚜 𝚂𝚝𝚞𝚛𝚗𝚒𝚘𝚕𝚘 𝚡 𝙼𝚊𝚝𝚝'𝚜 𝚎𝚡 𝚐𝚏
𝚠𝚊𝚛𝚗𝚒𝚗𝚐𝚜: 𝒎𝒆𝒏𝒕𝒊𝒐𝒏𝒔 𝒐𝒇 𝒃𝒓𝒆𝒂𝒌𝒖𝒑, 𝒂𝒏𝒈𝒔𝒕, 𝒕𝒐𝒙𝒊𝒄!𝒎𝒂𝒕𝒕, 𝒅𝒓𝒊𝒏𝒌𝒊𝒏𝒈, 𝒇𝒍𝒊𝒓𝒕𝒚 𝒄𝒉𝒓𝒊𝒔 𝒂𝒏𝒅 𝒓𝒆𝒂𝒅𝒆𝒓, 𝒌𝒊𝒔𝒔𝒊𝒏𝒈, 𝒉𝒂𝒑𝒑𝒚 𝒆𝒏𝒅𝒊𝒏𝒈, 𝒎𝒊𝒈𝒉𝒕 𝒉𝒂𝒗𝒆 𝒎𝒐𝒓𝒆 𝒊𝒅𝒌
𝚊/𝚗: 𝒊𝒏𝒔𝒑𝒊𝒓𝒆𝒅 𝒃𝒚 𝒕𝒉𝒆 𝒔𝒐𝒏𝒈 𝑩𝒐𝒚𝒇𝒓𝒊𝒆𝒏𝒅-𝑫𝒐𝒗𝒆 𝑪𝒂𝒎𝒆𝒓𝒐𝒏. 𝒆𝒏𝒈𝒍𝒊𝒔𝒉 𝒊𝒔 𝒏𝒐𝒕 𝒎𝒚 𝒇𝒊𝒓𝒔𝒕 𝒍𝒂𝒏𝒈𝒖𝒂𝒈𝒆, 𝒆𝒏𝒋𝒐𝒚 ☕︎
𝚜𝚞𝚖𝚖𝚊𝚛𝚢: 𝒚𝒐𝒖 𝒎𝒆𝒆𝒕 𝒚𝒐𝒖𝒓 𝒆𝒙-𝒃𝒐𝒚𝒇𝒓𝒊𝒆𝒏𝒅'𝒔 𝒃𝒓𝒐𝒕𝒉𝒆𝒓𝒔 𝒂𝒕 𝒂 𝒑𝒂𝒓𝒕𝒚
Matt and I had a complicated relationship. We became friends, weeks later he confessed to having feelings and I said I felt the same. We started dating and it lasted exactly eight months until he broke up with me with the excuse "I don't know how to say this, but I don't think I'm ready for a real relationship." He wasn't ready. After 8 months. For a real relationship. So what we had was a lie?
As much as I wanted to punch his face, take his clothes that were with me and set them on fire, expose how much of a terrible person he was, I couldn't. I only managed to isolate myself, and with that, I had to, unfortunately, isolate Nick and Chris from my life as well, after all, they were always together.
It was my first time away from home since Matt and I broke up. It took me two months to work up the courage to get out of bed, get ready, and not cry looking at the mirror. As if my voluntary action of going out wasn't enough, my two college friends found a party at someone's house. They convinced me to go after telling me I would be free to have as many drinks as I wanted. I haven't drunk since I became friends with Matthew, which was a long time ago, so I really needed a drink.
I decided to go, after all, I had already spent so much time lying in tears that feeling like a hottie was all I needed. I rummaged through my wardrobe and found a black dress that made me smile just imagining myself wearing it. I ran to take my shower and wash my hair, deciding to let it dry naturally, and went to do my makeup. I wore the dress, feeling beautiful when I saw my reflection in the mirror. I smiled and put on my white sneakers, completing my look with some accessories.
I took some photos, posted one of them in my story, and ordered an Uber to the address of the house since I intended to drink and did not want to cause an accident if I went by car.
-Hey, you came! - I hear a familiar voice and turn around with a smile.
-Yeah, I wanted to see you guys. -I answer.
With a quick hug at Anna and Lilly, my college friends, I follow them into the party. It was very crowded there and I didn't know how comfortable I could be in that environment. Lilly gave me a shot of tequila and I took it, feeling the taste of alcohol rip through my throat. We found a little space on the couch and threw ourselves in there, talking about random things until I felt my phone vibrate and went to see what it was.
Nick💜
Hi
I don't know if I could say that, but I miss you
I saw you on the couch and wanted to talk to you
Matt didn't come, just me and Chris, if that comforts you in some way
We'll be around, and it would be great to say hi, I still think that you're one of my best friends even if we're not talking anymore
I miss you so much
I read the texts with my heart beating fast, surprised he had reached out, I didn't even know they'd be here.
Nick was always the best friend I could have, Chris was also so important to me. When my relationship with Matt ended and I isolated myself from everything, I didn't give them any chance to contact me, and that made these last two months a mystery of how it could have been for them.
I don't know how that affected Matthew. Or if it affected him in any way. I don't know if he thought about it, if he talked to his brothers, or with friends, if he met new people, if he moved on, if he still thinks about me.
If he wanted to, he would've found a way to fight for me, but he just let me go. It wasn't Nick's or Chris' fault, and it was irresponsible of me to put them in this situation just because I couldn't reason it out sooner and make a less exclusive decision.
Me
Hi Nick, I'm sorry, that's all my fault.
I love you, I love Chris, I shouldn't have pushed you guys away
I'd love to talk, can we meet in the backyard? :)
I waited anxiously for an answer. I told Anna and Lilly I'd be back soon and they just nodded, happy to see I was trying to socialize a bit.
I carefully get up and straighten my dress before walking to the sliding door that leads out to a comfortable garden, with most of the floor being grass, a pool with blue lights on, a few people swimming, and a few benches near the walls. I sat on an empty bench and felt my phone buzz once again. Anxious, I unlock the screen and open the notification.
Nick💜
we're going :)
A smile of relief appeared on my face, but as I remembered the amount of time we spent without talking to each other and all because of me, I began to feel nervous. Did they really still like me? We could still be friends, right? It would be fine even if Matt couldn't be present in the same room as me.
I feel a hand on my shoulder and snap out of my thoughts, lifting my face and meeting Nick's eyes. I get up quickly, hugging him so tightly that I could've broken one of his bones. He runs his hands on my back, only separating us to look at me up and down.
-We have so much to talk about. But first: you look stunning, girl! I loved the dress.
I giggle, feeling my heart beat fast. I was happy that Nick complimented me, he always did it, it gave me a good nostalgia that I still don't know how to deal with it.
-You look amazing, as always. -I reply, earning a huge smile in response.
-Hey, I don't know if you two get it, but I'm still here, you know? -I hear another voice and turn back to face Chris.
I smiled slightly before pulling him into a tight hug as well, to which he returned without even complaining about the force.
-I missed you. -He says, low, in my ear, still hugging me.
-I missed you, too. A lot. -I say, undoing the hug to look him in the eye.
His hair looked longer, the beard had not been done recently, he wore black pants, an orange sweatshirt and a backward hat. Chris wrapped his arm around my shoulders and we sat down on the bench I was on.
We all talked about everything that had happened since my breakup until now. While we were talking, Anna and Lilly showed up and said hi to the boys, as well as leaving a drink and another shot for me in my hands.
-Have fun! -Anna screams before being pulled by Lilly, making me laugh.
-You're drinking? -Nick asks, cautiously.
I knew they didn't like to drink, but they had no problem with friends doing it. I never normally drank. It was rare and when it happened it was just a glass or two, but now I had another idea in my head, especially because it was the first time I was out of my apartment in two months.
-I think tonight is a good night to drink.
I raise the shot with a smirk, showing it to Nick and Chris before chugging it and grimacing at the taste.
-Let's take some photos together. -I suggest, setting the shot glass down on a nearby table and taking my phone out of my pocket.
We took a few selfies and I posted one of them on my Instagram story, tagging the boys.
-So... Why didn't he come? -I was holding myself back from commenting on it, but of course I felt more curious than sad about it. Nick looked at me when I asked, but seeing that I didn't exactly look sad he decided to answer.
-He went out with other friends. -The answer was vague, but I already knew what it meant.
It wasn't just other friends, but okay, that's what I was thinking anyway.
I give him a soft smile in response, not wanting to get into the depth of the subject, and take a few sips of the drink I had received from my friends.
-Let's dance. -I say, getting up when I hear a song I liked and the boys soon follow me.
While moving my body and talking to both of them, I slowly finished my drink and ended up losing the glass at some point, but it didn't matter, I didn't intend to drink more than that.
I was having fun, I missed seeing my friends, I missed dancing, I missed feeling good. And as useless as a party seems to be, the uselessness seemed to be exactly what I needed.
-I'll get some water. -I hear Nick speak in my ear and I nod my head.
I feel my phone vibrate once again and unlock it, seeing that it was a response to my Instagram story. I only had notifications turned on for friends and people I knew, but upon reading the name on my screen my reaction must have changed in the same second.
Matt
That's why Nick's not answering me...
You look beautiful btw
I miss your pretty face
Before I had a chance to respond, I felt a hand on my hip and my phone was taken from my hand. I look at Chris, who smiles as he puts my phone in his pants pocket.
-He may be my brother, but this is a dick move and I will not let you answer. -He says, moving closer and placing both hands on my waist.
I roll my eyes with a little smile and wrap my arms around his neck, knowing he was more than right and I shouldn't pay any attention to Matt now. And besides, why would I care about someone who broke up with me without a good explanation if I had a guy as handsome as Chris around?
Maybe it was the alcohol talking.
-How are you feeling? -He asks, looking at me carefully.
-I don't know, I'm not as bad as I could be, I already felt too sad because of him. I'm actually glad to be here, and I'm glad to see you again. -I answer, allowing myself to take a step forward.
He didn't back down. Where's Nick with his water to try to put some sense in my head? I see a smirk on Chris's face with my words and immediately my focus goes to his mouth. Part of me knew that was wrong, but now that part was way too far.
-I'm glad to see you again, too. And to be honest, I think I'd be a much better boyfriend than him.
His eyes scanned my entire face, stopping to stare at my mouth with a smile that I swore could give me a heart attack at any moment.
-To be honest, I think so too. -My voice comes out a little lower than it should, but high enough that he could hear me even with the sound of the songs.
He lifts one of his hands up to my face and quickly presses his lips against mine. It wasn't long before he deepened it and I felt his tongue on mine, sending shivers down my spine. We kissed for a while until we were interrupted by a nearby scream.
-WHAT THE FUCK ARE YOU GUYS DOING? -Nick was standing in front of us, mouth open in shock.
Chris just rolls his eyes and I step back, realizing what I had done and feeling a little embarrassed with some people around staring at us. With no response, Nick pulls us out of the party, to a part of the street where the music wasn't so loud.
-Are you guys crazy? He's your ex's brother, you're her ex's brother. Brother. Ex. -Nick says, pointing at me and Chris.
-Dude, relax, Matt may be my brother, but he was a complete asshole to her. Did you know he texted her? She deserves more than that. -Chris answers, making Nick look at us with an expression of disgust and confusion.
-What did he say? -He asks.
I look at Chris, remembering that he had my phone and he soon pulls it out of his pocket, handing it to me to unlock. I show Nick Matt's message, and hear the heavy sigh of the boy in front of me, handing me back my phone. We spent a few seconds in silence until Nick looked at Chris, then at me, and back at his brother.
-Be better. -He says, making the younger one look confused. -Better than Matthew, we'll talk to him later, but if you think you can be better for her, be it.
Chris smiles, looking at me and passing his arm around me.
-I will be. -He answers. Nick loses his seriousness, throwing us a weak smile.
We decided to split an Uber to get back, leaving my address as the first stop. We were talking along the way and when we arrived at my building I said goodbye to both of them with a hug and made my way to my apartment, taking out my phone and seeing the notifications I had received in the meantime.
Matthew Sturniolo
You're joking.
My brother? Seriously? You know he'll never be like me, he'll never make you feel good as I did
Me
Yeah, you're right. He'll never be like you, that's what makes him so much better than you already
Leave me alone, Matt
I sigh, forcing myself to take a shower and rest. Although I was stressed, I didn't feel bad for what I did, much less for seeing that it made Matthew so angry and deep down seeing that he finally felt something because of me was gratifying.
Me and Nick went back to talking to each other every day, as it was before. Chris and I hung out together every weekend for over a month straight and I couldn't get enough of being with him for even a second. We used to get along before everything, but now it was different, and honestly, it was better.
Matt never texted me again. He still saw everything I posted, knew I was with his brothers most of the time, and knew he should take a step back and rethink what he did. It took longer than it should have, but he understood that he did me wrong and that I was fine with someone else, even if that person was in fact his brother.
I didn't get an apology, despite all that. Matt and I saw each other once after all, it was the first time I saw him after breaking up and the first and only time since Chris and I decided to be exclusive and have something serious. It was awkward, and a little quiet, but no fighting, which was enough for me.
Since that party, things have been going well. I felt happy, not only for being with someone new, but for moving on and living my life again.
𝒕𝒂𝒈𝒔 ✍︎
➪ @riowritesitall @sturniolosarethebest @hyacinthst @deers4luv @sturncakez @watercolorskyy @delooshunalhoe @sarosfilms @blahbel668 @sturniyolo69 @sturniolosl0t @colbsposts00 @fallingforfalll2 @stvrnmc @faithlia @katie-tibo @monroesturnns @mattnchrisworld @shaquilles-0atmeal @fratbrochrisgf @dayzeandhaze @phimstarz @h3arts4harry @star-yawnznn @asherrisrandom @pip4444chris @sturniolo-fann @beansprout713 @conspiracy-ash @sturnsxbitvh @ivysturnss @mattsbitchh @larallott
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Dance Like Nobody's Watching
Dick Grayson x Reader
Masterlist - Join My Taglist!
Written for Fictober 2024!
Fandom: DC
Day Twenty-Seven Prompt: "Let me remind you."
Summary: Dick's SO is having trouble adjusting to the new scrutiny of attending Wayne galas as his date, but thankfully, he has an idea to help with that.
Word Count: 1,449
Category: Fluff
Putting work into an AI program without permission is illegal. You do not have my permission. Do not do it.
I sipped my champagne, trying to get a handle on my nerves. I could handle fighting the Joker and Scarecrow with no problems, but attending a Wayne gala as the partner of Dick Grayson was throwing me for a loop.
I fought the urge to scowl about it. If one thing could make this night more awkward, it would be some person I barely knew finding me making faces in the corner.
What irritated me the most was that this was by no means my first Wayne gala. I'd grown up with Dick and spent countless hours in the manor with him and his family. We'd been each other's primary entertainment at these things as kids. But being here as his date, and as an adult expected to do more than turn the banquet tables into a fort, was turning out to be surprisingly stressful.
When we were kids, nobody seemed to care what we did much beyond just noticing and thinking we were cute. Now, it seemed like everybody in this room wanted something from Dick, and either saw me as a threat to their ability to get it or as a secret backdoor to him, if only they could get me on their side.
I was seriously on the edge of losing it and going back to the buffet tables kid-style.
Dick had done his best to stick with me, but people kept showing up to pull both of us away from each other for a conversation, and we hadn't been able to do much without being incredibly, obviously rude. I'd finally managed to extract myself enough for some breathing room, but I could see Dick still in the middle of things, a group of old men who almost certainly wanted money from Bruce talking his ear off.
Even from here, I could tell Dick was barely paying attention to them. His eyes scanned the crowd, and after a moment, they landed on me. He raised an eyebrow, and I gave him a reassuring smile. Unfortunately for me, he knew me too well and was too good of a detective to believe it.
Dick quickly made his excuses to the men around him, and didn't take no for an answer as he left the conversation and headed in my direction. He crossed the massive room quickly to stand before me, and this time when I smiled at him, it was much more genuine.
"Hey," he said, returning my smile and leaning in to kiss my temple as soon as he reached me. "How are you doing?"
"Good." I tried to strengthen my smile, but Dick saw right through it. He raised an eyebrow at me.
"...Are you sure?"
I sighed. "It's just... this all feels a little weird. I've known you forever, you know it's never been important to me that you're the famed son of billionare Bruce Wayne. But it seems like that's all anybody else here can think about, and they all either hate me because they want to be with you or want to be my new best friend, all so they can get to you and Bruce. It's fine, none of their opinions matter to me, but... I just didn't expect to feel so weird coming to one of these things again."
Dick took a step closer to me, reaching out to take my arm with a concerned look on his face. He spoke quietly enough that, even if someone had been intentionally eavesdropping (which had happened more than once tonight), they wouldn't be able to hear him.
"Do you want to go? I'm happy to leave if you want to. We don't have to stay here."
I shook my head before he'd even finished his sentence.
"Running and no-showing Bruce's galas isn't a long-term solution. And seriously, it's fine, I'll adjust. I just... I don't know. I miss the days where we hid under the punch bowl giggling out of sight of everybody, you know?"
My boyfriend grinned. "I mean, if you really think about it, there's nothing keeping us from doing that again."
"I can think of a few things," I laughed, swatting his shoulder lightly. He hummed, but sobered quickly as he scanned the room, clearly thinking.
"Well... if you're sure you don't want to commandeer the space under the desert table?"
"I'm sure."
"Then why don't we try dancing? That's a little more... socially acceptable than hiding under the tables, but it's one of the things we used to have the most fun doing at these things. Remember how we'd just take over the entire floor to do whatever we wanted when we were kids?"
I laughed. "Yeah, of course. Although it's a little harder to remember the feeling that inspired us to just run out there before."
Dick smiled softly and extended his hand to me.
"Let me remind you."
My heart did a little backflip, especially when I met Dick's sparkling blue eyes. I huffed a little laugh of disbelief, especially at the thought of stepping into the center of the spotlight when I knew just how many people were going to be watching. But then I looked at Dick again, and I decided that, as long as I was with him, they didn't matter.
I took his hand, and he didn't waste a second before pulling me after him to the dance floor. I laughed, unable to hold back a smile even as heads turned towards us. Dick ignored them completely. He pulled me to his chest when we reached the center of the floor and wrapped an arm securely around my waist, the other taking one of my hands. I rested my free hand on his shoulder, and as we started swaying together to the music, his eyes didn't leave mine for a second.
"You know..." he started after a moment, drawing my attention back from a glance over his shoulder to where people were watching us. "This is nice, but a slow dance wasn't exactly what I had in mind."
I gave Dick my full attention and raised an eyebrow.
"I'm almost afraid to ask, but... what did you have in mind?"
He grinned. "Something more like this."
Suddenly, Dick was spinning me out and away from him, twirling across the floor before pulling me back. We'd know each other long enough and spent enough time as vigilante teammates that his steps were easy to follow, even as he started something closer to swing that didn't match the music at all.
I laughed, a warm feeling spreading through my chest as I shared a smile with my partner. In the back of my mind, I knew more people were probably watching and judging than ever. But suddenly they didn't matter like they used to.
Dick swung me around again, then pulled me close and into an exaggerated dip. If I didn't know he was a superhero, I probably would've been a little worried about him dropping me. Instead, it just made me laugh, especially as Dick grinned and led me into something way too close to something you'd do to Cotton Eye Joe.
With every second that passed on the dance floor with Dick, everyone else in the room faded further and further away. It felt like when we were kids, just me and the most important person in the world to me having the time of our lives.
"Feel any better?" asked Dick, whispering in my ear as he pulled me close again, both hands wrapped tight around my waist. I smiled, running my hands up his arms and across his shoulders.
"So much better. Thank you."
"You don't need to thank me. We're partners, you know I'd never leave you hanging."
I pulled back enough to meet Dick's eyes, and found their familiar sparkle and a smile waiting for me. I gave him a soft smile back.
"I love you, Dick Grayson. So fucking much."
Dick beamed back at me. "I love you too. Now come on, the band's finally catching on to what we want. I want to dance with the love of my life to music that's actually fun for dancing."
I just laughed as Dick swung me out and away from him again, the two of us twirling across the floor, this time in sync with the now-faster music. Suddenly, after a few minutes with Dick, the propsect of all these Wayne galas didn't seem nearly so daunting anymore. Sure, I might have to deal with a few unpleasant strangers whose opinions didn't matter to me. But I'd also get to do this, laughing and dancing and having the time of our lives, with my favorite person in the world.
Worth it in the long run, as far as I was concerned.
****************
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🎸 out of my mind ! 💿 track two: kowalski, status report
guitarist!ino x drummer!reader
summary: it's the annual battle of the bands at the fix, your college campus's iconic live music bar, and this year you're taking the stage as the drummer for indie rock group cursed technique. you know the competition is strong, but no part of you is ready for lead singer and guitarist takuma ino. you lock eyes at the edge of the stage, and something starts—something that might make you feel alive even more than the beat of the drums.
warnings: language, alcohol, mentions of drugs/drug dealing, toge bullying, unbearably cute dogs. || sfw. 9k words.
"I SHOULDN'T CUSS in this, right?"
It’s the day before the other four artists premiere their sets at Battle of the Bands, and you haven’t been home since six in the morning. You’re running on caffeine and spite and the pursuit of the story, parked on a high stool across the bar from the one and only Ieiri Shoko.
Toge leans on the counter beside you, opting to stand. He’s agreed to pay for the next snack run in return for you letting him be your partner. You both know you’re going to end up doing most of the writing, but you don’t really mind. Toge would if you asked him to, but you love this kind of thing in a way he just doesn’t. Plus, he’s better with a camera than you, and he’s taking photos tomorrow night.
You laugh, pulling out your phone to record. “You can say whatever you want as long as it’s honest. Be candid.”
“You might regret saying that!” Gojo calls from the back, and Shoko silences him with a glare.
“Are you coming or not?”
Gojo grins and finishes up whatever he’s putting away in the storage room, then strides out and leans his elbows on the counter.
“Do you mind if I record?” You point to the open voice memo app. “Makes it easier to quote you correctly.” You also just hate running interviews when you’re scribbling hand-written notes the whole time. You’d much rather have a genuine conversation and worry about the details later.
Shoko waves a hand airily. “No problem.”
“Absolutely,” Gojo says. “You can probably sell that for thousands.”
You set the phone on the counter, next to one of the tiny pumpkins scattered across it in celebration of the beginning of October. You and Toge bounce back and forth as you run through the standard start-of-interview checklist, having them spell out their names, getting their ages, hometowns, degrees, all that jazz. And then you launch into the stuff you really care about.
“So, you opened The Fix about ten years ago now, correct?”
Shoko nods. “Yeah, a little over two years after we graduated.”
You look at Gojo, whose eyes are even more alarmingly blue in the daylight. “And you were hired right away?”
“Utahime first, then me,” he nods. “Best for last, y’know.”
Shoko snorts. “We knew each other in school. I just took pity on him.” She smirks as Gojo’s jaw drops. “You can quote that.”
“Right, so all of you were friends in college. And you came together to start this place—what was the idea behind it?” Toge chimes in. “You said you studied nursing, Shoko?”
And you sit and listen as Shoko explains. Back in college, she was at the top of her class. By graduation, she’d been accepted to basically all the best med schools. She had her pick. She could do whatever she wanted. But she realized that what she wanted wasn’t that at all.
The medical field is brutal, she tells you. It’s all late nights and emotional burnout. People yelling at you, misplaced anger when you give them the bad news. Getting attached to people only to watch them waste away.
“I needed to get out before I got too far in. Maybe it was selfish,” she admits. “But I wasn’t cut out for it. I have so much admiration for medical professionals, but I couldn’t be one of them. A few clinicals and I was already feeling the consequences of giving too much of myself and getting nothing back.” She shrugs. “So I named it The Fix, as some kind of homage to the medical background. And I figured I’d just make sure it’s safe.”
Something sits heavy in her gaze as she stares at something behind you, middle distance, like she’s remembering.
“Why a college bar?” you ask, nudging the phone across the counter to pick up her voice better. “I mean, the extra security, thinking about underage drinking, dealing with a bunch of broke university kids. You could’ve just as easily opened a different bar in a more lucrative area. What was the appeal?”
She smiles crookedly. “Appeal. Well. My senior year, I was working in the local ER. And I saw… god. So many kids came in there needing their stomachs pumped, or kids who’d done laced drugs, gotten roofied, harassed, it was… I mean, it was a city university club scene. They weren’t safe. And I just felt like I needed to give them that. I couldn’t stay there as a nurse or a doctor. But I could do this.” She shrugs. “Sorry. That was probably way too much.”
“No,” you say quickly, smiling at her. “That was—that’s what we came here for. Shoko, that’s amazing. And it’s not selfish, taking care of yourself. You’re still here taking care of others.”
You don’t know Gojo well. Most of your stories about him come secondhand from Nobara, who knows him through Megumi. She paints the picture of a flamboyant, obnoxious bartender who’s more like a weird uncle to her than anything. From what you’ve seen of him at The Fix, you know this to be mostly accurate—he’s rarely serious, always taking flack from the students and giving it right back, ragging on Utahime, begging Shoko to play his playlist instead of Geto’s and knowing she’ll never cave. But now, as he listens intently to Shoko, you think you’re seeing another side of him.
There’s something troubled on his face as she speaks, like he wishes he could reach into the past and help. Like he regrets it.
The bar’s not the only thing that has a different side in the daylight.
“She’s right,” Gojo tells Shoko. It’s not much, but she looks up at him a bit surprised, something in her expression softening. A smile tugs at the corner of her mouth, not quite there but not quite not. “You’ve got a pretty big heart under all that RBF.” Shoko rolls her eyes, the moment over.
“What about you?” You turn to Gojo, nudging the phone his way. “Why a college bar?”
Shoko turns toward him, leaning a hip against the bar, just as curious as you are. “I think kids deserve to be kids,” he shrugs. “And if I—if we—can create a space where it’s actually safe for them to do that, it feels important.” His gaze shifts from you and Toge to the empty bar, the stage and floor and high-top tables that tomorrow will be full of music and laughter and students knowing they’re allowed to let loose here.
“There aren’t a lot of places out there that are exclusively for students,” he continues. “It’s this weird phase, college, where you’re figuring out who you are, trying to take risks without losing too much. It’s a lot. And you look at the crime rates, date rape drugs, theft, DUIs, in the city, and it’s just—this place gives them the room to learn and grow and mess around and have a good time without the danger of the… I don’t know. The outside world. Does that make sense?”
He drums his fingers on the countertop, then seems to abruptly remember the recording and stops. “I think it’s just… well, no one’s allowed to take youth away from young people. So that’s why I’m here.”
You wonder what Gojo was like in school. He majored in gender studies, which you’re pretty sure is what Todo is at least minoring in, too—you’re not sure how it’s applicable to anything, but Nobara says he likes to pull his diploma out from behind the bar and say he’s an expert in women. It seems a far cry from this rare, more subdued version of Gojo you’re seeing right now. You’d guess he’s grown quite a bit in the time he’s been here. And Shoko’s been here to witness it.
He’s not a business owner, like Shoko or Geto. And according to Nobara, he definitely doesn’t need this gig to make a living. He’s here because he wants to be.
“These last few years have been nice, in particular,” he offers. “Just ‘cause some of us have kids going here. I mean, you know the Fushiguros. Suguru’s got the twins. And I know Ino’s not Nanami’s kid, but they’re tight.”
“Wait, what?” Nanami is the bar’s primary security guy, a bouncer who never lets a fake ID fool him. He’s part of the reason this place is so safe. Toge spins to look at you as you blurt out the question, caught off guard. “Uh, sorry. I just didn’t—I didn’t know they knew each other.”
Shoko studies you with tired, intelligent eyes, and you can’t help but feel the tables have been entirely flipped. You’re the one being interrogated, wordlessly, by the woman across the counter. You feel like every thought in your head is scrawled across your face for her to read.
“Yeah,” Gojo says, unaffected. “Ino looks up to him a lot, I think. Even though he’s an old man who reads the newspaper for fun.” He snorts. “He’s a good guy, though. And Ino’s a good kid.” He finally clocks the way Shoko’s looking at you and cocks his head, appraising.
Thankfully, Toge cuts in with another question. “So, we’ll be around tomorrow for the bands and to take some photos and observe,” he explains, glancing at you to make sure he’s got the information right. “Will Geto be around?” You’d wanted both owners’ perspectives, and now that Gojo’s reminded you of the twins, you’re even more curious.
“Yeah, Suguru and Utahime will be here tomorrow night,” Shoko says. “And Nanami. Geto would totally be down to talk to you some other time, too, when it’s a bit quieter.”
“Amazing,” you say, pulling the phone back toward you. You’ll need details, follow-ups, but you need to process this first, write some things down while they’re fresh in your mind. ‘Thank you so much for this. We appreciate it.”
“Anytime, kid,” Shoko says, waving you off. “See you tomorrow.”
As you turn off the recording, Gojo and Toge have already devolved into conversation about the bands and predictions about tomorrow night. A few posters are scattered across a low table near the door, and you pick one up, smiling at the blocky lettering advertising Black Flash. There are posters advertising all of the artists, and they look amazing, straight out of one of the alt rock venues in the wider city.
“They’re sick, right?” Gojo calls, nodding to the posters. “I gotta hang those up, actually. Thanks for the reminder.”
You wave goodbye to Shoko and Gojo and lead the way out, Toge just behind you.
“Man,” he says, and you brace yourself, recognizing his teasing tone for what it is. “They said Ino’s name and you look like scared Bambi or some shit.”
“Shut up,” you mutter, elbowing him.
He holds his hands up. “I’m just living in pursuit of the truth! Like Kusakabe would want.”
“Is your camera battery charged for tomorrow?” you say in a blatant attempt at a topic change.
“Who do you think I am?”
“Toge Inumaki, chronically irresponsible student and—”
“Okay, sorry I asked, holy shit.” He sticks his tongue out at you. Then he hesitates, frowning, and then he’s pulling out his phone and calling someone in his favorites list before you can see who it is. “Hey,” he greets. “What? No, she didn’t kick me out. Hey. Hey.” You snicker and Toge glares at you, pressing the phone closer to his ear. “Yutaaa,” he whines. “Do you know where my camera battery is?”
—
Even when you’re not the one on stage, you live for Fridays at The Fix. Tonight you’re doing double duty—because of the dual elimination at the end of the round, all of the competing artists are here. It’s not a requirement, but you want to see what you’re up against, and the sentiment seems to have carried. You and Toge are also in reporting mode for your project story.
The band on stage right now is… well, you can’t say new wave metal is really your thing, but it’s definitely theirs, and the audience is loving it. The Cull, you write in your notes. Look up names.
You couldn’t make out the lyrics if your life depended on it. It’s three guys and a girl, vaguely familiar, but you’re fairly certain they’re seniors and absolutely certain they’re baked right now.
“God, this is loud.” Yuta winces, turning to face you, and then his eyes flicker to something over your shoulder. You divert your attention from the stage and just catch the brief commotion in your periphery. Nanami has a kid by the elbow, and he’s escorting him out the side door, expressionless. The kid’s obviously drunk out of his mind, tripping over himself, shouting something that Nanami doesn’t bother to respond to.
Maki follows your gaze and wrinkles her nose up in distaste.
“Who’s that?”
“My cousin,” she says flatly. You glance quizzically at Megumi, who is definitely standing five feet away and not being escorted out of the bar.
“Dude, how much family do you have at this school?”
She sighs. “Just Mai and Megumi and him. Naoya. He’s a piece of shit.”
“Clearly,” Toge says. “He broke the M theme. No respect for the family alliteration.” Maki kicks him in the shin.
“One last round for The Cull!” Panda calls from the stage, and your ears slowly, very gradually stop ringing with the raging new wave music. The stage techs get to work behind Panda as he introduces the next group.
“Up next, making their debut, we’ve got a sophomore girl pop trio. Give it up for MOTION CAPTURE!”
There’s a big cheer from the bar, and you turn to see Geto grinning. Three girls take the stage, the blonde one grabbing the mic and adding, “All caps!” The girl beside her is very obviously her twin sister, though her hair is straight and dark while the blonde’s is tugged into pigtails. Light and dark. The girl on keys has a long, black bubble braid that she pushes out of the way as she settles in to play.
The blonde plugs in her electric and calls out, “Alright, I’m Nanako.” She tests out a chord, the sound reverberating, filling the bar all the way up to its high ceilings. “That’s Mimiko, that’s Remi, and we’re just here to have a good time.”
“Hey,” a voice says behind you, and you jump. You turn to find Takuma holding two drinks, offering one to you.
“Oh! Aw, thanks, you didn’t have to do that. How much do I owe you?”
He rolls his eyes. “Nothing.”
“Takuma—”
“Nothing,” he reiterates. “Anyway, The Cull. Thoughts?”
You take the drink and try it while you think on your answer—it’s the same thing Nobara got you last week. How did he know?
“I didn’t really understand any of the lyrics,” you admit, shrugging. “They weren’t bad. Not really my genre. Do you know them?”
Takuma shakes his head. “I had a gen ed once with that Rin kid, but I don’t know the other ones. These girls aren’t bad, though.” He’s right—they’ve launched into an Olivia Rodrigo cover that’s actually decent. They could work on their voice control, but they’re young and fun and having a good time and working the crowd, and that’s what it’s all about, isn’t it?
You sing along, alternating between your drink and exchanging quips with Toge and talking with Takuma. You like this new balance between your band and his, the easy camaraderie.
When the girls wrap up their set, you whoop and cheer and Kirara shamelessly watches Hakari move things off the stage, arms bare in his cut-off tank.
“You’re subtle,” Takuma tells her, and she tugs his beanie down over his face.
“Hey!”
You grab his drink before he can spill it and grin as he yanks his hat off and readjusts it. His hair is a fluffy mess underneath, and it’s kind of endearing.
When the girl pop trio is done, two guys take the stage, one in white and one in black. They’re clearly related, dark hair and pale skin and piercing eyes, and Panda introduces them as the Kamos. You don’t know if they’re brothers or cousins or what. But they’re good—they sing a few alt rock covers, play guitar.
“Damn,” Nobara sighs, a little longingly, her gaze settling on Choso as he takes over the chorus. “They’re…”
Beside her, Yuji wrinkles his nose. “Dude. That’s my half-brother.”
Nobara hums noncommittally. “And?”
He groans, tipping his head back and staring at the exposed beams of the ceiling, run through with colored lights. “Why does this always happen?”
Toge is taking more photos of them than is strictly necessary, considering your story is about the bar and not the band, but you let him have this. Scattered throughout the crowd are more kids with cameras, freshmen from the entry-level reporting classes with big underage stamps on the backs of their hands. Somebody mistook Toge for one of them earlier, and Maki hasn’t let it go all night.
You jot down atmospheric notes on your phone, little things that’ll help set the scene for your project lede, keeping an eye on the bar as much as you can. Geto has jumped in at the bar, which he usually does when the place gets busy, and Gojo is terrorizing Utahime again.
“How’d your interview go?” Takuma asks, nodding at your notes. It shouldn’t faze you so much that he remembers what you told him about your story, but you can’t help the little kick of your heart in your chest at the reminder.
“Good! Really good.” And then you catch sight of Nanami, back at the door after calling a cab for Maki’s asshat cousin. “Actually, Gojo mentioned you.”
Takuma’s brows shoot up. “Gojo? Why?”
Nanami has always seemed incredibly reserved, stony and silent in a way Takuma has never been. You don’t want to pry, but you’re also curious about the relationship between them, how they met, what they are to each other. The journalist in you wants to know.
And then there’s the part of you that just wants to know Takuma.
“Well, he was talking about the twins and the Fushiguros, and he kind of mentioned something about you knowing Nanami?” You try to sound casual, jerking your chin toward the door where Nanami is posted, like a tall, blond guard dog.
“Oh,” he says, surprised, but he shrugs, not seeming too alarmed by the question. “Yeah, I’ve known Nanami for… a long time. He’s kind of a mentor. He’s the reason I met Fushiguro in the first place, actually, ‘cause of him knowing Gojo.”
You’re considering asking how exactly they did meet when the Kamos wrap up, Nobara staring up at them dreamily, and the stage clears out for the final artist.
Whatever questions you had are thrown out the window, because you know who this is. Everyone knows who this is.
Fifth-year student and resident SoundCloud rapper, Ryomen Sukuna. Or D!SH0NORED1, according to the posters.
“Oh, here we go,” Megumi groans.
Despite his reputation on campus, you don’t know anyone who’s actually close to Sukuna, except Uruame. You mostly know that he deals at the skate park and that he’s clean about it.
And that his raps are truly, genuinely horrible.
He lets Panda give a stilted introduction and launches into a verse, mic too close to his mouth, making hand gestures or stepping to the beat of his backing track. His tattoos are even more stark and bold under the stage lights.
“My blood type’s B, your type is me, my zodiac Caprisun, it might be controversial but you’re still lookin’ at me, son!”
“Oh, sweet Jesus,” Kirara mutters. “I’m gonna bleach my eardrums.”
“Caprisun?” Nobara whispers. “Oh, dude.”
You might be a terrible person for thinking it, but watching this guy’s performance makes you feel infinitely better about your odds of advancing in the tournament.
His final song is a new one he introduces as Frosted Flexin’, and Maki looks like she’s about ready to keel over dead.
“Frosted flexin’, I'm the cereal king, pourin' oat milk in the mix, yeah, I'm doin' my thing,” Sukuna spits in his low voice, swaggering up to the front of the stage. You are trying so hard not to lose it.
“Sukuna being an oat milk truther wasn’t on my bingo card,” Toge says.
“Got the swag of a squirrel and the brain of a dove, call me trash, but you're still showin' me love.”
“Thoughts on the amount of swag a given squirrel possesses?” you ask Takuma. He laughs, loud and bright, and then seems to very seriously consider the question.
“I don’t know if campus squirrels have swag. They live in luxury. They probably eat better than we do,” he says. You can’t argue that—you did once see a squirrel outside your sociology class run by with a full bagel in its mouth. “The wilderness squirrels, though, I think they got a scrappy kind of swag. Like, I wouldn’t cross them.”
You nod sagely. “I want them on my team in the apocalypse.”
He nudges you with a shoulder. “Am I on your team?”
You glance at him, make a show of looking him up and down. Maybe you’re imagining it, but you think he’s blushing a little. “I don’t know. How fast can you climb a tree?”
Sukuna is nearing the end of his song, now, saying, “Off-tune, out of sync, yeah, I know it's a sin, but you'll play it back twice 'cause I still might win.”
He actually, physically drops the mic and Hakari swoops in and catches it, clearing his throat and saying into it, “Yep, friendly reminder that equipment’s expensive! Everyone give our last artist of the night a hand, yeah?”
There’s scattered applause and more than a few confused faces as Sukuna lopes off stage, and Panda hops back up to explain the voting system for anyone who wasn’t here last week. “QR codes to the Google form are posted around the bar,” he says.
Out of all eight artists, the bottom two will be eliminated. You’re nervous. But voting was open last week too. You can’t vote as a member of the band, and it’s all done through school Google accounts to avoid double votes or the link getting sent out to non-students.
“Open until tomorrow morning,” Panda reminds the audience. “Results and second round schedules will be posted on the Instagram at some point tomorrow! That’s it for this Friday at The Fix. Have a great night, folks. Get home safe.”
Gojo whoops dramatically from the bar, and Panda gives him a weird look before getting off stage.
Your friends start heading toward the door, and you grab Toge and excuse yourself to catch Geto at the bar. Gojo sees you first. “The newsies!” he calls.
“Like the musical?” you say in lieu of a greeting. “Banger soundtrack.”
“I could dance on newspapers,” Toge says.
“Geto!” The Fix’s other owner smiles at you, soft and genuine. Part of his dark hair is pulled back and the rest hangs loose over his shoulders, a stark contrast to Gojo—like the Kamos, you think, or like Nanako and Mimiko. Light and dark. “We were wondering if you’d be down to set up a time to talk. Has Gojo told you about our story at all?”
Geto smiles, drying a glass and leaning against the bar. “He told me he’s gonna be the front page of every paper in the city, which I assume is a horrid exaggeration,” he says. Gojo looks affronted. “Shoko mentioned you’re doing a feature for class, though. I’d be happy to.”
“We have our Monday night class time open for field reporting the week after this one,” Toge offers. “Will you be around?”
“I will indeed. Utahime, too, if you want to speak to both of us. And Gojo won’t be here, which might be beneficial for you.”
“Suguru,” Gojo gasps, pretending to stagger back. “You wound me.”
“Mhm,” he says, unaffected. “What time works best for you two?”
You set up a time to interview Geto and Utahime, then say goodbye to him and Gojo and run to catch up to your friends. It’s a nice night, and since you didn’t have to deal with instruments, you all decided to walk.
“How goes the… journalisming? Journaling?” Takuma asks when you fall into step beside him.
“Good, all good. Reporting is maybe a better word, but valiant effort.”
“I like journalisming. Can you just submit words to the official dictionary? I’m gonna do it.”
“No,” Toge says, and you blink. He shrugs. “What? I tried once. But the only submission form I could find was for the Bureau of Linguistical Reality and it wasn’t like, a legitimate dictionary form. There’s all these requirements, it’s horrible.”
“What word did you try to submit?” you ask warily, not sure if you actually want to know.
“Some things,” Toge says solemnly, “are better kept secret.”
The night is hazy, only small rays of moonlight piercing through the cloud cover, and you make your way through the campus roads guided only by the streetlamps and Maki’s reliable sense of direction.
Part of you wants to ask Takuma to come over, or Yuji to insist the band come over to his place again, just so you can keep talking. But you have work to do, things to write and transcribe, lists of follow-up questions to make, and that’s only your workload for this one class. You still have exams this week, and you need to study now so you can balance it with rehearsals. Assuming you actually advanced to round two, that is.
And part of you worries you might be taking this too fast, too. You don’t typically integrate people into your life so quickly. You like spending time with Takuma and Kirara and Yuji and even Megumi, though he’s pretty quiet. You just don’t want to jump in too far too fast.
At your place, you say your goodbyes and head up to your room to get some work done. Toge uploads his photos and puts them in your project folder on Drive. And you spend the night doing what you do best, aside from drumming—writing.
Youth for the young: JU alumni run safest live music bar in city limits
You don’t even notice the time until it’s past one in the morning, and you’re nearly asleep at your desk. The dark has crept across your room, the only source of light the desk lamp and your laptop screen. Finally, you push the computer shut and flick off the light, flopping into your bed. A few missed messages pop up when you hold your phone up, wincing at the bright screen.
takuma: just letting you know i made the treacherous journey home safely takuma: many miles of hardship takuma: thought i was gonna die halfway there
You smirk and type out a reply.
you: did kirara have to save you takuma: i resent that takuma: (yes) takuma: wait why are you up it’s so late you: journalisming you: why are YOU up takuma: travel adrenaline takuma: (coding project due monday that i just started) you: TAKUMA
The next text to come through is a voice note, and you can’t help smiling as you hit play and his voice fills the open air of your bedroom.
“Okay, in my defense, I thought it was due next Monday. Which maybe isn’t my defense because it means I just can’t read due dates, or maybe I just can’t read, but I thought I had a lot more time and then one of my classmates texted me asking for help on this block of code and I told him I hadn’t started and he was like oh my god, Ino, it’s due in three days, and I was like no it’s not, we have so much time—turns out we don’t have so much time, so I’m over here staring at my screen until the vessels in my eyes pop—”
He yawns, and it makes you yawn too, despite the screen separating you. “Sorry, agh. Anyway, I have to write this program that uses some kind of randomized generator…”
You find your eyelids fighting gravity, exhaustion washing over you as he explains the project and all the reasons he’s not that worried about getting it done by Monday because actually he’s on a roll and it turns out the code isn’t that different from a similar project he did last year so he can just lift the main blocks over and wow, he’s tired, and you stifle a laugh as the voice memo comes to an end and he says, “Okay, gosh, I should go to bed. You should go to bed. Stop journalisming, Skip, get some sleep. G’night.”
You grin, plugging your phone in and sending him a voice memo of your own.
“I’m done journalisming. Still haven’t written that story on you, though. Night, Takuma.”
The last thing you see before you fall asleep is his reaction to your text. It’s a thumbs up, but after a few seconds, it disappears, replaced with a heart.
—
“I’m gonna die,” Nobara groans.
You’ve been checking Instagram every hour on the hour for the bracket results, but to no avail. The five of you are sprawled out in the living room, a Fleetwood Mac record spinning in the corner, cups of coffee and tea and scattered remnants of breakfast dotting the table and the floor and the windowsill.
You have post notifications on for the Battle of the Bands Instagram page, but you check anyway, as if you somehow missed it.
“Okay,” Maki says. “Cut it out. No phones.”
“Maki,” Toge groans. “How do we live with the suspense?”
“Go around and give a rundown of your week?” Yuta suggests.
“Aw, highs and lows, it’s like elementary school,” Nobara says happily. “I’ll go first! High: annoying slacker guy in my marketing class got a shit grade on the group project and the rest of us got As. Low: Skipper won’t give me Ino lore.”
“Lore,” you mimic. “I don’t have any lore. We’ve known each other for like, two weeks.”
“That’s enough time for lore,” she insists. “What’s your high? Ino?”
“Okay, jeez,” you say. “Maybe it’s that Toge and I had a really good first interview for our project story.”
Toge blinks at you.
“Fine, maybe it’s Takuma.”
Nobara grins in a way you can only describe as malicious. “Okay,” you say, pointing at her. “Low: whatever that is.” She sticks her tongue out at you.
“My low is Skipper bullying me in class,” Toge says. “And my high is she said she’d be my partner, so I’m not gonna fail.”
Yuta nods sagely. “Maki?”
“Uhh,” she says eloquently. “My parents won’t stop pestering me about fall break. But I aced a test on Thursday in anthro, so there’s that.”
“You’re not going home, right?” you ask. She shakes her head resolutely. Maki doesn’t go home unless she absolutely has to—one thing she and Mai actually have in common.
All of your phones go off at once, a mix of buzzes and beeps and Apple watchfaces lighting up, and Nobara screams. “I can’t look!” she cries. “Someone tell me!”
You click on the notification and pull up the post, heart racing.
The first slide is a generic Battle of the Bands announcement with the cool ass graphics you’ve been seeing on the posters. Whoever designs those needs a raise. The second image is the bracket for next Friday, with the first knockout round of three—only one group will move on to the finals. “Who is it?” Nobara asks anxiously, pacing the room. “Oh god, I’m gonna die.”
“Shibuya Incident,” you read off, unable to keep the smile from your face. “Angel.” Nobara groans overdramatically. “And the Kamos.”
You swipe to the next screen, heart in your throat. OCTOBER 18, it reads. THE CULL. CURSED TECHNIQUE. BLACK FLASH.
“Oh my god!” you scream. “Oh my god, we made it!”
Toge yanks you to your feet and starts hopping around the living room, and Nobara shrieks with joy as you pull her into the celebration. Even Maki and Yuta are sporting wide smiles as they watch the three of you bounce around like kids on a sugar rush.
“What, no Sukuna?” Maki teases when you’ve calmed down. Toge clears his throat and does his best impression, going as far as to make his pants sag a little around his waist.
“Frosted flexin’, I’m the cereal king, pourin’… uh, duh nuh nuh, something doin’ my thing,” he says in a deep voice. “Uh… squirrel? Somethin’ fuego, that’s Spanish, uhhh…”
“Oh my god, let me look it up,” Nobara cackles, pulling up SoundCloud. “It’s I’m the king of bad decisions, got a throne made of Legos, took a bite of my mic and said these bars are fuego.”
Yuta physically winces. “Does he really sag his pants like that?”
Toge shrugs. “It felt right in the moment.”
“Wait, who’s the other one eliminated, then?” you ask, running through the bands in your head. Yours, Takuma’s, Black Flash, the Kamos…
“Motion Capture,” Maki says.
“No, it’s all caps. You have to shout it. MOTION CAPTURE!” Toge hollers. Nobara snorts.
You aren’t entirely surprised, but you have a feeling the girls aren’t too put out about it. They’re young, too—they’ll have their time to shine eventually.
You grin, flopping back onto the couch. “Okay, rehearsal when? Tonight?”
“Yeah, I have to go to a friend’s to figure some stuff out for a project, but I’ll be back at like… five?” Yuta says.
“Oh, fuck, I gotta go too!” Nobara says, darting toward the stairs.
“Group project?” Maki asks.
“Shopping! I gotta pick Miwa up in like, ten minutes!”
Maki rolls her eyes fondly. Yuta stands up and grabs his bag, heading toward the entryway, and the rest of you gravitate instinctually to the kitchen. Nobara is out the door moments later with a wave and a shout, and Toge grins.
“What,” Maki deadpans, not a question.
“I printed memes to hide on her Polaroid wall. Be right back.”
You snort, turning your attention to the window to watch Nobara cruise down the block. The view of her sleek, small car is interrupted by Yuta’s jungle of plants.
“I hope they’re not too cold,” he says, frowning as he tugs a jacket on over his white hoodie. “Do they look okay to you?”
“Yeah,” you say, pointing to the one in the white, ovular pot. “Especially this one, it’s getting so big! What’s his name, Snorlax?” Yuta had a phase where he named at least six plants in a row after Pokèmon.
“No, that one’s Rika, after that TV show,” Maki corrects, not looking up. Yuta blinks, looks between her and the plant, whose vines have started to creep up the window. A smile tugs at the corner of his lips. Both of your eyes on her have her looking up from her phone, expression flat and unaffected. “What?”
“Yeah,” he says slowly. “I didn’t know… anyone paid attention.”
Maki shrugs. “You talk to them out loud.”
“Yeah, I guess I do.” Yuta laughs and waves one last time before he walks out, closing the door behind him. You count to five in your head and then whirl on Maki, entirely unable to keep the shit-eating grin off your face.
“Kowalski, status report.”
She blinks at you. “What?”
“I said—”
“No, I know, just—on what? What happened?”
You groan, dragging the heels of your hands down your face. “Maki. Please.” You gesture wildly between her and the door, wondering if she’s genuinely this oblivious or if she’s just as good a liar as Mai. “Are you—did we not just witness the same interaction? Jesus, Maki, put the boy out of his misery!”
Seeing Maki frazzled is not a common occurrence. The most agitated you ever see her is talking about her family or trading passive aggressive jabs with Mai. This is an entirely new sort of disarray—she’s flustered.
“I—what?! I can’t do that! And he’s not miserable. He’s that nice to everyone.”
You groan, burying your face in your hands with your elbows on the counter. “Maki! He likes you. And your face is telling me you like him back.”
She scoffs, turning her head down and crossing her arms defensively. “I’m not messing things up by dating my bandmate. We live together, Skip, he’s my best friend, if things got messy—”
You hold up a hand. “First of all, offensive. I’m your best friend. Second of all, I hear no denial. Also, it won’t get messy. You are the two most mature people in this house and you know how to separate personal from practical. If anything, it’s gonna kill the vibes of the band and the house if you just keep stewing in the sexual tension.”
“Oh my god,” Maki groans. “There. Is. No. Sexual. Tension.”
“There’s always sexual tension,” Toge announces, walking in and jumping up onto the countertop, legs swinging. He looks between the two of you innocently. “What are we talking about?”
“You might be of some help, actually,” you say, turning to Toge with your hands clasped.
“Uh, actually? Not oh, Toge, you’re always so helpful, thank god you live with me and keep my life interesting—”
“Nevermind.”
“No, pleeease,” Toge insists, sticking out his lower lip. “What?” His gaze shifts to Maki, who’s blushing a furious red. His mouth turns into a small O. “This is about Yuta?”
You didn’t think she could get any more scarlet, but here she is.
“Does everyone think that?” she groans, throwing her head back in exasperation.
Toge shrugs. “I thought we were all just quietly skirting around it until you both snapped.”
“Nobara doesn’t skirt around anything,” Maki says.
“Well, there’s no way she doesn’t know,” you point out. “Maybe she just respects both of you enough to leave it alone.”
“Hah!” Toge snorts, poking you in the ribs. “That means she doesn’t respect you. She wants the Ino lore.”
“I’m gonna tell Nobara about the memes.”
“You wouldn’t dare.”
Abruptly, you realize you never got around to Yuta for highs and lows, what with the chaos of the brackets dropping. “Ah, guys,” you say. “We missed Yuta.” You pull up the house group chat.
you: YUTA DROP YOUR HIGH AND LOW IN THE CHAT you: YOU ARE NOT FORGOTTEN freak no. 1: yes you are utah: haha aw that’s nice utah disliked a message from freak no. 1 utah: uhh low is maybe that toge keeps leaving memes all over our room. like i keep finding them tucked in my notebooks and everything freak no. 1: SLANDER freak no. 1: LIBEL you: not the same thing freak no. 1: SHUT UP utah: high is someone remembers the names of my plants!! :) nobara: Sorry, using voice text while I drive. Who knows the names of your plants? You and God? utah: maki! :)
“Okay, well, respond,” Toge says, poking Maki in the side. She glares at him and likes Yuta’s message.
“Guys,” she says exasperatedly. “What the hell am I supposed to do? Does he know?”
And you’re not sure, honestly. You don’t know that Yuta is even aware of his own feelings, let alone aware that Maki reciprocates them. You shrug helplessly. “How about… ask?”
“Jesus,” Maki says.
“Not him, Yuta.”
Maki socks Toge in the shoulder and levels him with a disdainful look. “You are the bane of my existence.”
“And the object of all your desires,” Toge proclaims in a horrendous Bridgerton accent. He made you watch all of it with him in two days. Maki refused.
Now, she just shoves him, and he squeals as he falls off the kitchen counter.
“Children,” you sigh. “Do you need to be separated?”
“Yes!”
—
“Why is this so hard?” You stand with your feet planted on Takuma’s skateboard, which is confoundingly, entirely different than balancing atop your longboard. “Oh my god.” You lurch forward as the board rolls a bit to the left, unable to stifle the squeal that comes out of your mouth.
Takuma stops it with one foot.
“Your center of balance is lower on a longboard,” he laughs. “Like, here.” His hands wrap around your waist and you tense under his grip, and he immediately freezes, jerking his arms back. “I’m so sorry, I didn’t—”
“No! No, it’s okay,” you blurt, sheepish. “I just wasn’t expecting it, I—here.” You try to fight the blush furiously rising in your cheeks as you take his wrists in both hands, putting them back where they were. You clear your throat, suddenly too warm. “Um. Okay, so—do you turn the same way?”
“Pretty much. You just lean,” Takuma says, and you shift your weight to your heels, letting him steady you. “It’s a bit harsher than you would on a longboard, though. Unless you want me to send you right into kickturns?” His tone is teasing and you pretend to consider, tapping a finger against your chin.
“Mm. Maybe later.”
You’ve been at the skate park for a while now, and you’ve only recently ditched your longboard for the skateboard. Takuma brought the extra board you saw hanging on his wall the other day, and he uses it to demonstrate while you practice riding back and forth, getting a hold on your balance. After you feel like you can make it a good distance without pinwheeling your arms, you come to a staggered stop beside him.
A flash of blue-green hair grabs your attention, and you watch a kid in a lightning bolt hoodie slip under the ramps. The park has been pretty deserted today aside from a few guys doing tricks in the pit, a chilly Sunday with the sunlight muted by the clouds.
“Ooh, drug deal in action.” You poke Takuma in the side.
“Ah, probably Sukuna. He deals here all the time.” Sukuna’s business is one of those things everyone’s aware of but nobody talks about. He’s consistent and pretty safe, as far as drug dealers go, but he’ll deny any involvement while smoking a joint if he has to.
“Who’s space buns?”
“Uhh…” Takuma narrows his eyes, and the guy slips out again. “Damn, that was fast. Oh, that’s Hajime. Another senior, I think. They hate each other. Fastest deals I’ve ever seen.”
“I wonder how much of his songwriting is just… while he’s really, really high,” you muse. Swag of a squirrel doesn’t strike you as a particularly levelheaded thought, but hey, it’s certainly memorable.
Takuma leans in and says conspiratorially, “I’m pretty sure I heard him dropping bars here the other day when I was with Yuji.”
You snort and look up at one of the smallest ramps, one you think you could handle without falling on your face, and point to it with a raised brow.
“Oh, moving up in the world?” Takuma kicks his board up and starts walking over, and you do the same. Before you put the board down at the top of the ramp, though, you hold it up to the light, noticing a few short, white hairs caught on the surface.
“Is this… fur?” Maybe there was a cat hiding out somewhere when you were over. Kirara seems like she’d have a cat.
Takuma sighs. “Yeah, the dogs shed like crazy. It gets everywhere. I don’t think I even left that on the ground.”
Your jaw drops, and you stare at him until he looks back at you. “Dogs?”
“What? Yeah, Fushiguro’s—”
“Fushiguro has dogs? Dogs plural? In the house?”
“You didn’t know?”
“No!” you cry. “What? Oh my god! Where were they on Wednesday? How many? What are their names?”
Takuma leans back on the rail next to the ramp, grinning. “I can’t believe you didn’t know. Oh my god. They’re so cute. Tsumiki had them Wednesday, I think. Mandated auntie time. Do you wanna meet ‘em?”
“Do I want to meet them?” you repeat, practically bouncing on the balls of your feet. “Uh, yeah. Are they home? Oh my god. I love dogs.”
“I couldn’t tell,” he deadpans, but he’s smiling still. “Yeah, they’re home. And you can meet them if you go down this ramp without dying.”
“You’re cruel,” you say, situating yourself on the board. “But I will. And then I’ll meet the dogs and become their best friend and they’ll love me more than you and Megumi combined.”
“Confident.” He comes up beside you, checking your stance. The ramp didn’t look steep or long at all from your vantage point across the park, but now that you’re atop the board, it feels suddenly very steep and very long. “You got it. Just don’t panic, keep your stance.” He drops his own board and cruises down the ramp, hardly even trying.
“Okay, go!” he calls from the bottom. “C’mon, Skip, the dogs are waiting.”
“Oh, god,” you murmur, the wind catching your words and whisking them away. You ball your hands into fists and push off, planting your foot back on the board and trying to keep your knees bent, but not too stiff, as you careen down the ramp. Don’t panic, keep your stance. You’re at the bottom in what feels like nanoseconds, and the sudden shift from ramp to flat ground has you stumbling off the board with an embarrassingly high-pitched squeak of alarm.
“Nice!” Takuma laughs as he catches you, the board rolling a few more feet ahead. His arm is wrapped around your front, the other holding you up by the shoulder, and this time you don’t tense under his hands.
“Thanks,” you say a little breathlessly, grinning, the tiny spike of adrenaline making you almost lightheaded. He lets his hands drop when you’re steady on your feet, and part of you mourns the warmth a little. But there are more pressing matters at hand. “So, about those dogs?”
You opt for your longboard on the way back down your street, cruising along beside Takuma, who has his extra board tucked under his arm. You’ve got a lot to do tonight, all the last-minute preparation for another crazy week, but you can and will drop everything to pet a puppy. Or two. Always.
And they’re actual angels. Big, fluffy angels on earth, one white and one black, and they’re all over you the second you open the door.
“Hi!” you say happily, sinking down to their level. The white one immediately tries to burrow into your lap. “Oh, hello! You’re so nice, aren’t you?” You glance up at Takuma. “Where’s Megumi?” You grab the white one’s collar and check the tag—Shiro.
“Shiro thinks she’s a tiny dog,” he says, bending down to ruffle the fur behind her ears. “Uh, Fushiguro’s at the animal clinic. He works there Sundays. And Tuesdays, I think.”
“Wait, really?”
“Yeah, he’s a vet student. You didn’t know?”
“I did not.” The black one is licking your face, and you giggle and check his tag, too. Kuro. “Hi, Kuro. You’re a good boy, aren’t you?”
“He’s got such a soft spot for animals,” Takuma says as he kicks off his shoes. “You should see when they both try to sleep in his little twin bed. It’s ridiculous.”
“I love them,” you say, burying your face in Kuro’s scruff. “Hi, doggies. You’re awful cute, you know that? Mhm. Yes you are.”
When you finally look up again, Kuro’s cold nose nudging insistently at your palm, Takuma is leaning against the wall, looking down at you with his phone discreetly angled your way. “Takuma!”
He laughs, not bothering to hide it anymore, very clearly taking photos of you with the dogs. “It’s cute!” he insists. “I’ll send them to you. Proof for Fushiguro of your master plan to make them like you more than him.”
“And you,” you remind him.
“Well, I don’t know about that.”
You gesture pointedly to the two dogs, who are all over you and not him. It’ll be a nightmare trying to get all of Shiro’s white fur off your black jacket later, but it’s worth it.
“You’re new,” he says. “New scent. It’s the novelty factor. I am their favorite.”
“You sure? I’m pretty hard to compete with.”
He smiles, looking from you to the photos he took of you and the dogs. “Yeah,” he says. “You are.”
—
The first half of the new week goes by in a rushed routine of classes, homework, and rehearsals, each night ending with you collapsing into bed, new and old lyrics fighting for dominance in the back of your mind. Sticks re-taped and drum heads re-tuned, assignments turned in and drafts edited. Your classes are ramping up as midterms approach, and Yuta bounces between his own work and poking his head into everyone’s rooms, making sure they don’t forget about dinner.
Toge follows through on his snack run promise, and the two of you spend hours on Tuesday afternoon trading two different flavored bags of Doritos back and forth, Toge writing photo captions while you edit your story lede.
Takuma, Hakari, and Kirara have offered to help Cursed Technique record a single on Wednesday night, and the five of you have been drilling the new song you wrote up, down, and sideways.
Finally, Wednesday arrives, and you’re all crammed into the recording studio space, instruments set up and headsets tuned in.
“Yeah, I’m good,” Nobara says to Hakari on the other side of the glass. She taps a finger on the mic in demonstration, and you hear it in your own headphones.
“Great,” he says. “Skipper?”
“Skipper? I hardly know her,” Toge says, earning a harmless smack upside the head from Yuta and a not harmless smack upside the head from Maki.
“I will throw these at you,” you tell him, holding up your sticks. Toge sticks his bottom lip out, pouting.
A snicker from beside you draws your attention back to Takuma, kneeling just beside the throne as he adjusts the kick mic. He has you hit it a few times while Hakari monitors the levels. You feel oddly self-conscious like this, him looking up at you, but then he smiles and it’s not strange at all. It’s stupid how fast he can put you at ease with a look.
“Nice,” he says. “Okay, that should work, yeah, Hakari?”
It’s Kirara who answers, “Yeah, you’re good.”
Takuma stands up, claps his hands together once, and looks at you. “Okay. Kill it, Skip.”
“Yessir.” You salute him with a stick and he makes his way to the other room, closing the door behind him.
“All good?” Yuta asks, glancing at each of you in turn before giving Hakari a thumbs up. It’s strange to be on this side of the glass, to think about your music being played back, to think about it on Spotify, out in the world.
“Next Fix,” Takuma says into the mic, locking eyes with you through the window. “Take one in three, two…”
The song starts out simple. You click your sticks together near the mic, on two and four, while Maki lays down a four-bar loop.
Yuta keeps glancing at Maki while she plays, utterly unaware, and the look on his face is so soft you want to shake Maki by the shoulders until she does something about it.
Nobara’s got her eyes closed with the headset over her ears and her hands around the mic, entirely engrossed in the song.
“It’s comin’ on, comin’ strong, spinnin’ up out of the blue, mmm,” she sings, stretching out the vowels. “And I’m on the ground, bleedin’ out, until my next fix of you, ooh.”
Now you start up with a light rock beat, closed hat and a bit of a dragging buzz on the snare hits. Just as you transition into the beat, Toge comes in with some low chords and Yuta moves down the line in syncopated sixteenths.
Hakari is nodding approvingly and Takuma has a wide grin on his face, and you can’t help smiling back.
“I need it like a lung,” Nobara sings, swaying a bit. “I need it like a light. It’s got me twisted up. I need you here tonight, tonight, tonight, oh, oh, I wanna—”
And this part is your favorite—Nobara sings each two-syllable phrase while you pound on the toms twice, emphasizing it with the kick, and then the backup vocals echo her. Get my (get my) next fix (next fix) of you (of you, of you, of you.)
Kirara pumps her fist in the air twice, in time with the beat, and your bandmates can’t keep the smiles off their faces. You’ve got something here, you really do. This might be your best one yet.
When the song’s over, Nobara whoops and tugs off the headphones, jumping around the cramped studio space with a grin on her face. “That was so cool! Oh my god. Guys, we sound good. We actually sound good.”
“Damn,” Kirara calls. “Okay, girl drummer. Good shit.”
“Not bad for a first run,” Maki admits, adjusting her bass strap over her shoulder. “Do we wanna try recording backups separately at all?”
“Good call.” Takuma nods. “Let’s run that again without the backups and record them over, see what happens.” He’s in full producer mode, flipping switches, colored lights reflecting in his eyes as he and Hakari talk shop away from the mic. He’s good at this, you realize, running sessions like this, making sure things go where they need to go, that everyone’s heard, that things get done. It’s a little bit like watching him skateboard, or seeing him on stage. There’s a confidence to him here, a smooth, easy energy. He’s in his element.
“Alright,” he says after a minute. “Let’s hear that again.”
And you play it again. And again. And again. And you are so in love with this moment, with your band, with a couple rowdy kids on the other side of the window, the rasp in Nobara’s voice and the expression on Yuta’s face and Maki’s obliviousness and Toge’s consistent, head-banging keys, and your drums and your words and the music, and the lyrics feel right to you.
You need this like a lung.
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jjk taglist open: just send me a message!
@shutuppeter @mikikkoo @reactwithjan @theclassbookworm @lilactaro @bisforbuse @risararelywrites @idkidk32
a/n: GUYS. loml @shutuppeter is so downbad for soundcloud rapper sukuna that she's writing fanfic of my fanfic😭 credits for frosted flexin' are all hers LMFAO so go check that out (MDNI for that one though).
yutamaki nation rise. also, i kinda love this fic. there may be spinoffs for other characters in the works...
#jjk#jujutsu kaisen#takuma ino x reader#jjk ino#ino takuma#takuma ino#ino x reader#megumi fushiguro#yuji itadori#yuta okkotsu#nobara kugisaki#kento nanami#toge inumaki#gojo satoru#scry writes#jjk au#college au#band au#kirara hoshi#suguru geto#ieiri shoko#ryomen sukuna#choso kamo#noritoshi kamo#maki zenin#kasumi miwa#aoi todo#mechamaru#mai zenin#yutamaki
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Simón stared at the product and wondered about it. He never used. He followed that old rule, don't get high off your old supply, but the thing is, this wasn't his supply. He was just the transportation. He brought the stuff in, he brought the stuff out, and that was it. Didn't pay much but it did pay enough but as he looked at it he wondered if it was time for a promotion. If they were going to drag him back in then why should he remain on the sidelines?
It was something he had to seriously consider. If he had the blessing of the cartel, maybe, just maybe he could pull it off. But without their approval? He'd be dead. You don't run from Los Tigres, at least not for long, so if he were to become a dealer he'd have to be a partner.
Still, as he looked around his cramped rundown and dusty trailer he started to wonder if this was his only move. He didn't have many job prospects but he had a lot of ambition. Maybe this was his opportunity...
Tuesday morning and yep, still doing chores. We're planning to hire a maid soon because honestly otherwise this place would be a little too much for me to handle. I do think it would be a temporary thing. I'm not sure if I want Flora growing up to be spoiled, thinking someone will always do her laundry and clean up after her, but who knows how I'll feel about it once the maid checks in. Maybe they will spoil me. It's hard to imagine myself as one of those pampered player wives but I feel like that's the path I'm going down.
As for Flora I'm taking care of her the best I can which of course includes feeding her right from the source. There are a lot of benefits to it, health wise and I've heard it helps with bonding. Not that we'll need help with that because I feel like I've already completely connected with her! She's growing so fast too, every day I can see her getting just a pinch bigger, or maybe I'm imagining it?
Overall, life feels perfect right now! I know I keep saying this but I really can't imagine that I would be in this spot a year ago. A beautiful baby girl, a beautiful house, and an umm, yeah, a good looking but somewhat goofy boyfriend! I just feel so good that even a plain apple salad gets me excited!
I'm really pouring as much of myself as I can into this new social media thing when I do get free time. I want to feel productive and I know taking care of Flora is being productive but like I've said, I don't want that to be my only thing. I know being a mama means limited free time too but I'll manage. I think my new career is off to a great start as well!
As for Pascal, well, you can probably guess. Yep. Working out and of course without his shirt. If you've got it, flaunt it, is what I always hear.
And I'm trying to get it back with a little more free time given to me or at least enough time to hop on the treadmill. I have my mind set on losing this baby weight and I am also motivated by the fact that Pascal does this every single day so I can do it too!
I did spend most of my day on the treadmill and got a solid workout in. I feel so much better! I can't head to bed though without checking in on Flora who was whiny and wriggly and needy and this time I bottle fed her. I also hang out with her a little, chat with her a little, and let her know I love her more than anything in the world. How could I not? Look at her!
Pascal is out for a road game and that's why I've been here home alone for most of the day. I was going to slip into bed but I remember I have to check my socials before sleeping. Which means just seeing the reaction to my last video and interacting with people here and there and also checking in on Pascal's socials since I'm nosy and he's my guy so I have a right to be a little nosy. That's normal right?
Is it also normal that he's liking this woman's post?
Frida Varela - Next Episode 9.4
#The Sims#The Sims 4#ts4#Sims#Sims 4#sims legacy#my sims#generation 1#soot#sims of our time#frida varela#sofia prats#pascal alcocer#florencia alcocer#simon barrera#tw: drugs#tw: drugs mention
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