#if you bully a celebrity for their eyes

[oncamelliastreet]

it’s so concerning how obsessed people online are with celebrities relationships. the same people who say “they don’t know you and wouldn’t want you” when you stick up for a celebrity who’s done nothing wrong proceeds to drag a man they DONT know and will NEVER know based on RUMORS like we’re in HIGH SCHOOL and proceed to drag his looks like that is ever a good place to go.

[gojonanami]

❝ 𝐃𝐎𝐍'𝐓 𝐖𝐀𝐍𝐓 𝐘𝐎𝐔 𝐋𝐈𝐊𝐄 𝐀 𝐁𝐄𝐒𝐓 𝐅𝐑𝐈𝐄𝐍𝐃 !! ❞

❝ WHEN YOUR CHILDHOOD BEST FRIEND OFFERS TO TEACH YOU HOW TO LOVE, HOW CAN YOU SAY NO ?? ❞

✧ pairing: college student!yuji itadori x f!reader

✧ summary: yuji itadori has been your best friend since you were kids, and when he offers you to teach you how to fuck, you don't expect him to be able to find his way into your heart too.

✧ warnings: 18+, nsfw, smut, aged up characters (don't like? don't read), childhood best friends to fwb to lovers, college au! (no curses), reader is the same age as yuji (both 20s), grew up as neighbors, mutual pining, nobara playing cupid, jealous!yuji, yuji is so golden retriever bf, nightmares, mentions of parental death via car crash (yuji), adoptive dad nanamin :), nipple play, oral (f + m), fingering (f! receiving), handjob (m! receiving), semi public sex (under a blanket with sleeping friends nearby), sex (p in v), creampie, swearing, fanart by unknown artist (found on pinterest, pls let me know if you know the og artist so i can credit)

✧ wc: 13,544

✧ for my 2k celebration event: item 5 has been sold to two anons!

“You want me to teach you?” 

The words left your best friend’s lips nonchalantly as if he was asking you if you wanted him to teach you how to ride a bike. 

But that’s not what he was offering to have you ride—

“Yuji,” you say slowly, “what are you saying? Do you even know what you’re saying?” 

Yuji Itadori was dense, but you knew he was far from stupid. You learned that in third grade when he punched a bully that had been picking on you, the final straw being when he had tripped you, causing you to skin your knee. Before you could even well any tears up in your eyes, you heard a thwack and a yelp as Yuji had laid the boy out on the playground. You stared at Yuji, as he offered you his other hand to help you to your feet, as your eyes slid from him to your bully. 

Yuji knelt down, carrying you on his back to the nurse’s office, “but Yuji, what about him? We left him—“ 

And he set you down outside the nurse’s office — and he only smiled that wide smile he had always reserved for you, “Don’t worry — I made sure no one was looking.” 

But now, you were beginning to doubt his sanity, rather than his intelligence — “I know what I’m saying,” he chuckles, trademark smile on his lips, “I’m just offering you the chance to practice,” 

“This isn’t practicing a sport or test—you’re offering,” you shift on your bed, while Yuji lounges on the floor, back against the bottom of your bed, “you’re offering to sleep with me, Yuji,” he leans his head on your bed, looking up at you at way, your face upside in his vision. 

“I know, I know, but it’s not a big deal is it?” he’s acting so nonchalant you wonder if one of his teammates had hit him hard in the head during practice, “we’ve had all our firsts together,” 

You scoff, “That was like our first steps, first day of school, first drink—“ 

“First kiss—“ he interrupts, and your face burns at the memory — a preadolescent game gone wrong that ended up with you and Yuji sharing your first kiss when you were teens. 

“That wasn’t real,” you wave him off, crossing your arms, “and this isn’t just a kiss for a game—this could change our friendship—“ 

“It won’t, if we don’t let it,” his gaze is more serious than you’ve ever seen Yuji be — not when he was usually all wide smiles and enthusiasm, “it’s us, we can get through it, and we don’t have to let it get weird right?” 

You chew on your lip, “Yuji, what do you get out of it?” And he’s tilting his head at your question— “I mean you don’t have to do this — just because I’m insecure because I don’t have experience,” you mumble. 

And that’s how the conversation had started — your complaints about your friends talking about their boyfriends, exes, and hookups, while you just nodded along — far too aware that you hadn’t even had a proper kiss, much less sex. And now you had found yourself here. 

“Look,” he slides up to sit on your bed, a good distance away from you, his eyes finding yours — warm hazel that felt as if it was drizzling over your skin wherever his gaze traveled, “I want your first time to be safe. I don’t want you to just hook up with someone and something bad to happen because you can’t say no — with me,” he clenched his hand into a fist holding his other hand flat as he gently hit his fist against it, “you can tell me to stop and if I somehow don’t or don’t hear you, punch me,” 

You snort, “Yuji,” he’s shaking his head. 

“I’m serious, I want you to be safe,” and you’re fidgeting with your fingers in your lap — this was Yuji, Yuji — you couldn’t say you hadn’t noticed how well he had grown up. Not when all of your friends drooled over him — especially with how liked he was — by everyone. 

“What if I lose you?” And he chuckles, as he breaches your personal space and his hand brushes yours. 

“You won’t, ever. I promise,” and your breath catches — many millions of times had Yuji touched you throughout your lives — an arm over over your shoulder, a hug, even holding your hand through crowds during festivals — but a simple brush of his fingers against yours had your heart rattling against its bony enclosure, begging for you to let it out, “what do ya think?” 

And you’re thinking — this would be the best outcome — you weren’t one to hook up with a stranger and you were burnt out on dead end dating app conversations, and to have your first time with someone close, someone you knew — it would be ideal. 

“Are you sure?” And his lips curl into a soft smile, leaning closer, as his fingers gently brush against your locks. 

“Would I be here like this if I wasn’t?” his breath warms your lips, as his fingers skim your cheek, “is this okay?” 

You nod wordlessly, unable to find the words to even reply — you had never thought of this situation would ever happen — especially like this. You lean against his hand, calloused from his practices, but as gentle as it always was. 

“We can take it as slow as you need,” he murmurs, as he’s even closer now, your eyes fluttering shut, only for his lips to graze your forehead. You pause at the featherlight touch — wondering if it actually happened when your eyes open to find his, “no need to rush, right?” He smiles, as he gets to his feet, “are we still on for tomorrow’s study session?” 

“Of course,” 

He scratches the back of his head, “Good because I still don’t understand math or why I need it, but unfortunately, I still have to pass,” he grabs his bag, “I’ll see you tomorrow,” he offers a smile before he’s gone. 

And you’re left sitting on your bed, the warmth of his touch still on your skin, wondering what the fuck just even happened. 

“Yuji, you just have to solve for x,” you sigh, explaining the problem for the billionth time, as his pen waves back forth between two fingers, “it’s simple,” 

Your weekly study sessions with Yuji were a constant throughout your life, though more for Yuji than you. Yuji is very intelligent, despite his demeanor in class where it felt as if there was a perpetual question mark over his head — he just learned by seeing and then doing. And the repetition helped you all the same. But you had never felt so conscious sitting next to the boy you called your best friend. 

“Maybe to you, but I don’t why math has to involve letters,” he wrinkled his nose at the problem, sighing, as he twists the pen around his hand, and your eyes catch the movement — you didn’t know how the little boy’s whose hands you used to hold had gotten so big now — calloused from his practices, but so soft against your skin,  “is something interesting about my hands?” 

Your eyes snap up to meet his, cheeks burning as you shake your head, “No, just, uh, impressed that you can twist the pen around your hand like that,” 

“Oh, that?” he’s as unfazed as usual, leaning back a little, “that’s easy. I could show you if you want,” 

“It’s fine,” and you’re trying to focus back on the problem, when you find him still staring, “what is it?” 

“If you wanted to hold my hand, you just had to ask,” his fingers graze yours, with enough time for you to pull away, before his fingers lace with yours, “and we can do more if you want?” 

This was crazy — it was probably a mistake, but — as his touch made your heart flutter, warm rolling in waves that erupted into butterflies in your stomach — why weren’t you pulling away? 

“What does more entail?” and he inches a little closer, his breath warming your lips, “but you still haven’t gotten this problem down, are you just trying to get out of studying?” 

A chuckle on his lips, “Maybe I’m just looking for the right motivation, so how about we make a deal?” He moves over, spreading his legs apart, and pats the floor in front of you — for each question I get right, I get a kiss,”

And why you agreed to this, you really didn’t have words—but now you were sat between his legs, nearly in his lap, as he leaned forward — his chest against your back as his chin brushed your shoulder and his cheek brushed against your own, breath warming your neck — trying to get a better look at the math problem. His arm was wrapped around your side as his pen scratched against the scrap paper, trying to solve the problem. You bit your lip, trying your best not to glance at him, but you spot his wrinkled brow out of the corner of his lip and the tip of his tongue poking ever so slightly out of his mouth— and your lips curled, he still had that habit from when you were kids. 

“There, I think I solved it,” he murmurs, and you have to hold back a shiver at the words rumbled against your ear, “is it right?” 

And god, you could barely think, much less do math, but as you glance over the question and answer — he’s got it right.  

Fuck. 

“It is,” you say softly, “is all you need some motivation? Because I would have just promised I would go to see the next Human Earthworm movie,” 

He chuckles, his lips nearly against your ear, as his hand gently traces your jaw, “I’d like that, but I think i rather have what I was promised, as long as you’re still okay with that,” 

Your breath hitches, as you follow his lead, rough pads still so gentle against your cheek, as your eyes find his, but you don’t find his usual doe eyes — but instead find pools of lust threatening to drag you under. Although from the way your lips part and eyes flutter shut, perhaps he had you underwater for far longer than you even knew. 

His lips graze yours — it’s barely a kiss, a peck maybe — as he does his best to ease you in. You didn’t know lips could be so soft — meeting again and again, stealing logic from your mind and breath from your lungs. 

“Are you okay?” He’s murmuring, not even a breath away from your lips. You’re nearly dizzy, mind reeling from his touch, heart jumping at his thumb rubbing lightly against your cheek. 

“I am, just a little strange to be kissing, much less you,” and his brow knits together, “but not bad at all,” you add, and he chuckles, his fingers grazing your cheek firmer, as he leans in again, “we said one kiss—“ 

“Do you really want to stop now?” he’s murmuring, and your noses bump against each other. 

Your lips find his again and now you can taste the sour candy he had stolen from you, but an overwhelming sweetness overrides it, and your hand brushes against his cheek, the other finding purchase on his chest.

“Is that okay?” You murmur, as you lips part, the two of you catching your breath, your shared pants filling the silence, your cheeks burning as your eyes avert from his, “I don’t know—“ 

“You’re fine, don’t worry about it,” a small chuckle on his lips, fingers cupping your chin to guide your gaze back to his — a subtle heat that makes your insides turn to molasses, sticky and sweet and far too warm, “just do what feels right, ok?” 

And his lips find yours again, gently as he did the first time, but more passion behind it, swallowing your quiet murmur of his name with ease. Your lips move against his just as his did — you try to push aside the thoughts of whether you were doing this right. But the slight brush of his teeth against your bottom lip makes you forget too with a gasp. 

He pulls away with a grin on his lips, “Sorry, couldn’t resist,” and his lips are kissed red, your thumb brushed against his swollen lips, “don’t tempt me more,” 

“You’re the one who started this, shouldn’t you take some responsibility, Yu?” your lips graze his cheek, curling as a rosy flush settles over his cheekbones, “nothing to say?” 

“You’re making it hard for me to hold back,” and he’s burying his face in the side of your neck, making you shiver, as he pulls you even closer, arms around your waist, “I don’t want to rush you,” 

Cute, you think before you even think, and yet the way his face is hidden away in your neck, breath warming your neck makes your body flush, and when have you ever thought of Yuji as cute? And yet you couldn’t remember a time that he made your heart race either. 

His lips press a small kiss to your neck, drawing a yelp from your lips, “Yuji—“ he’s nosing the hollow of your throat, “ah, you’re teasing me,” you whine, and he’s lifting his gaze back to yours, heavy with want, a want that leaves you bereft of any semblance of sense. 

“You started it,” he murmurs, before he finds your lips in another kiss — this time it’s a slow heat, languid as it threatens to burn both of you alive, flames licking at the edges of your reason. And his phone goes off — a reminder for practice that he groans at, “I should go. I have to go run laps,” 

“Now?” And he’s slowly disentangling himself from you, the absence of his touch lingers, the heat ebbing, “don’t you usually practice in the mornings?” You get to your feet slowly as well, handing him his math notebook, and it occurs to you when you spot the puddles outside, “it was too wet,” 

And he nods, scratching the back of his head, as the two of you walk out into your apartment’s living space, “and I forgot my protein shake—“ you head over to the kitchen, opening the refrigerator door and pulling out his shake, and he blinks, “how—“ 

“You did the same thing last week, so I just bought a pack for you,” and his lips curl as he walks over and takes the bottle from your hand, fingers brushing — and even that much alight a flutter of nerves through your body. 

“Thanks,” he grins, and you nod. 

“Of course, I thought it just made sense since you come here every week—” you turn to shut the refrigerator, before turning back, only to find him stepping a bit closer, “Yu—“ 

“I almost forgot, one more lesson,” and he’s leaning close, and your breath catches in your throat, as his lips brush yours, fingers tracing the swell of your cheek, “a kiss goodbye,” and he parts, a brush of his fingers against yours, “I’ll text you later,” and he’s gone in a flash. 

Your left, fingertips touching your lips, a questioning lingering as he left — whether these feelings blooming in your chest were just from the kiss, or something more. 

But you glance at your phone — a text from Yuji: 

Golden Retriever Bestie: thanks for the drink again :)

You lock the screen — but you couldn’t hope for more, right? Not when this was started with the intention of stopping. But why—as you laid back into bed, staring up at your ceiling in the same room the two of you had spent the last two years watching movies or studying in, eyes squeezing shut—

Why did you still want more? 

When did Yuji Itadori fall in love with you? It would probably be easier for him to list the moments he hadn’t fallen for you — but the earliest he can remember was when he had hurt himself climbing a tree in the schoolyard, falling from the branch he had made it to. You had been watching him the whole time, telling him to come down, and when he fell, you were at his side. His vision was a little blurry but when it cleared, he saw you knelt above him, big tears leaving your eyes. And when he came to, you hugged him tight, before helping him to the nurse’s. You had even insisted on bandaging his cuts, not letting the nurse do so. 

And that’s when he knew — he knew he always wanted to wake to you beside him. 

“You what?” Nobara scoffed at him, as she held up another of her new purchases in front of her while looking in her full length mirror, “so instead of asking her out and confession this pathetic crush—“ 

“Pathetic is kinda harsh, Kugisaki—“ 

“It’s been over a decade — your one sided feelings is now in secondary school — it’s officially pathetic,” she hangs up the new leather jacket she bought in her closet, before turning to Yuji, “so instead of confessing, you asked her to be your friends with benefits—“ 

“That’s not exactly—“ she cuts him off with a look, “ok that’s kind of what I did,” he shakes his head, “she was venting about how she never had her first kiss and words started coming out of my mouth and wouldn’t stop—“ 

“Not the first time that’s happened to you is it?” And Yuji glares at her through the mirror, “what? You came to me instead of Fushiguro because you wanted a pretty girl’s opinion right?” 

“I said girl, nothing about—“ it was her turn to glare at him, “alright, alright — what do I do now? I want to tell her I like her, but if I do, I might seem like a—“ 

“A creep? A weirdo? A pervert?” 

“I was gonna say liar, but those too,” he rubbed a hand down his face, “what do I do?” 

She sighs, tucking a strand of her dyed hair behind her ear, “the only thing to do in situation like this,” 

“Tell the truth?” And she scoffs. 

“No, of course not, just use this time to make her fall for you, but that means you’ll have to use this agreement to your advantage,” she hums, “she said she wanted more experience right?” And Yuji nods, “who says it has to just be making out and sex?” 

“You want to go on a date? Fuck,” you mutter under your breath as you turn the heat of your burner down, hoping you hadn’t completely burned your omelet now as you flipped it, “I thought this was just supposed to be for the more…physical sides of things,” your cheeks burned. 

God, what the fuck. 

“I mean part of gaining experience is learning how to date, right?” And you’re placing your slightly burned omelet in the plate, as you wipe your hands off with your dishcloth, “we could go to an arcade, maybe catch a movie,” 

“Human Earthworm 4?” And you hear him chuckle over the line, and the sound makes your lips curl — it always felt like an accomplishment making him laugh, but even more so now.  

“We don’t have to—“ 

“I don’t mind,” you cut him off, and you never did — you just loved to tease him, as you always did, “they’ve grown on me,” and you didn’t know there was more room for Yuji to grow on you, you thought his roots had already went far and deep, tangled around every inch of yourself and your mind, even your heart — but now—

“Does 2 PM work? I’ll come by and pick you up from your place,” and you didn’t know where it would go but— 

“Sounds perfect,”  he had found his way into a place you never thought anyone would find themselves in. — and as he hung up, biting your bottom lip—

And it seemed he was here to stay.��

“You’re such a cheater,” you glared at Yuji as he won for the tenth time at the boxing game — hitting the max score every time, “tell me what the trick is,” 

“You know I’m strong,” Yuji gapes,  holding his arm, “how would I cheat?” And you’re pouting, crossing your arms. 

“You’re cheating by being you,” and Yuji has to bite back his smile — you were being so cute — but he knows saying that will earn him a punch in the shoulder harder than you gave the punching bag on the machine, “now you have to buy me an ice cream,” 

“For?” He raises an eyebrow. 

“For being a cheater,” and he can’t help the chuckle that leaves his lips that earns him a bunch of slaps to his arm, before he’s wrapping that same arm around your waist, your complaints chased away by a gasp, “what—“ 

“I was going to buy you anything you wanted anyway, it is a date after all,” he smiles, and you stammer, but you don’t pull away, “what flavor do you want?” After you tell him, he goes off to the concession to buy you both some ice cream, and when he finds you at a table, he sees you’re not alone. His lips are a tight line, as he finds a guy leaning against the booth you sat in, clearly flirting with you, your back to Yuji so he can’t see your face. 

He finds his way back to you, his hand brushes your shoulder gently, “is everything okay?” He asks you, meeting your gaze without regard for the stranger — and he’s glad he did, because he spots your pursed lips and darting eyes that told him everything he needed to know, “you need something?” He asks the guy, a friendly smile on his lips. 

“Not from you,” the guy scoffs, “I was talking to—“ 

“Well, you’re talking to me now, not my date, so—“ and you’re leaning into Yuji, “you need something or not?” And the guy grumbles something under his breath before slinking away, and Yuji’s sliding in beside you when you move over, “you okay?” 

“Yeah, he wouldn’t leave,” you sigh, shaking your head, “sorry—“ 

“You have nothing to be sorry about,” he murmurs, as he hands you your ice cream, “as long as you’re okay,” his arm slides around your shoulder and squeezes you, “i would’ve punched him if it wouldn’t have ruined our date,” 

You snort, as you lick your ice cream, “if you punched him harder than you did the bag, don’t know if this date would have ended with us going home,” and he pouts, as he laps at his ice cream, and he feels you turn to look at him, “Didn’t know you were the jealous type, Yu,” and he chuckles, he wanted to say — only when it came to you. 

But he knew that he couldn’t. Not like this.  

“I didn’t think I was either.” 

“Nope, not gonna admit it,” and Yuji’s grinning still, as the two of you walk out of the theater, his arm still around your shoulder, “no it wasn’t that good,” 

If there was one thing about Yuji is that movies were literally his obsession — one movie marathon when the two of you were teens had turned him into a fanatic. And he often ended up dragging you to all of them he saw in theaters — and you probably had watched the Human Earthworm movies the most amount of times anyone ever has — aside from Yuji. Well, more like you watched him watch it, because while he was smiling and laughing (or crying) at the movie, you were looking at him. 

And right now, he looked far too smug, “So you admit that it was good,” and you cross your arms, shaking your head, “I saw you tearing up at the end — I told you, it’s all about love!” 

You purse your lips, if only to hold back your smile, before sighing, “How would no one tear up at that ending?” And his hand’s grabbing yours, tugging at your arm, as the two of you walk along, “Yu—“ 

“I knew you liked it! C’mon, I knew you would, now what was your favorite part?” And your lips curl into a smile, “what?” 

That was one of the things you loved the most about Yuji, how excited he could get — how he loved everything so wholeheartedly with no reservations, and you knew he was the one person you could always count on to cheer you up. 

“Nothing, nothing,” you chuckle, letting your fingers lace with his, “my favorite part?” And you want to say — watching him enjoy the movie. 

But you can’t. 

“Probably the ending,” you slowly smile, “liked it when the credits rolled,” and he’s mock glaring, as you laugh before his arm tightening around your waist, “Yu-ji—“ 

“Not going to be honest?” He murmurs, before kissing your chin, “then maybe I’ll make you.” 

“Yu—ngh, please,” Yuji could get addicted to your taste, it was never enough, was it? His lips had spent the last twenty minutes kissing every inch of your face and neck, traversing over every nook and cranny as he always wanted to — and yet it was never enough. Any time spent with you was never enough —because you always made anything better, and nothing ever worse. 

And he knew no one else would ever feel this good. 

How many times had he imagined just this scenario? Of you in his bedroom with him alone, as you had been many times before, but never like this. You never looked at him like that before — with that shyness mixed with an undercurrent of want. And it was enough to rip him away and drag him under with you. 

“Please what, baby?” Yuji looks up with a wry smile and soft eyes that burn a path where as it raked down your body like coals across a fire, “want me to stop?” And he’s dragging a thumb down your untouched lips. 

You cover your face with the back of your hand, and he’s gently tugging it away, pressing a kiss to your wrist, your pulse jumping underneath, “I want more,” and fuck if he wasn’t at full mast from the kissing, he was now at your words, “I want you to…kiss me and…touch me,” you mumble, eyes averted, but he’s smiling all the same — you were so cute. 

“Where can I touch?” he asks softly, his nose brushing yours, “need you to tell me. I don’t want to rush—“ 

And your lips crash against his, your fingers finding the back of his neck, threading in his pink locks. He’s pausing a moment before he melts into your kiss, and you’re taking the lead, as you lean further into the kiss, your fingers sliding down from his shoulder to his chest. His tongue flicks against the seam of your lips and you part for him. 

“I want you to touch me,” you murmur as you break the kiss, panting, strings of your spit still connecting your lips, your breathy words nearly enough for him to lose all control, “I’ll tell you if I don’t like it,” 

And he’s more than happy to oblige, his lips find yours in a bruising kiss, his hand toys with the hem of your shirt as permission, and you part from the kiss to nod. His hand slides up your soft flesh, pushing up your shirt along with it — finding your lacy bra underneath. He’s tugging the shirt up and over your head with your help, and god—

He has to stop himself from cumming right then and there at the sight of you. His fingers reach out, toying with the strap of your bra, “Did you wear this for me?” And you biting your bottom lip was all the answer he needed. 

“Yu—“ he’s tweaking your hardened bud through the fabric, “ah, fuck—“ and he leans down to suck the other side through your bra, while sliding down your bra strap. 

“Need to taste you,” and you’re nodding, while he’s reaching around to brush against the clasp of your bra to undo it, and his cock twitches at the sight of your bare skin — you’re so fucking pretty. 

He always thought you were pretty — when you were kids drenched from running around in the rain, when you were just waking up from a nap with your hair askew and dried drool in the corner of your mouth, when your eyes were wide with excitement and nearly jumping up and down to tell him good news; and when you’re smiling—especially when you’re smiling. 

It was his favorite thing. 

“Don’t stare so much,” you’re trying cover yourself, but his hands catch yours, easing them off, “It’s embarrassing—“ 

“You’re perfect,” and your lips part but no words come, but you can’t meet his gaze, “you are—“ 

“You’re just saying that—“ and his fingers pinch your nipple drawing a gasp from your lips, while he leans down and takes the other in his mouth. His eyes find yours, blown into deep, dark pools by his lust — ones you’d be more than willing to drown in. 

“I’d never just say that, especially to you, baby,” and you’re about to make a smart remark about him calling you ‘baby.’ But you forget every word you ever learned when his fingers start to drag down your stomach, fingers playing with the button of your jeans, “can I?” 

And you nod, your back arching ever so slightly as his lips press a sweet kiss to your bellybutton. He’s kissing down your soft legs as he tugs down your jeans — one to your thigh, another to your knee, and another to your ankle —before he’s kissing up the other. 

“How’s that feel?” he murmurs, eyes flitting up to meet yours, and fuck, your lips parted and swollen a pretty red, eyes half lidded with want, and — as his eyes fall between your thighs — a growing wet spot on your panties. 

His fingers toy with the elastic, snapping it lightly against your skin, a slight flinch only, as his eyes gaze at your clothed cunt with near reverence. He looks for permission, before he leans in to press a kiss to your swollen clit, a small yelp escaping your mouth. 

“Yuji,” you whine, lifting your head to meet his gaze again, “please,” 

“Say my name again, please,” he’s kissing your thigh gently, and it feels as if you’ll crumble under his touch any second, wither away in a figment of his imagination, and he won’t ever get the chance to hear you like this again, much less touch you. He was selfish to take advantage like this — and he knew he was — but he couldn’t leave it like this.

“Yuji, just touch me—“ and your head falls back as his fingers graze your clit through your nearly translucent underwear, “ngh, you fucker—“ and he’s chuckling, as he tugs your panties away. 

“Wanted to keep them on since you looked so good, but,” and he’s pocketing them with a grin, “I’ll just keep them instead,” your dripping walls twitch at the thought, “s’good for me. What do you want, my fingers or my tongue?” 

“Fuck, I don’t know, just touch—“ and your head lolls against the pillow as his tongue drags up flat up the length of your weeping pussy. 

“You’re so sweet — I could live here,” he murmurs, as his fingers spread your slick folds, a pretty moan falling from your lips as he does, “can’t wait to feel you cum around my fingers,” he’s easing a finger in — and you’re so tight, you’re tensing as he tries to part your walls, “relax, ok? I’ll be gentle. Don’t worry. I won’t ever hurt you,” his eyes meet yours and you’re nodding, as he pulls his finger away, a shiver at the empty ache, but it falls away into another moan as his tongue replaces it. 

The wet squelch of your folds is enough for him to cum right there — you smell as sweet as you taste, as he kisses your clit, before dragging the length of his tongue over your sopping slit again, “Yuji—fuck—“ your fingers find purchase in his pink locks right when he decides to sink a finger inside you again. 

“That’s it,” he grunts, as he works his finger knuckle deep into you, ���so good f’me, so tight,” he’s murmuring, and your syrupy walls wrapped around his finger makes him wonder how good it will feel when his cock is inside you. He’s palming his erection through his pants, desperate for any kind of fucking friction, “g’nna add another,” 

And you’re nodding, “please, I—“ and a second finger joins the first, and the lewd noises grow louder from your slick and his fingers begin to pump faster — teasing and stretching your walls as they begin to flutter around you, “Yuji, Yuji—“ his name leaves your lips like a prayer, but he’s the one who would worship at your feet, if you’d let him, your moans and whimpers were all he needed to survive, and he’d give his very soul if it meant he could be at your side. 

His fingers are fucking you open, the tips of his fingers brushing against the spot that his your mouth falling open in a silent moan, “that’s it, cum for me, pretty girl,” and pleasure rips up your spine, as you cum all over his fingers, thighs shaking as you do. He fucks you slowly through your orgasm, helping you ride it out, until he’s slowing, leaning up to prsss sweet kisses to your face. 

“I’m going to pull them out slowly,” he murmurs, your eyes still fluttered shut, but they slowly open to watch him ease his fingers from you. Soft pants leave your lips as you watch him with lidded eyes lick his fingers sticky with your release clean. 

“Are you okay?” He’s murmuring, as he moves up to lean over your face, and you’re nodding, “let me clean you up and we can sleep, ok?” he’s moving to get off the bed, but you grab his hand, and he tilts his head. 

“What about you?” You mumble, frowning, eyes flickering to the tent in his pants with a shy gaze, “I want to—“ 

“It’s okay, let’s just take it easy today,” he’s smiling, fingers finding yours and squeezing, pressing his lips to your knuckles, “you look like you’re about to pass out,” and you’re pouting all the same, but you seem to relent as the exhaustion sets in once again at your words, “I’ll be right back,” and he retreats to his bathroom to wet a washcloth, only to come back to you fast asleep. 

He chuckles at the sight of you sprawled out on his bed — a sight not uncommon to him on nights you spent over, but never like this before. He leans on the bed carefully, mattress creaking ever so slightly under his weight, as he begins to clean you gently — and luckily, you don’t wake by the time he’s done. He can’t put your jeans or underwear on so he opts to grab a pair of his freshly washed shorts and slides them on you. He adjusts the blanket, draping it over you, running his fingers through your hair to tuck it behind your ear, and the back of his knuckles over your cheek. 

“Yuji,” you mumble in your sleep, and he bites his lip — as he returns to his bathroom, softly shutting the bedroom door and the bathroom door behind him, a glaring problem to deal with, as he is still nearly waddling at this point from the grazing of his boxers against his aching erection. 

He undoes his jeans quickly, eyes fluttering as he pushes both down and strips his shirt off before slipping into the shower. The squeak of the shower faucet and the water running hopefully don’t wake you — but more importantly, he hopes his moans don’t.  

His dick was rock hard and aching still — there were so many times he nearly came in his pants, and by how drenched his boxers were — maybe he had. But fuck, you were so gorgeous, laid back and spread out for him. 

His fingers grazed his weeping cock, smearing the precum up and down his length, thumb tracing his slit, as you would. He could see you thumbing his head experimentally, as your eyes flickered up at him, doe eyes, yet glazed over with lust. It wouldn’t be long until you’re slowly pumping him, as he does now — from base to tip, teasing his balls all the same. You’d flick your tongue over the tip, sucking at the dripping precum — wrinkle your nose at the salty taste, but you’d suck at his tip all the same. 

He’d look down at you as your hand switches to toying with his balls, as you let his cock slap against your tongue, before letting his length slip past your lips. Your lips would feel so much softer than his hand does right now, jerking himself off, your plush lips and tongue wrapped around his dick. A low groan escapes his lips, as he covers his mouth, hoping you couldn’t hear him over the running water. The squelch of his precum and his soft moans would only make him want to repay the favor, making you cum over and over, until you were begging him to stop. 

Fuck, he was close, by the way his cock twitched in his hand — where would he cum with you? He’d cum anywhere you wanted — but to cum on your face or chest, the image made him shudder. Your tongue would flick out to clean up some of the cum, and—

Fuck, he moans your name, as he cums all over his fingers, his release sprayed against the tile of his shower, dripping down and mixing with the water. He’s panting, as he cleans his hand off in the shower, leaning his head back. 

What has he gotten himself into? Was it right for him to do this? You didn’t know how he felt — and he didn’t know if you would ever feel the same. But as he got dressed and crawled into bed beside you, keeping his distance as you slept, he felt you move closer, mumbling his name as you did. He couldn’t help but softly smile, running his fingers through his hair—it didn’t matter if you never ended up loving him, as long as you knew what you deserved—to be with someone who loved you, as much or even more than he did. 

He let himself drift off, a loose arm thrown over your middle—he’d let himself have this, if only for now. 

“Oh come on, you couldn’t get the ad free version, Fushiguro?” Nobara complains as yet another commercial comes on, as she glares at the black haired vet student, who sat on the floor after she stole his armchair. 

He only shrugs, bearing little to no reaction, “If you’re going to complain, then why don’t you pay for it?” 

Nobara and him begin to bicker ever so slightly, and Yuji chuckles in your ear, “are they more fun to watch then the show?” 

The four of you were at your apartment, watching a new season of a TV show you all had started last year. You were sat next to Yuji on the couch, your bodies nearly pressed against each other as you shared the blanket, a little cold from the rain outside. 

“They’re always more entertaining than the show, that’s why we agree to this,” you whisper back, the proximity of your bodies making your cheeks burn. You turn away, hoping he can’t feel or even hear the way your heart was beating down your ribs to burst free. Every time he shifted even slightly, you felt your body react — so conscious of even a twitch of his fingers — you wanted to bury yourself under the blanket. 

It had been like this since that night. 

You had woken up to him asleep beside you. Your eyes fluttered open as consciousness slowly crept into focus, sunlight filtering into sight, a small groan leaving your lips. And it wasn’t until you tried to reach for your phone you realized the thing beside you wasn’t a pillow but a person.  

Your eyes flew open and you found Yuji still sound asleep beside you. It wasn’t unusual for the two of you to sleep on the same bed — especially after a late night where one or the other didn’t want to go home — but it was different to wake up entangled with him, especially after the events of the night before came flooding back. 

And after that, each time you had been around him, you had become more and more conscious of his touch, nervous even, at the simplest of brushes of his fingers. And this? His body pressed against yours, his fingers grazing your thigh nearly, and his soft breath against your ear — god, you were going to lose it. 

“You ok?” he murmurs a half an hour later, and the question itself makes you squirm — because no, your hot best friend was pressed against you and making you want to do nothing more than kiss him— 

Wait, wait, hot? Your mind stutters at your own thoughts, lagging to comprehend yourself — hot? You wanted to kiss him? You always knew Yuji was hot, he was objectively — especially based on how many of your friends had wanted you to hook them up with him — but you had never thought of him that way. Maybe in passing — but to you, that was the one line you could never cross, especially when you had seen so many friendships fall apart because of a relationship. 

You never wanted to risk Yuji like that. 

But then here you were — blurring that line you said you never cross — and letting the ground split underneath the two of you. 

“I’m fine,” you mumble back — and yet here he was, seemingly unfazed by your proximity and as the minutes ticked by, it began to eat away at you. Did he not find it as meaningful as you did? Did he not feel as good as you? Do you need to touch him just to make him feel just as heartsick as you were? 

And now you know what you wanted to do. 

As the show went on, Nobara and Fushiguro fell asleep — Fushiguro asleep with a cushion he had stolen from Nobara’s armchair and Nobara curled up in said armchair, passed out. 

“Should we stop the show and go to bed?” Yuji asks you, albeit innocently — but there was anything but innocent intentions in your mind when you shake your head, a smile on your lips. 

“Let’s keep watching,” your fingers grazes his thigh, as you lean over, lips nearly brushing against his ear, “it’s just getting interesting, right?” 

And his breath hitches, “what’re you—“ and your fingers inches higher, grazing over his already tenting erection, a hiss escapes his lips, as he’s covering his mouth. 

“Shh, don’t wake them,” and your fingers are ghosting and teasing over his cock, the precum already starting to seep through the fabric, as he shifts under your touch. Your thumb flicks over his head, now fully hard, “so big already,” you mumble, and now your lips press sweet kisses to his neck, finding small cuts and bruises from his practices, and a gasp escaped his lips. 

“We shouldn’t be doing this—“ and your lips find his, and he melts so easily into your touch, your fingers toy with the elastic of his shorts, his eyes flickering to the two sleeping. He’s pulling away for a breath, lips utterly ruined — his fingers running through his hair, “please—“ and your lips curl. 

Your fingers finally brush against his leaking cock, and his head falls back, his cheeks flushed a pretty pink, lips parted as soft pants left his lips. And you’re nearly shivering yourself at his want — seeping into your own body, as his pants and moans send a wave of heat between your thighs. 

You rub your thighs together, as you shift even closer somehow, “Gotta be quiet Yu — they can hear us after all,” you murmur, right as your thumb swipes over his slit, a yelp caught in his throat, as his hand flies back to lips, “good boy,” and his dick twitches at the praise, as your finger begins to trace along his veins, “so big, how am I going to fit you inside?” you murmur, biting back a smirk when a muffled groan reaches your ears. 

Your fingers finally curl around his length, you never thought a cock to be pretty — but Yuji’s was. You stared at it under the covers, flushed a lovely red, too dripping pearly beads of precum, and the slight curve it had to it — made the ache in your cunt only grow. 

“Please, baby, I need, please—“ he’s whining, “I need you—“ 

And you oblige him, your hand beginning to spread the pre along his length, beginning to stroke him slowly from base to tip. He’s biting his lip, hard, nearly drawing blood as he chooses to bury his face in the crook of your neck, if only to muffle any moans that fell from his lips. 

“S’good for me, Yu, wanna make you feel as good as I did,” his moan vibrates against your skin, cock twitching in your fingers, “gonna move faster, don’t want our friends to see you like this, do you? You have to be quiet,” and god, why did only seem to get harder at your words? 

Your fingers begin to jerk him off in earnest, the wet squelch of his cock nearly not hidden enough by the volume of the TV, but nearly don’t care at this point — you just want him to fall apart under your touch, need him to. 

And oh, he’s so close. His groans are more frequent, his hips jerking against your fist, and when your other hand finds his balls, squeezing — it’s too much. 

He moans softly, “I’m—“ and that’s all he manages before he spills on your fingers — warm, white spurts splatter against your palm and the blanket, dripping, as he falls back, limp against the sofa. His cock softened in your hand, as you pull it away, before gently wiping him clean with the already drenched blanket. 

He’s panting and fucked out, eyes half lidded as his chest rises and falls, watching you lick your fingers clear of his release, gaze never leaving his. 

“Didn’t know you’d taste this good—“ you barely can manage, before he’s leaning forward to kiss you. Your fingers slide against his cheek to cup it, feeling his hand tangle itself in your hair, “Yuji—“ 

“What was that about?” he murmurs, “not that I’m complaining but—“ but then Megumi starts to move and you both freeze, your breath catching, until Megumi seemingly falls back asleep, “we should head to bed, but—“ 

He looks at the blanket, and the mess you made of him and the couch alike. 

“The blanket I’ll toss in the washer, the cushion I’ll clean up and just turn over—“ and you smile, “and you take a shower before bed,” 

His brow still knits together, “but we haven’t—“ 

“We’ll talk later,” and when later came, Yuji found you fast asleep in bed, with more questions than answers. But he supposed, as he tucked a strand of hair behind your ear, his answers could come later. 

How long has it been? 

You stared at your phone — as if you could will it to receive the message you’ve been waiting for. As if it would grant your one and only wish for a text or a call — but it didn’t. Instead, it only gave you a spam call and a text to let you know you had a discount code for your favorite takeout place. 

Great. 

It had been a week since you had heard from Yuji — and a week since that night. You had woken up to the other three gone — gone off to their own apartments after you had slept in and texts on your phone from them in the groupchat. It was a few days before break — before you and Yuji would be heading back home for a few days together. But you hadn’t seen him at all since — not a chance to talk, much less seeing him. 

Was he upset? Was he done with this? Was his promise to stay empty in the end? Was it your fault — for pushing it, for agreeing to it, and for falling for it all the same? Falling for it or — your eyes trace the screen of your phone as if it’s his cheek — or falling for him. 

No, you rake your fingers through your hair, no, you didn’t love him — not like that. Not the way you shouldn’t, the way you had sworn yourself never to — but maybe all promises between friends were empty, when they were made like this. 

But you weren’t made to let this break apart. 

You found yourself at his door after classes, knocking at his door of his apartment. The door opens, and you find Yuji rubbing his eyes, hair askew, and shoulders drooped. 

“Hey,” he yawned, he’s still shaking off the shackles of sleep, “sorry, what’s up?” 

“Are you okay?” Your furrow your brow, your eyes spot the dark bags under his eyes, large enough to nearly engulf his eyes all together, “you look like you haven’t slept in days,” he steps aside to let you in, you glance around, his apartment wasn’t usually the cleanest — but it wasn’t a wreck like it was now. Clothes scattered, unwashed dishes stacked up, and papers strewn about. 

“I just haven’t…been sleeping—“ and then you remember. 

It wasn’t about you. It was about him. And you were so wrapped up in yourself, you weren’t thinking about him. 

“Yuji, you’re having those nightmares again, aren’t you?” You murmur softly, and the way his gaze falls to the ground tells you everything you need to know, “alright, go lay down,” 

“What?” he’s blinking, but your hand already finds his as you take him to his bedroom, “what are you—“ 

“You lay down. I’m going to make you dinner, and then you’re going to sleep,” and he sits on the bed reluctantly, fingers against his knees, as he bit his lip. 

“I can’t sleep, I told you—“ you cup his cheek, and guide his gaze to yours. 

“Remember what we’d do when you couldn’t sleep after the accident?” 

“This feels ridiculous,” Yuji murmurs into your chest, his head buried there, while your fingers run softly through his pink locks, “we’re not six anymore—“ 

“So what? Doesn’t mean we can’t do this still,” you say, as your fingers pause, “unless you don’t want me to,” 

“I didn’t say that,” he mumbles, and you can hear the blush in his voice that undoubtedly painted his cheeks, “I just meant it feels like I’m bothering—“ 

“Yu, don’t make me pinch you,” you murmur, rubbing his head, “you’re never a bother,” you kiss his head softly without thinking, and soon your cheeks are burning too, “sorry I didn’t—“ 

“Why are you sorry?” He chuckles, “we’ve done a lot more than kiss recently,” and he adds, “especially you,” 

You bite your lip, glad he couldn’t see your face like this, “I thought that’s why you weren’t talking to me, I thought you didn’t like what I did…on the couch, you know—“ 

“I know,” he chuckles this time, “and how could I not like that?” And you swallow the lump in your throat, as the two of you fall into a comfortable silence that you choose to breach. 

“You haven’t had these nightmares in a while,” you murmur quietly, before you add, “we don’t have to talk—“ 

“I know, but it happens from time to time, especially this month,” and your brow furrows, “don’t wrinkle your forehead at me,” and you lean back to gape at him, a smile pulling at his lips, “you always do that when you find out I’m keeping something from you,” 

He moves ever so slightly away, turning to look at the ceiling, “Well I think I have a right because this is a pretty big thing to keep from me, Yu,” you pout, and your fingers begin to absentmindedly trace his jaw, his eyes fluttering shut — you always treated him so gently, like that something that could shatter, but he knew you would always be there to put him back together. Because you did that once already. Over a decade ago, “why didn’t you tell me?” 

Because he didn’t want to worry you. Because he didn’t want you to think of him still as that broken kid you watched after when he had his world fall apart. 

Because he didn’t want you to take that burden — he wanted to handle it himself. 

“I didn’t want to bother you—“ 

“It’s never a bother when it’s you,” and his voice catches in his throat — fuck, how did you always know just what to say? 

He takes a breath, “it’s just the same dream. Of the crash,” he could see something so clearly that he never experienced. He was at home with you when the crash happened — a play date Yuji had insisted on when he had cried and begged his parents to stay with you instead of going to dinner with them. They had relented — and that was the thing that left him alone. 

It was lucky that his grandfather was able to take him in, and stay close by — so he still got to go to school with you. 

“Let’s try to sleep, ok?” You murmur, “you’ll feel better when you sleep,” you cup his cheek, and he’s biting his lip, “what is it?” 

“What if I see it again?” He whispers, as if he’s afraid that his words were any louder he would speak it into existence. 

“Come here,” you say softly, your fingers gently guide his head to face you,  “I’ll keep you safe, I promise,” A sigh leaves his lips as he moves closer, letting you engulf him in your arms, his eyes shutting, and letting himself relax for a moment — the first moment in far too many days. 

When he let himself slip into sleep’s embrace—it was the first night he didn’t dream of the crash — he dreamt of you.  

And when he woke in your arms in the morning, your soft lips parted as you slept, sunlight dappled on your skin through his window, and the way your fingers held onto the fabric of his shirt — he knew, he knew he had to tell you how he felt. 

He needed to end this — his fingers brushing a strand of hair behind your ear — if only to begin something new. 

You had to end it — it hadn’t sunk in until the car drove back home. The quiet morning drive left you both in a comfortable silence, the quiet white noise of his playlist, along with Yuji’s terrible singalongs and your bickering over his music choice. And you found yourself more than once staring at him as he drove, to the point where he had caught you looking. 

“What?” He tilts his head when the light turned red, fingers drumming on the steering, the other poking your side. 

“Nothing,” and you’re playfully slapping his hand away, a smile on your lips — same smile you always had with him. Always—because he’s your best friend. But he was so much more than that. 

You were in love. 

The two of you had returned to the place where you had laid your roots to rest and let your seed scatter to the wind. Only to return as a different flower altogether — but you knew, you couldn’t let it go on. 

It had become painfully clear that morning, you had woken first, the sun had not peaked over the horizon yet, and you found Yuji fast asleep — breaths even and face relaxed. You knew his parents had scarred him deeply — he spoke of them often, but not at all at — he mentioned their presence, but never his own feelings. You knew he had a habit of putting others above himself — but you had missed this — all of this week, you could have been there for him, but you were caught up in your own thoughts and you had made it all about yourself. 

And he deserved more than that. 

He deserved more than you. 

And you couldn’t risk losing him — lose him in a stupid argument or a disagreement and then never be able to comfort him again? Never be able to be by his side? You couldn’t bear to even fathom that. 

“Nanamin was asking about you,” Yuji says as the two of you walk home from the local convenience store — a late night run that produced a familiar bag of treats the two of you always shared when you came back home. 

“Oh really? Are classes over for high school already?” The English literature teacher had taken Yuji in for his last year and half of high school after his grandfather passed, and Yuji always stayed with him on breaks. 

“He asked if you were going to come with us to see my parents tomorrow morning,” it was a tradition to go visit Yuji’s parents graves each year around this time — you always paid your respects whenever you could, “he also said you’re free to stay over, but you have to sleep in a different bedroom,” you snort, “he said and I quote ‘we are past the age of sharing a room,’” You laugh, cheeks burning as you shake your head, “he’s not exactly wrong though,” his fingers graze yours, and there’s nothing more you want than to take his hand, but you know one way or another, you’d drop it in the end. Wouldn’t it be better now? When there isn’t far to fall? 

So you do, letting your hand fall away from his. 

“I’d be happy to see your parents, but I don’t know if staying over is a good idea—“ and he’s shaking his head with a chuckle in his throat. 

“Don’t worry, I won’t do anything you don’t want to—“ 

“We should stop, Yuji,” and his smile slips off his face as if it was slapped off, he blinks, shock settling into confusion. 

“Why?” Only one word and it manages to break you all the same. 

“We just shouldn’t. This was supposed to be about teaching me, but i think I’ve learned enough,” you’re turning away, but his fingers are gently finding your wrist, “Yuji—“ 

“You don’t think I can’t tell when you’re lying?” Yuji asks, and your glass-like facade shatters so easily — why does it always have to break so readily when it comes to him? 

But you pull away all the same, “I can’t do this anymore. Not like this. I don’t want to. I can’t lose you—“ 

“You won’t lose me—“ but you’re already walking off, sparing a glance back. 

“I’ll see you tomorrow morning when we leave, Yuji,” and he’s opening his mouth to call out, but he stops himself, watching you disappear up the street. 

What just happened? 

The car ride to the cemetery is notably silent. Yuji’s eyes burned when he woke, head aching from the circles he ran around in last night, trying to figure out what happened. Nanami drives in the quiet, his eyes noting when Yuji chooses to sit passenger instead of beside you, only with one glance that’s averted after Yuji refuses to meet it. 

Yuji didn’t know what to make of what you said. After everything, he thought maybe — just maybe, you felt the same as he did. He thought he could tell you tomorrow, tell you when the two of you were alone — and even if it didn’t work out, it would be okay. 

But now — as his eyes stole a look at you in the rear view mirror, he wondered if it ever would be okay again. 

You left the car a moment to go use the bathroom when they stopped to fill gas in the car, and that’s when Nanami speaks. 

“So did you finally ask her out and she said no?” And Yuji’s head snaps to his, but Nanami only stares back, “you aren’t hard to read, Itadori. You’ve liked her for a long time,” 

Yuji scratches the back of his head, “I did something, kinda stupid,” and Nanami tilts his head, “really stupid, ok? And I was going to tell her how I felt, but she broke off what we were doing—“ 

“You weren’t dating?” Yuji’s cheeks burn as he waves off his teacher. 

“That’s not important! But what do I do, Nanamin?” the blond haired teacher raised an eyebrow. 

“It’s not hard to know what to do, Itadori. It’s what you should have done. Tell her how you feel,” and then you’re walking back to the car, “come on, let’s get back. We’re close now.” 

And your gaze avoids his own when Yuji watches you get back in the car, and his lips part as if to stop you — but he doesn’t. 

Not yet. 

You stood with Yuji as he tended to his parents’ graves. Simple stones that he was able to put in with time from his part time jobs, ones he had insisted he would pay for himself — refusing any help from anyone, even you. You knelt down, helping him clear the strewn dead leaves, brushing away dirt and snow — your fingers brushing when you both reach for the same place. 

And your eyes meet, as both of your fingers intertwine slowly — the three of you pay your respects, and Nanami finally stands. 

“I’ll wait for you two at the car,” Nanami says with a nod, leaving the two of you alone. You both already had placed offerings at their graves, arranging them slowly, as the two of you stand, the silence of the cemetery hanging overhead — light streaming in between clouds in the overcast sky, the sounds of the wind rustling the trees the only thing in the quiet. 

“Thank you for coming,” Yuji says softly, and your blink, eyes sliding to his. 

“You never have to thank me for that, Yuji,” you squeeze his hand, “as long as you want me to come, I’ll always be here. And I’ll always pay my respects to your parents, regardless of that,” you say, and that's exactly why you had to stop with him. You couldn’t bear to lose him — lose this, not when he’s lost too much and he was too much for you to lose, “come on, we should get back to the car,” as you pull your hand away from his. 

And maybe things could get back to normal. 

“I know,” and he doesn’t move as you turn to leave, “and that’s why I love you,” 

And you smile, “I love you too—“ 

“I don’t mean it like that,” and you freeze a moment, his words barely processing before he continues to speak, “I mean I do love you in that way too — but that’s not how I meant it now,” he says, as you turn to face him — not finding a hint of humor on his expression. 

“Yuji—“ your brain can barely process your best friend confessing to you — much less next to his parents’ graves— “should we be having this conversation—“ 

“It’s the perfect place to have this conversation,” he glances around at all of the graves, and he’s shaking his head, “maybe not the perfect place, but—“ his gaze softens when he finds yours, “you saved me,” 

“Yuji—“ 

“No, you did. After my parents died,” he stares at the stones side by side — “I could barely function. I barely wanted to do anything but sleep — but you, you pulled me out of bed. You made me go places. You made me smile again,” he says, “but that’s not the reason I fell in love with you,” his lips curl into a soft smile, “it’s because it’s you — your smile, your laugh, your being — it reminded me of happiness existed, and then I realized you were the only person who could make me happy the way you do,” 

“Yuji—“ 

“It’s okay if you don’t feel the same. But I don’t want to lose you, lose this chance to tell you how I feel, to tell you—“ 

“Yuji—“ 

“And I’ve always loved you — there’s never been—“ and you’re hugging him, before you even know you are, your arms are around his middle, face buried in his chest, as he murmurs your name. 

“The only reason I broke it off was,” your voice wavers despite your efforts to force it to stay even, “I didn’t to lose you by not being good enough—“ 

“You just have to be you,” his brow furrowed into the same valleys he teased you for, “you’re all I need,” his hand finds your cheek, guiding your gaze to his, “how could you think you weren’t enough?”

“You don’t tell how you feel sometimes — you don’t tell me what you’re thinking, I didn’t even know you had nightmares—“ you break off, “what if we continued this and you realized you deserved better than me? And it was already too late for me because I love—“ you break off. 

“You what?” he asks, and you’re biting your lip, “I’ll say it again if it will make you—“ 

Fuck it. 

You lean up and press your lips to his, swallowing his words as your hand finds purchase on his shoulder. And it felt right. As it always did with Yuji. 

“I love you too,” you whisper against his lips, “I love you, in the same way you do,” 

“As a friend?” And your brow furrows, “kidding! Kidding—ow!” You’re smacking him playfully, before he catches both of your wrists and pulls you close, “does that mean I can call you mine?” 

“Or baby,” and he flushes, a cute pout on his lips, “what? Isn’t it—“ and he’s kissing you again, your heart leaping as he does, his hands sliding around your hips, “Yu-“ 

“And what’s my pet name? You still haven’t given me one—“ 

“Have some decorum,” a voice cuts through, and the two of you jump apart, as Nanami stands, glaring at the two of you, “come on, if you’re done paying your respects, then we should go home,” he sighs, rubbing his temples, “the dead shouldn’t have to put up with this.” 

Yuji’s cheeks are tomato red at this point — as he covers his face— but you only chuckle, your fingers intertwining with his, squeezing, “c’mon let’s go, and maybe I can give you a pet name when we get home,” and you both turn to face his parents, as you pay your respects and head down the path a little. 

Yuji faces his parents, kneeling down to say goodbye again — and he remembers how it was their idea to set up Yuji to have a playdate with you, all those years ago. And now, here you were — the most important person in his life. 

“Thank you for everything you did for me,” and he glances at you over his shoulder as he gets up, “especially for helping me find her.” 

“Yu-ji—“ you gasp, as he’s tugging you into your bedroom, bumping himself carelessly into the wall as he guides you both to your bedroom. You giggle as he presses you against the wall outside your room, “I text you my parents are going out for dinner and this is how you greet me? What happened to hello—“ 

His lips crash against yours and you forget about ‘hello’ and just about every other word in your head. Your lips curl against his lips, as his body cages you against the wall. It had been a few days since you and Yuji had been able to have a moment alone—Nanami was watching you both cautiously, while your parents had been keeping you busy at home, seeing family or cleaning up around the house. And Yuji was growing increasingly desperate for some time with you — that wasn’t hidden brushes of fingers under the table or stolen kisses out of sight from family or friends. 

“I missed you so much, baby,” he’s murmuring — and you didn’t know it was so possible to look like a kicked puppy so much until you met Yuji, “can’t believe Nanami was so mean and kept making us keep the door open—“ 

“It didn’t help that he walked in us making out on your bed three times—“ and a moan escapes your lips as he kisses your neck, teeth grazing against your racing pulse, “fuck, Yu—“ 

“How do you always taste so good?” he mumbles against you as he leads you inside your bedroom and shuts the door. His eyes glance around your childhood room, as he takes in the childhood posters plastered on the walls, the untouched books, the stuffed animals from a millennium ago that still lined your bed. 

“My family has not changed much here for years,” your cheeks burn, as he only chuckles, walking you backwards into your bed, and you climb into the bed, only grabbing a stuffed animal from behind you, “remember this?” 

He snorts, as he takes the stuffed penguin from your hands, “How could I forget? I tried a million times to win this,” 

You tilt your head, “You said you won it your first try—“ and you gasp as he looks away, cheeks flushed, “you were trying to impress me,” 

“Not that much,” and you’re leaning closer, brushing your lips against his, “maybe just a little,” you kiss him more insistently this time, sliding against his, fingers curling in his soft strands, “maybe too much,” and you smirk, noses bumping as your lips find each other’s again and again. 

And your fingers slide down to drag his shirt up and over, freeing his chest and abs to your sight — and what a sight it is. So toned and tanned from his American football practices in the sun — perfect for your fingers and lips to explore the peaks and valleys of his body, hands already far too eager.

He returns the favor by lifting your own shirt off in an instant, groaning when he finds you wearing nothing underneath — your eyes can’t help but flit down and find his erection already tenting in his sweatpants. 

“Fuck, baby, you’re so perfect,” his eager hands are already teasing and palming you breasts, a whimper drawn out by his precise pinches and touches, “so good for me,” and your hands drag down his chest, leaning down to press kisses to his chest as your fingers trace along his abs, making him groan. 

He’s pouting, after he pulls you into another kiss, “it’s not fair,” he mumbles into the side of your neck, “I feel like I’m always the one who’s more nervous than you are,” 

You chuckle, kissing his jaw, “I felt the same way, why do you think I touched you on our TV marathon that night?” 

And he’s blinking, as you lay back on the bed for him, “you didn’t know—“ you shake your head. 

“You had offered to help get experience, and even when we had done things, you were just so…normal,” he chuckles, before laying beside you. 

“I had some practice acting normal around you, but I really didn’t. I think you nearly gave me a heart attack that night,” and you grin, drawing so close that you even feel the hitch of his breath. 

“That good, huh?” You tease, and it only takes a moment until he’s hovering over you, lust pooled in his gaze that lights a fire on your body wherever it lays. 

And his lips meet yours right after he whispers, “I’ll show you good.” 

“One more, baby,” Yuji tells you, but you barely hear it through the haze of pleasure and heat that fills the room, along with the sounds of the squelch of his fingers in your tight cunt, “just need one more,” 

And how many times had he made you orgasm already? You’d lost count — five or six at least. The first had taken some time, working his finger into your weeping slit, the way your walls stretch around him make you wonder how good it will feel when he fucks you. It’s not long before he’s sinking another finger in, the sounds and feelings of his digits curling is enough to bring you to orgasm. And the rest are a blur — another finger in your tight entrance, fucking you open as he toyed with your walls, until you came again and again. 

And now he bent down, lips around your clit, teasing and sucking at the sensitive bud, as your fingers curled in his pink locks as the lewd moans fell from your mouth with ease. You’re so close — so fucking close, and when his fingertips brush against that spot and it’s all too much. 

You cum around his fingers and mouth, his name on your lips as you do, back arching against him, as he eases his fingers from your cunt. He licks his fingers clean as your eyes flutter open to meet his, “You taste so good, baby — you’re perfect,” and you watch as his tongue flicks out to clean his lips and chin of your sticky release. 

And soon enough he’s kissing you, hand cupping your cheek, letting you taste yourself on his lips, as your fingers drag over his bare chest and follow his happy trail into the elastic of his boxers. A soft moan leaves his kiss ruined lips, as his eyes are lidded with lust, soft pants against your skin. 

“Is this a dream?” Yuji murmurs, his lips ghosting along your jaw, “never thought we would get here,” and you turn your head to meet his lips in another sweet kiss. 

“It isn’t, we’re here. Took us long enough,” your lips curl, your fingers tracing over his cheek, “and nowhere else I rather be — or no one else I rather be with,” 

“You sure?” And you’ve flipped him over, kissing down his body, fingers tugging at the elastic of his boxers until his dick is freed from the fabric, “fuck, baby, you don’t have—“ 

And his words are cut off with a grunt as your fingers grazes his erection, teasing his weeping head. You start to pump up and down, working the thick beads of precum over his length, his head falling back. 

“How’s your cock so pretty, Yu?” you coo, blowing air over his dick, making him twitch in your hand, “never thought one of these would ever be so pretty,” you let his length slap against your tongue, slowly dragging it down your 

He hisses, hands grasping at the sheets, as you bend down to flick his tongue against the head of his cock. Your lips close around it, and suck, raising the back of his hand to cover his mouth, “fuck, s’good, baby, I—“ 

And you’re letting his cock sink past your lips, your tongue flicking against his slit. Your eyes find his own, as you hollow out your cheeks and sucking hard, and his hips buck into your mouth. His tip brushes against your throat, and you’re moaning around him, your fingers cup his balls, nails digging into your scalp. 

“Baby, fuck, I’m close—where—“ and he’s trying to ease you off, but your hands only hold his hips in place. Your nose brushing against his pubes. And when you’re suck hard on his tip, toying with his sack, only for him to moan your name, before cumming down your throat, his hot release painting your insides. 

You’re slowly pulling off his dick, a string of cum and spit connecting your lips to his cock, a smile on your face. You swallow his release, the salty taste still on your lips as you watch him pant, chest rising and falling. 

“Taste so good, Yu,” you murmur, and you’re moving back up to kiss him, “think I’m addicted,” you murmur, as your lips find each other again and again. 

“Now you know how I feel,” he smiles, fingers running through your hair, “been addicted to you for over a decade,” and he’s sitting up, guiding you into his lap slowly, “we can always stop right here, we don’t have—“ 

You kiss him softly, the way he deserved, the way you’ve wanted to for so long, “I want to, Yuji, I really want to,” your fingers intertwine with his, squeezing his hand, his arm slipping around your waist, “because I love you,” 

And your fingers grasp his hardening cock, pressing it to your dripping slit, and god, he’s so fucking big. You knew how big he was, but just feeling him pressed against you makes you ache at how he’ll be stretching you out. He drags his dripping tip against your slit, letting your cum mix together, letting his head catch on your clit. 

Finally, you’re sinking onto him, his thick length parting your walls, inch by inch. Your head falls back, as he leans into your touch, watching you flinch at the stretch, “you okay?” Yuji’s pressing sweet kisses to your lips and cheek, “should I stop—“ 

“No, no, I’m fine, it’s starting to feel good,” your arms wrapping around his neck, burying your face in the crook of his neck, “ and he’s helping you sink into him, until finally your hips are flush to his, “fuck, Yu—you’re so deep—“ his cock twitches against your walls, a shiver up his spine at your words. 

And he’s panting, his lips pressed to your shoulder, “you feel s’good, baby — so wet and warm—“ you smile, cupping his cheek, “can’t believe this is real — can’t believe—“ 

“It’s real, Yuji, it’s real,” your lips curl into a smile, “I’m here, I love you,” 

“I love you too, I love you so much,” he kisses you again and again, as he shifts slowly under you, swallowing a gasp that leaves your lips. 

“Please, Yuji, move—“ and he obliges, beginning to fuck into you, and your head falls back, as his cock rocks into you, a moan falling from your lips as you do. He’s groaning your name again and again, a grunt when you begin to ride him in tandem, both of your thrusts sending him deeper into you. 

“Baby, fuck, you’re perfect. You’re so good f’me,” his lips finding your neck, as his strokes become faster and deeper, the sounds of your skin slapping together rings in your ears as he fucks you harder and harder, “g’nna cum, s’close,“ 

“I’m close too,” you’re panting as his lips find yours in a sloppy, messy kiss that has you losing yourself more and more, as his thrusts become more and more swallow. And when he finds your clit between your bodies, rubbing as he finds that one spot that has you seeing stars, “Yuji- I’m—“ 

And you cum hard around him, soaking his cock and thighs as you do, walls squeezing him tight until he’s spilling his warm seed inside you. You slow as you do, legs quivering, as you nearly slump against him and he holds you impossibly closer. He helps you both detangle, easing his softening cock from inside you, a small groan as he sees your mixed releases leaking from you. He helps you lie back, as he wraps his arms around you, running his fingers through your hair. 

“Are you okay?” he whispers, brow furrowed in slight worry as your eyes flutter open, lips curling as your fingers smooth the wrinkles of his forehead. 

“I’d be better if you’d kiss me,” you whisper and he obliges, a soft kiss to your lips that leaves you warmer than you were before, “now I’m perfect,” 

“You always were,” and you chuckle, rolling your eyes, before shaking your head, burying your face in the crook of his neck. 

“No, that’s because I had an excellent teacher,” and he laughs, before he pulls you even closer, finding your lips in a kiss. 

“And you always will.” 

“Come on, Fushiguro, pay up,” Nobara holds out her hand, as Megumi glares, pulling out his wallet and plucking money from his wallet and handing it to her. 

“You cheated,” he says as she snatches the money, counting it with a grin on her lips, “I don’t know what you did, but I know you did,” 

“You never said we couldn’t give them advice,” she grins, as she pockets his money, “and all I did was give Yuji a nudge, he’s the one who fucked—“ 

“Alright,” Megumi rubs his temples, “I get it, but it’s still unfair — we’ve been waiting for them to get together all these years and all of sudden he gets the idea to become her friends with benefits—“ and Nobara only grins wider, “you didn’t—“ 

She shrugs, “you can wait around for two idiots to figure it out, or you can shove them off the deep end.” 

“I knew you cheated,” Megumi grumbles, “that’s the last time I ever make a bet with you, Kugisaki,” 

And she smirks, “Well now you’ve been taught a lesson too.” 

✧ a/n: another celebration fic done! now just one more and then i can start preparing for the next follower celebration :). i've settled on using wips but i'll pick out a bunch of prompts for you all to request for certain ones. that way, you all have had a hand in them <3. thank you to laney for helping beta <3.

✧ taglist: @adrenova, @nakariabnrb, @skvllknight, @hanlay, @spider-fan72, @anonimusunnoaniswriting, @chososcamgirl, @thenezuko, @catsgomurp, @too-much-snow, @sashaiko, @forest-fruits-jam, @rita-ritarita, @anyaeuh, @dezznuggetsblog, @jayathelostdragon, @newspapergirlmal, @2livelaughlovefictionalmen2, @being-me-is-not-a-sin, @xoocii, @firelordazulaaaa, @cira273, @twosec0nd, @ororomunroro, @sunamatic, @withoutanameyet, @gojorgeous, @masctomboy805, @hantaslittlearsonist, @lemonpoppy-seed, @malmare, @teraine, @boopadoopa333, @jeyughh, @coffeebun17, @faeryli, @katienaps, @tojbitch, @fushitoru, @soulofoz, @yamaguccitadashi

[i-like-writing-stuff]

never changing [ five hargreeves x reader ]

a/n: hi y’all! it’s been a hot minute since i’ve been on here, but after the absolute shit show that season 4 was, some sparks ignited in me to write up anything to take my mind off it 🙌

its not anything crazy, just fluff and banter since i haven’t written anything in years so it may be as poorly redacted as this season lmao

summary: five and y/n attend their niece birthday party together, yet separate

“Happy birthday, little Gracie!” You smiled widely, trying not to drop the wrapped present box as the six year old girl jumped into your arms, “Oh my gosh, look at you! You’re just getting prettier by day, aren’t you?”

You had just got off work in a hurry to make your appearance at the little girl’s birthday party at a decent time, in spite of the amount of paperwork you managed to bury yourself in lately. You knew how much it would have meant for the celebrated one to show up and you couldn’t bear to let her down, especially on her birthday.

After spending most of your life working for the Commission, and then a decent amount of time exhausting yourself in trying to stop multiple Apocalypses, your last six years have been pretty quiet as a lawyer. You really wanted to get out of the whole assassin thing, but at the same time couldn’t exactly move on from the thrill of the work field. Your career as a lawyer took off really well these past years, but inevitably it came along with the cost of always being stuck at work, so whenever your niece got the chance to see you, she was truly enthusiastic.

“Auntie Y/N!” She wrapped her tiny arms around your neck, engulfing you into a tight hug, “You are here!”

Nonetheless, these six years have been truly and undeniably the most peaceful time of your life for as long as you could remember.

“You literally saw each other the other day,” Five raised a brow, watching you and the celebrated one act as if you hadn’t seen each other in years.

You and the little girl shared a look, before rolling your eyes and turning to glare at the man next to you. Ever since Grace learned how to talk, you and her would gang up on her uncle for your amusement, especially since he was so keen on entertaining the banter.

These past six year have gone by in the blink of an eye, yet at the same time at a slow and steady pace. You spent most of your time working anyway, but still kept in touch with the seven siblings you’d grown to love.

Some in different ways than others.

“Uncle Five, you’re always more excited than me to see Aunt Y/N,” Gracie waved him off, making you burst out laughing, “Jealousy isn’t a good look on you anyway.”

“What is a good look on him anyway?” You smirked, making the little girl laugh, as Five swept her into his arms;

“Okay, munchkin, it’s your birthday today, but tomorrow I’m going back to bullying you,” He joked, causing you both to laugh, before the two shared a hug before you, “You’re lucky your gift has no return policy.”

The party had already started by the time you made it there. The playground was huddled by other kids around Grace’s age, along with their parents. The music was playing loudly over the laughter of children and you were pretty sure that most of the family had already arrived. It was not the most ideal gathering, but you tried your best to keep in touch with most of the family to your best capabilities.

“Y/N, I’m so glad you could make it!” Luther smiled, appearing from the crowd of guests, immediately giving you a big hug as his niece was still wrapped around Five, “Haven’t seen you since Thanksgiving!”

“Big shot lawyer doesn’t always have the time to stay in touch with family, huh?” Diego teased you, following suit, as you rolled your eyes, dropping off his daughter’s gift in his hands.

“Big shot delivery driver doesn’t know the phone works both ways, huh?” You smirked, putting your hands on your hips.

Diego laughed out loud as he gave you a hug, always in the mood for a back and forth short banter with you. After all, you truly were family, even if you didn’t always have the time to be present in the Hargreeves’ day to day lives. You may have met them in the original timeline in 2019, when you accidentally time traveled with your former partner at the Commission, Five, but after all you’ve been through, you didn’t need to have grown up together or be blood related to be considered that. And you truly were grateful for each and every single one of them, in spite of the many differences over the years.

After everything that’s happened six years ago at Hotel Oblivion, everyone went their separate ways. Allison was back with her daughter while trying to further her acting career and also help Klaus stay on the sober line, Viktor had moved to Canada where he opened a bar, Diego and Lila had three kids, Luther was “professionally dancing”, Ben had some run-ins with the law and Five, ironically enough, was working for the CIA.

“Well, you two are as annoying as always,” Ben told you and his brother, making Diego roll his eyes as he walked towards the gift table to set down your present.

“Please try to stay out of prison at least for the remainder of the year,” You joked with the man, making him roll his eyes as he hugged you loosely, “There’s only so much favors I could owe the DA.”

“Shut the fuck up,” Ben groaned, “I don’t even know why they let you work at the law firm since you still look like a prepubescent with no boobs. Even Five got a growth spurt.”

“I sized up to B recently, thank you very much,” You nudged his shoulder, before placing your hands on your chest in an offended manner.

“Okay, Gracie, not a conversation you’d wanna hear,” Five spoke up, putting his niece down, “Your aunt needs to learn some etiquette on how to act around children.”

“Funny coming from you,” You couldn’t help but wave him off.

You didn’t come in with Five at the party, but as fate had it, you did run into him as you were parking your car. He had just gone out to his brother’s dusty van to bring inside some more cookies for the guests. You kept in touch with him as well, but not as often as you would have liked. It’s not all that serious, but given the fact that you were a lawyer still climbing your way to the top and him being a top notch CIA agent, you didn’t exactly have the time to hang out.

At least, not as much as you’d have liked.

Five was watching you with a small smile tugging at the corner of his lips, and his hands in his pockets. He had the same look on his face as always when watching you. He had the same smile when he saw you in combat for the first time during your first mission for the Commission together, the same look in his eyes when you appeared for the first time in 2019 alongside him in your teen bodies. The same posture he had when he met you again in 1963 after months of not seeing each other.

He wore the same love on his face while looking at you when you and the siblings split up after the events at Oblivion.

And never once did you notice that.

Not once in these past six years you let your feelings surface.

“You know Grace is my niece too, right?” He couldn’t drop the small smile even if he wanted to.

“Since when are you such a family man?” You raised a brow, trying to keep a confident composure.

“Oh, something changed in me between the first and third time I traded the world for my siblings,” He lightly shrugged his shoulders, making you roll your eyes at the sarcastic remark.

You two never changed.

“Please, I was there for the twins birth,” You waved him off.

You rarely see Five, and even when you do you always try to act normal, as you do around the rest of the Hargreeves. Everyone tried to get you two together at first, since the apocalypse was over and there was no reason for you to not get together, right?

You really wished it was that easy. In hindsight, maybe it was. But you couldn’t take any chances in losing Five forever if something were to go wrong. Maybe some would see it as something stupid, or as if you wasted so many years, but to you- mentally, you were almost seventy, while physically nineteen. You had so much time ahead of you now, all that mattered was to get a stable career first.

Five let a chuckle escape, shaking his head in disbelief, as he looked at the floor for a couple of seconds. When he looked back at you, you tried to keep your composure. You couldn’t help but feel pathetic that after all these years, your heart still skipped a beat whenever he’d look at you.

“You’re doing that thing again where you forget that some other people are still around, guys,” Luther raised his hand, grabbing your attention once again.

“I got bored of watching seventy year old virgins,” Ben shrugged his shoulders, “I’m gonna go get shitfaced.”

“Always a delight seeing you, Benjamin,” Five said, as Luther followed the ex-tentacle boy suit to make re he was not about to actually get drunk;

“This is a six year old’s birthday party!”

You giggled, watching the two brothers speed away while arguing amongst the kids in the crowd. When your eyes laid back on Five, who was intently watching you, you couldn’t help but feel a small blush creep its way in your cheeks.

“What?”

“Nothing.”

“Spit it out, Hargreeves.”

“I said it’s nothing!”

“Fuck you.”

“Why?”

You watched him dumbfounded for a couple of seconds because of the only answer he could come up with, before walking away, hoping he would follow you.

When he did try to keep up with you, you looked away to hide the proud smile. Even after all these years, things were still the same with him. He was still so eager to spend time with you, he was still smiling at you and entertaining your conversation.

“Aunt Y/N, Uncle Five, come play in the ball pit!” Gracie ushered you from afar, already tucked in the plastic colorful balls.

“You heard the birthday girl!” You smiled, grabbing his hand to drag Five after you.

Even after all these years he would instantly lock his fingers with yours.

[tojisun]

the lights are on

!! simon riley x afab reader; chubby reader; confidence and body issues; past bullying (not by simon and briefly mentioned); smut - minors dni // divider by @/plutism!

i projected too much of myself onto the reader so do forgive me for that. this is a milestone celebration for me, mostly, but also for you all so i hope you all would like it too <3

this is inspired by rachel wiley’s “10 honest thoughts on being loved by a skinny boy” - a slam poetry

you are told that love comes easily — that it is the budding of spring, shimmering and vibrant, and blooming oh-so tenderly. unfurling oh-so carefully, like you are melting into padded sheets and cashmere sweaters.

you are told that love comes easily — that it stands out amongst a vast ocean. that it is distinguishable; a beacon so familiar you run towards it, unafraid and unashamed. like fate or destiny; like fairytales being remade.

you are told that love comes easily, but you know they mean to people who don’t look like you; only for the girls with slim arms and robust legs, with dips in their waists and hour-glass figures, with bones pressing against their skins like carved mountains.

love comes easily to thin girls. to the girls whose loud laughter are heard as wind chimes, whose jolly isn’t sneered at or embarrassing to see, whose confidence is just is — that it isn’t an act of empowerment or a statement or a message.

so you slink back into your shadows with little laughs and curled shoulders, like maybe if you diminished your presence enough, you would be seen physically small too. petite is a word no one has used for you but how else can anyone explain the way you trim yourself into bite-sized pieces?

you aren’t the first to be chosen; not the one people fight over. when you walk into a room, the best that could happen was that no one would notice you. that you would blend into the shadows or the walls, quiet and peaceful. painfully lonely, yes, but peaceful, nevertheless.

(you still have nightmares of high school.

of boys using you for their dares, like the only thing good about you was to be the butt of the joke; like asking you out was a comedic show.

of girls and—

sometimes, they’re meaner than the boys with all their lilac and softness; you thought that at least they were a kindred soul, but so many times, during lunch, you were cornered into tears until you became full from nothing but your anguish.)

when simon first walked into your life, you knew it — whatever ‘it’ could be — was impossible.

you had already ended the tragedy before something could even begin. you saw his beauty — in a way that you cannot explain; in a way that is rugged and scarred and terrifying, almost, but beautiful, still — and knew there was no way he would fall for you, anyway.

but simon was… persistent. charming you in a way that was painfully absent of all suave but he was still so charismatic, he always left your stomach in knots. hope bloomed in your chest and you realized that maybe it needn’t be a tragedy; that it mustn’t be a joke nor a dare; that you must be—

loved.

that you are loved — just that. just as is.

.

.

simon watches as you lay down on the bed, your cheeks tingling with heat as embarrassment rises from the base of your neck, dancing past your shoulders and devouring up until even the tip of your nose thrums with feverish touch. you look away from him, feeling so shy at the intensity in his eyes. he looks at you like he is ravenous for you; like you are the only nourishment he needs, and that you have made him hungry, his gums aching with the need to sink his teeth into the soft parts of your body.

you have never been looked at like this before, and it is intoxicating. it makes you heady, breathless, lips parted open as you gasp for air—

rustling fills your ears and you perk up, getting ready to snap your bra off, only to find simon naked, bare, his cock chubbing up from underneath his bush, and you have never loved a body until his. lust coils in the tendrils of your heart, stretching into the yawning that burrows in the pit of your stomach to capture you whole.

you want him.

god, do you want him.

he falls to his knees, stalking close to where you are splayed on the bed like the offering you are that he says he will never deserve, but you stop him with a hand up and a quiet breath, and, “the lights.”

your voice trembles. shame slowly snuffs out the greed.

“can you turn them off, please?” you ask because it is a courtesy you were taught to—

‘can you bathe me in darkness so that the two of us can pretend that i am not undesirable and that your love is not a fluke?’

‘can you hide me from your eyes so your mind does not give you reason to pull away?’

‘can you reduce me into a body to fuck into, so that our pretend-love story does not end?’

your question makes simon still, his heady eyes lightening up again. recognition slips into his consciousness and he rouses up — you tell yourself that the caving in your chest isn’t a heartbreak — to reach forward.

to reach for—

you.

simon’s scarred palm falls to your stomach, planting atop the sea of stretch marks. his thumb traces their ridges, so soft and slow and intimate, and your eyes burn because why is he so cruel?

why must he touch you like you are something to revere? like you are something priceless and that he is undeserving of you? like you are, all parts, beautiful?

“won’t you let me love you like this?” is what he says instead, and he moves, desperate to meet your eyes. “can we do it with the lights on, from now on?”

all the air in your lungs is knocked out of you.

his words were quiet but they resonated so loudly, almost booming and deafening. the world doesn’t freeze nor does time slow, but there is something in that moment that makes you feel like you are at the throes of something divine. like you are finally sewn together.

you do not sob but you are so close to doing so. instead, you pull him close, trembling, and give him a kiss. he melts into it, his hands mapping the softness of your body, digging into the fat and never letting go.

he devours you like this — hot lips against your own. spit is shared, moans fall in between the tiny cracks whenever you pull away to breathe only for simon to push close again, never letting you stray alone any longer, and clingy as he fits you into him.

the first drag of his fingers into your cunt makes you gasp, your head falling back to the pillows as a mewl drips from your mouth. he pulls away, huffing, and positions himself so he can watch you. you keep your head tipped up, still so embarrassed by being exposed this way, but simon curls his fingers just right, and he strokes against something that punches a gasp out of you.

“shit—”

“like this, sweetheart?” simon croons, nuzzling his face on your rib, his cheek bumping against your boob. he pulls his fingers out, dragging with him muffled squelching noises that tickle your ears, before fucking his fingers in you again.

you whine, a drawn hiccupped sound, and claw at the sheets at the pace he adopts. it is fast, overwhelming, but still not enough. it seems like he’s spoiled you rotten, and left you needy for nothing but his cock.

“fuck me,” you whimper, arms looped around his wrists. you feel so weak from the pleasure, wrung out of orgasms with his fingers in your cunt and his palm against your clit. you flick your eyes up, meeting his gaze. “si, please?”

he lets out a snarl, his softness and need peaking into something dangerous. you find that you are not scared, instead, you are besotted — inviting him in by spreading your legs wider, showing him how wet your pussy is and that it is ready for his taking.

your face crumples at the slow slide, his cock fucking you raw like this is the first time again. like you two have more to explore, more to uncover, and you keen at the intensity of it all.

missionary has never felt this good before; simon thrusts his hips, humping the remaining inches in, and you scream — your hips snapping up, and your throat burning with the ache. simon holds you by your waist, his fingers dimpling your flesh, and fucks you with gusto.

he chases his orgasm as he melts into you. he is louder today, and more guttural with his desires. he snarls his praises, the words curling from the backs of his teeth until they drip on you like hot wax — scalding, overwhelming, and leaving you to feel all tender and raw.

“si!” you cry out, reaching forward to play with your clit. “m’close, baby. m’close!”

“yeah?” he rasps out, his balls slapping against your ass. you go dizzy, eyes rolling to the back of your skull as goosebumps rise across the expanse of your body. “do i make my baby feel good? tell me, sweetheart, go on. tell me, huh?”

he is rambling, untethered, himself, as he loses in his own swelling euphoria.

you sob, toes digging into the mattress because you are unable to properly vocalize the pleasure, your mind all razed by the way he fucks you, but your baby is asking you to do so, so you tell him, “s’good. baby, s’good! i feel so full an’ only you can fuck me good an’— an’ si, i’m gonna— i’m gonna—”

your orgasm hits you like a fever breaking; like you are feeling a sense of release that has never been felt before. you feel like you are suspended, floating, your skin buzzing with lightning. you don’t even know you are screaming, deaf to anything but the explosion of ecstatic pleasure.

your teeth rattle at the first spurt of simon’s cum, and he presses uncoordinated kisses on your lips. it makes you giggle, all sluggish now that exhaustion is weaving in, and it is then that you meet simon’s eyes.

they are so clear and vibrant, the way they only ever are under light. they crinkle in his smile, and you puff, snuggling close, feeling like you can drop to sleep with his cock still in you.

“love you si,” you murmur, your words sticking together in your drowsiness.

he presses a kiss on your temple and breathes you in. then, “i love you too, sweetheart.”

and the lights are still on.

thank you once again for the 15k, and i hope you have loved this the way i loved writing it <33

i was struck with the poetry, and the way wiley described the way she is loved. she started her performance with the lines: “i say, ‘i am fat.’ he says, ‘no, you are beautiful.’ i wonder why i cannot be both.” and i have never related to anything more. wiley then talks about how their relationship unfurls, and in ‘6’ (it is a list poetry), she says, “he tells me he loves me with the lights on,” and i sobbed.

so i wrote a fic of me, and i hope thats alright.

[theabigailthorn]

We know you were on accutane. Stop lying

not that it would matter if I had, and not that it's any of your business, but I have in fact never taken accutane.

This is a useful teaching moment though, because what you're doing is a well-studied phenomenon in digital media called 'policing fake femininity.' It's a thing people do to women in the public eye, a specific kind of criticism centred around accusations of being inauthentic, fake, or having cheated in some way. Often it's men doing the policing but women do it to each other a lot too, there are whole websites dedicated to it in fact. Often those criticisms centre around our appearances, as yours did here.

It's sometimes a response to perceived inequality, of which there is plenty! Women in the public eye - myself included - do benefit from a lot of privilege. I've always been quite open about that. People who engage in that kind of public bullying often tell themselves that because of the privilege (or perceived privilege) of their targets the fake femininity policing is socially justified, or the fault of the target. But it doesn't really do anything to correct the structural problems that give rise to that inequality.

In their paper "Policing Fake Femininity," scholars Brooke Duffy, Kate Miltner, and Amanda Wahlstedt say,

“The solution to the structural concerns associated with capitalist patriarchy is not, we contend, to label individual influencers “stupid famewhores” and disparage their mental health in ways that invoke the spectre of hysteria (e.g., “batsh*t crazy,” “delusional,” and “lunatic”). As Chemaly [Rage Becomes Her, 2018] argues, it is necessary that girls and women express their anger, but such a directive “is not an endorsement of unbridled rage, or permission to deliver a swift roundhouse kick to the face of anyone who upsets you, or to regularly fill the spaces you live and work in with hostility and discomfort.” While venting anger at these influencers and their purportedly questionable choices may provide some form of much-needed catharsis, such gender-coded vitriol amplifies the rampant misogyny and toxicity that women already face in online environments.”

If you'd like to know more, I recommend:

Steve Cross & Jo Littler, “Celebrity and schadenfreude: The cultural economy of fame in freefall,” in Cultural Studies

Brooke Duffy, Kate Miltner, & Amanda Wahlstedt, “Policing “fake” femininity: Authenticity, accountability, and influencer anti-fandom,” in New Media & Society

[lcriedlastnight]

Hi can i pls request a lando x reader where he mentions in many interviews that he wants an army of kids and the camara always pans to other drivers teasing reader

ofc you can baby <33 thanks for helping me celebrate! here's that kiss i promised xoxo

requests are open!

852 words.

it wasn't unknown that lando wanted kids. it's not like he went out of his way to to talk about having children either, he just went on half an hour tangents anytime an interviewer brought up the topic is all. you didn't find out just how many until you decided to ask him about it one night, not long after lando had gotten slandered on twitter for being 'obsessed' with having a mini version of himself running around.

"so.. you know how you've said you want kids?" you start, voice a little hesitant knowing he was a bit peeved about the bullying he was getting online for that very thing. if looks could kill you swear you would be a dead girl.

"don't you start." he groans, eyes rolling so hard to the of his head you thought they may get stuck.

lando, who had just gotten ready for bed, slips in beside you and you immediately know he's not actually pissed off at you because he is pulling your arm to get you as close to him as he physically could.

"i don't mean it like that, i just wanted to ask you about it." lando watches as you strain your neck up to be able to see his reaction from your very comfortable position on his chest. it does bring the smallest of smiles to his lips.

with a joking sigh he asks "what do you want to know?".

"well, i guess the most important one is-"

"if i want them with you?" lando interrupts, sending your brows into your hairline. you smack him on the back of the head and he just laughs like it was actually funny. dickhead.

"no! how many you want. but now i don't want any with you if they're going to turn out like you." you cross your arms over your chest, trying to convince him you actually were in a huff. a strong hand running down your front seconds after ruins your plans for any further annoyance though.

lando hums in thought before he answers your question. his hand now drawing random shapes on your hip bone.

"you're going to hate me when i say this, but i only really wanted a few maybe two max? but being with you? i want minimum four."

your gasp makes him wince. you're shocked, there is no way he is actually being serious. you tell him as much but he shakes his head and assures you just how serious he is.

"honestly baby. i want a big family with you."

his words may or may not rile you and you guys maybe get started on that big family that night, but you don't kiss and tell..

˗ˏˋ꒰ 🍒 ꒱

lando wasn't to hold back on his thoughts or feelings and with his rants about wanting to start a family were proof of this, well you had thought so. the next time you're at the paddock is the next time he's asked about starting a family. you're watching from the side with max and oscar as he gets interviewed and you can see the say his whole face lights up at the question, as if racing was a chore he was getting forced to do every few weekends and not the second favourite part of his life.

lando takes a quick glance in your direction before he starts and it's like your conversation on the topic opened the floodgates in lando's mind as he reveals his every thought on having a baby or two or ten.

"me and my girlfriend were talking about this and it made me realise i want a full on norris army of children behind me. i want minimum four with my girl. ideally two of each but wouldn't even complain if all i had was girls because then that means that there would be so much more of my girl out there in the world, and little parts of me i guess too." lando's smile is splitting and the interviewer smiles back at him, loving seeing him being so open and honest about it.

"would you encourage your little ones to get involved in karting and racing?" she enquires. you can already picture taking your imaginary children along to watch lando in his races. it does make your heart skip a beat or two.

as the interview continues, unbeknown to you and the other two drivers who are making kissy faces at pretending to cradle a child in their arms just to tease you and how much lando was infatuated with the idea of kids with you, the camera pans in your direction to get a nice reaction shot to your boyfriend's words.

all they capture is your bright red face, from the teasing and lando blunt words, and the boys childish behaviour.

that night is then filled with lando teasing (and comforting) you as it was now your turn to get teased on twitter, millions of fans already making your reaction a meme. you knew you'd never live it down and a small part of you was excited to explain the video and reaction picture to those future kids.

[d3stinyist1red]

ʏᴀɴᴅᴇʀᴇ ɢᴏᴅ x ʀᴇᴀᴅᴇʀ

yan god who suddenly kills you one day, and sends you to a novel world for entertainment

yan god who only finds you as a piece of entertainment, loving the shock on your face once you realized you were in that one novel you read while bored

yan god who watches as you interact with the other characters, trying to rizz at least one of them up

yan god who starts feeling jealous, i mean he was the one who even gave you the chance to..rizz them up? Is that what you call it? He doesnt know, hes too old for this shit

yan god who starts pretending as if he was a side character, turning human and bumping into you to try to get a whiff of u

yan god who becomes one of your friends, and you guys get along very well! it was as if he learned everything that you liked, and pretended as if he liked it too so he could seem relatable and wifey enough for u

yan god who starts whining whenever you say you gotta go catch the prince's..gyatt? He raises an eyebrow at that, but doesnt care, He didnt want you to leave him!

yan god who begs you to stay with him for a while, giving u puppy dog eyes

yan god who suddenly gives you the richest, prettiest gifts ever, you thought he was an npc at first but nah he seems like the main character from how much money he has!

yan god who is now everywhere you go, acting as if he wasnt following you

yan god who hangs out with you 24/7 tryna make u forget that u wanted the male leads to be ur wife, and instead to make you want him as ur wifey

yan god who convinces you to forget abt the prince bc hes wayyy better and richer!

yan god who gives himself a big butt once you said u like "gyats" ? he didnt know what that was at first until he bend down infront of you intentionally, tryna seduce you and you yelled out "GYATT" and lowkey slapped that shit

yan god who giggled at you, as he bit his lip "Y/n!~ You play too much!~"

yan god who is literally ur jealous wife that makes u forget abt the male leads and lets u slap his ass 24/7

yan god who is forever gonna protect you and keep you in his arms

HII GUYS

SOMEONE REQUESTED THIS

GUYS IM CURRENTLY MAKING A NEW YAN KNY SIMULATOR CHAPTER AFTER LIKE A MONTH...

GUYS THIS ONE JUST SEEMS LIKE ME YAPPING AHH

YAN ANGEL, MC DONALDS WORKER, BULLY, AND CELEBRITY COMING OUT SOON

[targaryenluvs]

— OPPOSITES ATTRACT

pairings: clarisse la rue x aphrodite!daughter!reader (romantic) percy jackson x reader (platonic)

summary: the one where percy jackson has to wrap his head around the fact that the nicest person he’s met at camp, is dating clarisse.

warnings: kinda crack ficy in my opinion, fluff, smooches, capture the flag, reader is percy’s saving grace, percy sees the reader as a sister

a/n: i just got inspired okay? ✊🏽

percy’s feet were booming, heard from afar as he ran to the creek’s shore. the ares trio hot on his tail as they chased him down. he knew he couldn’t run forever, he’d have to fight, but how on earth was he going to win against three trained teens?

as if clarisse wasn’t frightening enough already, her scream sent literal chills down percy’s back, guess she really likes spears? he thought to himself.

the sounds of cheers and celebration drew the pairs attention as luke planted the opposing teams flag into the floor. they’d lost. percy felt clarisse’s grip falter, only slightly, but not when she saw the flag, clarisse’s eyes were currently trained on something behind him. more bullies? “there you are! i was waiting for you, wanted to show you my new and improved skills.”

clarisse let go of him and he couldn’t believe it, the rage in her eyes seemed to dissipate the second you came around. you, the sweetest person he’d met here, were friends with that thing?

that thing was capable of feelings?

his jaw dropped at the sight of clarisse’s hands on your cheeks, listening to you ramble on about who you’d fought and defeated in the woods, the pretty butterfly you’d seen. percy’s eyes were so close to popping out of his skull as clarisse kissed you, deeply. then he wanted to vomit as hands traveled and tongues met.

at dinner that night you sat by luke and chris, happily eating away as your hand rested on a book infront of you. “hey perce! come sit down.” you patted the space next to you as he accepted. “what’re you reading?” percy stared at the cover you’d flipped over to display to him, well he wasn’t expecting that. “where’d you get it from?” you pointed towards your girlfriend proudly, “she said she knew i’d like it, isn’t that sweet?”

percy’s weird version of a smile caused you to frown, “your smile is scaring me.” he immediately dropped it as you laughed, causing him to nudge you. “don’t be rude, i’m just a baby.” percy hadn’t felt so comfortable with someone since his mother. you pinched his cheeks, “naw, yes you are.” he swatted your hands away as you giggled, percy stared at you, studying you.

shining eyes, a beaming smile and an enchanting personality, truly a daughter of aphrodite, yet you dated clarisse. it didn’t make sense in his head, but from what little scenes he’d seen between the two of you, if you were happy than he was too, “what do you see in clarisse? why are you with someone so—” you turned to look his way, percy was worried you’d be offended.

but of course you weren’t, “because i like her percy, and she likes me. she’s absolutely gorgeous, if she wasn’t already a daughter of ares or i didn’t know? for sure aphrodite. and, people are always misunderstood, just because someone seems like a bad person, doesn’t mean they are. when clarisse and i are together, i see the best parts of her, always. i love her regardless, but there’s obviously things that you don’t tell everybody you just meet, or if you aren’t super comfortable with a person then you won’t show all the parts of yourself. i think, when you love someone you accept all parts of them, the good, the bad, the worst. you love someone despite their flaws. clarisse is good to me, and i like her, that’s all that matters. you’ll understand when you find someone yourself perce.”

he sat still, raking over your words in his head, “if one person can feel that way about someone else, they’d explode.” you laughed at his words, he was still young of course, he’d understand soon, you had a feeling. “i’d happily explode because of how much i love her.” you glanced back at her, only she wasn’t there.

“well i don’t want you to explode, i do want to spend my night with you.” clarisse stood behind you with her arms crossed, you could see percy tense up at her presence. with your hand on his, and your eyes reassuring him, he smiled, “i’m happy for you, but if she try’s anything i’m more than happy to beat her ass for you even if i’m broken in half.”

clarisse couldn’t hear his whispers, thank god. your smile was small, placing a hand on his shoulder, you kissed percy’s forehead, “my protector, now no one can try anything with me huh? thank you perce, if you need anything here at camp, or if you just want to talk and eat those blue foods of yours—” his arms wrapped around your neck tightly as you recovered from the force.

“thank you.”

“any day perce, any time.”

and percy sat back, watching the two of you walk away hand in hand. a clear thought rung through his head.

opposites attract.

[twentyfivemiceinatrenchcoat]

COME REST YOUR BONES NEXT TO ME ; SATORU GOJO, SUGURU GETO

synopsis; satoru shares the first snowfall of the year with the two people he loves most. 

word count; 4.6k

contents; satoru gojo/reader/suguru geto (poly relationship!!), gn!reader, you're all whipped, reader referred to as spouse, fluff fluff fluff!!, sickeningly domestic, just comfy vibes all around, mostly from satoru’s pov, suguru has a favorite (its you) (but also not really he just likes bullying toru <3), satoru gojo may or may not have unresolved mommy issues

a/n; happy satosugu holidays to those who celebrate <33 geto died today isnt that crazy. dont u think its fucked up how love figuratively and literally killed him. anyway! help urself to two very whipped husbands <33

”holy shit!”

the raspy tilt of satoru’s voice echoes throughout the bedroom, stirring you from your comfortable slumber. a soft groan spills from suguru’s lips, deep and husky, as he pulls you closer into his embrace — smoothing a warm palm down the back of your head. trying to soothe you back to sleep, muttering under his breath.

”satoru, it’s too early for this...”

”it’s snowing!” said man continues, unperturbed. unmistakably giddy. he’s standing by the window, hands pressed flush against the cold glass; entirely entranced by the sight in front of his cerulean eyes. 

your eyelids begin to flutter. a tiny tug of your subconscious, a pang of something excited flowing through your veins, an alert to your sleepy brain.

(snowing.)

with groggy movements, you wriggle out of suguru’s grasp — a displeased grumble leaves his throat, almost a whine — allowing you to scramble out of bed. ”really?” you chirp, rubbing the sleep from beneath your eyes. a raspy, meek little voice spilling into the air.

satoru grins, watching you move closer, watching as a tiny gasp pushes past your lips. watching as your droopy eyes widen — brightening, glittering, starlight and snowflakes painted on the interior of your iris. a breathtaking sight, he thinks. 

maybe even more breathtaking than the winter wonderland reflected in it; beyond the pure opaque frosting of the window’s glass, out into your backyard, buried beneath a thick layer of snow. soft and fluffy, covering the city, suguru’s long-frozen tulip garden, the bare branches of your apricot tree. every roof in sight. all of it dyed a pure white, glittering in the light of a morning sun yet to fully rise, tiny snowflakes descending down to earth. 

it’s beautiful. 

satoru loves winter. he always has, he thinks. it comes to him as a memory — blurred at the edges, gleaming even still, the first time he saw those snowflakes up close. someone held him in their arms, he recalls. a warmth long faded. 

all he can properly remember is that sight. one that knocked the breath from out his tiny lungs, all glitter and something almost other-worldly, something frightening in its majesty. like it broke through a rift in the stratosphere. 

the first snow of the year.

and he’s loved it ever since; the soft crunch of snow beneath his feet, an air heavy with the scent of cinnamon and candied apples, bouts of laughter to be heard from faraway apartments. red and green glimmers of artificial light, sweet frosting on the christmas cake he would always gobble up alone in his room. the cold wind, nipping at his bare fingers — a reminder of his capacity for ache.

there are lots of things to love. lots of memories to cherish. and every single year, he gets the chance to make more.

like this; the light in your eyes, the smile on your face, the excitement in how hurriedly you turn to meet his giddy gaze. a nostalgic kind of joy simmering in the space between you.

and before either of you know it, satoru’s pulling you towards the hallway, intent on dragging you outside to see it all up close. almost tripping over his agumon plush, lying unassumingly on the floor, kicked off the bed once again. 

(probably by satoru himself, though he’ll always insist it was suguru’s doing. overcome by his jealousy, surely, unable to stand the sight of his cute husband cuddling up to a plushie instead of him. satoru understands, he does — he feels the same when he sees you hug that 3’0 cat plushie of yours.

and, sure, maybe once or twice he’s been lucid enough to register the subconscious kick of his leg and agumon’s subsequent fall to the floor — but he’ll still blame suguru in the morning. if only to see the way said man rolls his eyes, clicks his tongue, maybe flicks his forehead if he’s really lucky.)

high on the spirit of christmas, spurred on by childlike elation and sleep-deprivation, you stumble towards the door. satoru pulls one of his jackets over your shoulders, delighting in the way your hands don’t fully reach through the sleeves. wrapping you up in a cozy scarf when suguru shouts at you both to dress warmly, barely awake and already tired of your antics.

and the moment you step through the door, satoru is engulfed by it. that mystical, mystical feeling. 

a little lonely, a little too satisfying to pass up. a cold breeze that nips at his fingertips, snowflakes that brush against his cheeks and stick to his white lashes. a warm hand in his, as you cling to his side, shuddering — but smiling, as you look up at the sky, putting a hand out just to feel the snowflakes melt against the skin of your palm.

he feels you let go of him, but doesn’t mention it. a little too mesmerized to tug you back. dipping his toes into the bittersweet nostalgia of it all, staring at the flurry of white all around you, the skeletal branches of your apricot tree. suguru’s poor tulips. humming a jolly tune, subconsciously. a little delighted.

— until something cold and wet hits the exposed skin of his neck.

satoru twitches, a chilling shudder trickling down his spine. the snowball just thrown at him begins to melt, droplets sticking to his nape, and he turns to you with a raise of his brow. a devilish grin on his lips, when he hears your muffled laughter, sees the crinkle of your eyes.

(you’re cute, he thinks. but you need to be humbled.)

”oh, so that’s how you wanna play?” he drawls, eyes gleaming with amusement. taking a step forward, reaching down to gather some snow in his palm. a wide grin on his glossy lips. ”fine by me.” 

he's fast, but you act quickly, running towards the apricot tree with laughter in your throat. feeling the pitter patter of your heartbeat resound in your ears, as the snowball misses its mark by just a hair — and you waste no time in making your own.

it’s a hard-fought duel. snowfall blocking your vision, nerves beginning to numb, red cheeks and runny noses as you chase each other with giddy breaths. unfortunately for you, satoru’s arms are unfairly long, fingers unfairly nimble, and his stamina never even seems to falter.

so before long, your energy begins to dwindle. chest heaving, hands too cold to form a proper snowball, while your husband seems like he hasn’t even broken a sweat. they just keep on coming, snowball after snowball colliding with the fabric of your jacket, and when one of them hits your collarbone you squeal — falling backwards, right into a fresh pile of snow.

satoru moves forward, a triumphant smirk on his handsome face. you’re out of breath, and your hands are red, and he’s fairly certain you’re gonna catch a cold. suguru’s going to scold him, but right now all he can think of is you. the frown you’re wearing, the little huff that slips from your lips.

”ready to admit defeat, sweetheart?” he practically purrs, standing above you with his hands on his hips. smug. and you grin right back.

”never.”

a hum. something glimmers in his eyes, a devious little glint, and you come to regret your decision when satoru gathers a heap of snow with his overgrown arms; only to drop it all on top of you. too tired to fight back, all you can do is shield your face, silently accepting your fate.

a shiver wracks through your body, and satoru almost feels bad. just a tiny bit. but then you finally relent, murmuring bitterly under your breath. ”fine, fine…” a soft pout forms on your lips. ”you win.”

and satoru smiles. crouching down to meet you at eye level, on his knees in front of you. there’s a teasing mirth in his eyes, when he reaches out to cup the fat of your cheek. ”that’s all i wanted to hear, sweet pea,” he drawls, trying not to giggle when you exaggeratedly roll your eyes.

his voice curls down an octave when he continues, leaning forward to brush his nose against yours. hot breath against your chilled skin. ”now, for my prize…”

his lips meet yours, sweet and chaste — a little cheeky. you scoff into the kiss, but satoru’s smile only grows. honeyed, a little bit adoring. his tongue flits out to lick at your cold bottom lip.

he lingers, for a bit. like he’s trying to savour the way you taste, faded strawberry chapstick sticking to his lips, smudged against your own. and you sigh, softly, melting a little, comforted by the fleeting warmth that blossoms on your face. 

when he's finally satisfied, having dragged his prize out to its completion, satoru helps you up. brushing snowflakes off your jacket, cradling your ice-cold hands in his. they’re not faring much better, but a worried tug of his heartstrings compels him to warm you up. bringing them to his lips, hot breath fanning over your skin, tender little kisses against the knots of your knuckles.

you can’t help but blush, and a raspy chuckle flows from out his lips. 

hazy morning sunshine licks at the branches of the apricot tree behind you, illuminating the contours of your face, the shine of his eyes. a blue smudge on a canvas painted white and gray. the air smells of pine cones and something smokey, crisp. it courses through his burning lungs when he inhales, exhales, a breath of vapour that scatters up into the sky.

satoru loves winter. always has. but now, he’s certain he loves it even more.

because now, he has two people to share it with. two people to drag out into the snow, two people whose hands he can tenderly warm up, two people who’ll laugh and sigh at his antics and still indulge him. two people to pelt with snowballs. 

what more could a man want?

”hey, idiots!” 

the voice that echoes throughout the air is exasperated, a little teasing. yet fond. suguru’s got his hair tied into a messy half done bun, black turtleneck sweater enunciating his broad chest and the curve of his waist. there’s a fatigue in his eyes, the creases of his face, but a lazy smile is playing at his lips.

”i’m making breakfast,” he shouts, voice deep and smokey and soft even still. ”come in and warm up before you catch a cold.”

”is that any way to speak to your husband and spouse?” satoru chimes back, a melodic lilt to his sugarsweet voice. something satisfied. pleased.

suguru shoots him an unimpressed look, but his eyes soften. melting a little, at the words that spill from satoru’s lips, as if they were always meant to be there. 

(husband. spouse. suguru wills himself not to smile.)

with matching grins on your faces, the two of you stumble back towards the door. snow crunching beneath your feet, a happy noise pushing past your lips when you collide with the warmth of your husband’s chest.

”look, suguru. isn’t it pretty?” you chirp, smiling brightly. an expression he mirrors — brushing some snow from the top of your head, warm palms caressing your cold skin, setting a mental reminder to scold satoru later. sparing a brief glance at the snowy veil over reality.

then he exhales. a fond hum. ”it is.”

satoru joins you both by the door, stretching out his lanky limbs. tousled hair, wet strands sticking to his skin, reddened cheeks and a signature pout. ”suguru, my hands are cold,” he whines. ”warm ’em up for me?”

a click of his tongue. ”should’ve put some gloves on, satoru.”

a hum buzzes in your throat, and you put your hands out. itchy, a little dry. a sad frown tugs at your lips when you speak. ”my hands are also cold.”

and, like clockwork, suguru’s eyes soften. a coo tiptoeing on his tongue, engulfing your hands in his larger ones. ”aw, c’mere, my love…” his breath fans over your frozen fingertips. ”let’s get you warmed up, hm?”

satoru gasps, a hand on his chest, and you stifle a giggle. he’s acting, you both know, being a little drama queen. he knows you’re just exaggerating suguru’s double standard as a bit, that your husband would probably set himself on fire to warm either of you up.

despite that, his voice comes out thoroughly offended. ”oh, i see how it is,” he huffs, walking past the both of you. pouting deeply. ”you hate me. you hate me, and you want me to die. i understand.”

”satoru,” you coo. he hmphs, but stills, waiting for you to wrap your arms around him. and you do — a little too eager to appease your giant baby of a husband.

”we’re just joking around,” you assure him, holding back a humorous chuckle. squeezing his waist with palpable fondness. ”love you sooo much. you know that.”

satoru stays silent. but he cranes his neck, to meet suguru’s gaze, standing just behind him. narrowing his cobalt eyes — a meaningful look.

suguru sighs.

”yes, yes. we love you oh so much.” he takes a step forward, ruffling the white head of hair by the door. a lazy smile on his lips. ”now behave and go change out of your pyjamas. they’re soaked.”

his voice is teasing. exasperated, more than a little condescending. but it’s suguru, so satoru accepts it — following you both into the warmth of your home. the scent of cinnamon and vanilla hangs heavy in the air, a hint of espresso and firewood, lulling him into a sweet state of tranquility. rich with comfort, safety.

he changes out of his wet clothes, pulling a black hoodie over his head before waltzing into the kitchen. and you do the same, emerging from your bedroom in one of suguru’s cozy sweaters, knitted and smelling of bergamot. 

when suguru notices, his gaze shifts into something fond. palpable. a look satoru always finds in the scope of those warm eyes, amber and cedar bleeding into something sweet, only ever directed at the two of you. a look said man assumes goes unnoticed. he’s not as slick as he thinks.

the kitchen simmers with hazy sunlight and gentle movements, something sleepy and kind. satoru is a little bit enamored with it; from bowls of cat food by the corner, to camellias by the windowsill, cookie jars and dried lemon slices, the fading scent of baked goods and wishlists stuck to the fridge.

(yours and satoru’s are filled with scribbles, new ideas popping up daily, while suguru’s is almost entirely blank; mostly necessities, one or two things he’d like for himself.

and then, of course, the same thing he writes at the top of his wishlist every year; some peace and quiet.)

suguru shuffles around the kitchen, long strands of black hair cascading down his back, swaying with his movements. he sends you both an affectionate glance when you step in, already in the process of making satoru his cup of hot chocolate — topped with marshmallows and whipped cream, colorful sprinkles in the shape of tiny stars, a touch of cinnamon. satoru licks his lips.

when it's finished, the cup is promptly handed to him, paired with a tender kiss to his forehead. and suguru starts the meticulous brewing of your coffee, steady hands, finely chosen coffee beans, the low purring of the espresso machine. soothing.

that’s when you attach yourself to his back. wrapping your arms around his waist, a sleepy yawn muffled into the fabric of his turtleneck. he places a big palm on your hand, thumb smoothing over your knuckle, and you nuzzle into him silently. suguru smiles.

”still sleepy, baby?” he questions, a coo on the tip of his tongue. his voice is soft, palpably so, buzzing with warmth and safety and something that makes you want to stay cuddled up to him forever.

satoru senses an opportunity to insert himself into the conversation, and forces out a yawn of his own. stretching his limbs like a big cat, blinking drowsily, eyelashes fluttering. hoping it’ll come off as endearing. ”mhm.” 

but suguru shoots him an unimpressed look. ”not you,” he tuts, patting your arm, ”this baby. i wasn’t asking you.”

a pout. ”why are you so mean to me?” he whines, shooting you a doe-eyed look. bottom lip jutting out slightly, a feigned glassiness to his eyes. ”sweetie, tell your husband to stop being so mean to me.”

you smile. indulgent, as always. ”don't be so mean to him, suguru. you know he’s sensitive.”

a sigh. deep, tinged with exhaustion. satoru shares an amused look with you — stifling a shared chuckle at suguru’s exasperation.

and suddenly, he feels something warm flutter in his ribcage. a sunkissed butterfly, wings brushing against his ribs, coaxing his lips into curling up. unmistakable fondness, almost too much to bear. the need to reach out and touch you creeps up on him, a hunger he can’t deny, but he holds back; you look comfy like that, curled up against suguru’s spine. so he only inches closer, without a word. 

his husband casts him a glance, but satoru stays silent. lips pursed, waiting for something. patient.

and suguru relents. he reaches a hand out, to tuck a stray strand of white hair behind his ear — an excuse to touch him. a silent apology. 

(i'm sorry, you big baby.)

satoru grins.

you shift from foot to foot, leaning over to see what suguru is doing, pressing buttons and taking two ceramic cups out from a wall cabinet. your eyes zero in on a particular shelf, narrowing in suspicion, before flitting over to meet your husband’s gaze.

”satoru, did you use up all my peppermint sweeteners again?”

he stiffens. just a tad, before swallowing a gulp — followed by a silly chuckle, sheepish and performative, eager to wiggle his way out of your cold gaze. ”… which sweeteners do you mean, honey?”

”don’t pull the ’honey’ card.”

”and don’t play dumb, either.”

a pout crosses his lips. betrayed. ”suguru, who’s side are you even on?”

said man gives him a look. that one look, characteristically suguru, the same one he always sends satoru’s way. one so thoroughly unimpressed it makes him feel like the world’s biggest clown. 

and satoru plays along. your dutiful, beloved clown, his posture wilting like a sad flower. suguru exhales through his nose.

”don’t steal their sweeteners.” he smooths a thumb over your knuckle, absentminded, meeting the cold metal of the ring on your finger. smiling a little at the sensation. ”buy your own.”

satoru huffs, drawn out and childish. crossing his arms, leaning against the kitchen counter. ”ah, i see how it is. leaving your sweet husband to buy his own sweeteners?” he clicks his tongue. ”chivalry is dead.”

you bite back a little chuckle — satoru recognizes the cute noise you make when you do — and suguru rolls his eyes. fondly, always. ”remind me next time i go to the store and i’ll consider it.”

”hmph.”

suguru is smiling. it’s small, but genuine, worth a thousand words. and you are, too, the vague crinkle of your eyes giving you away. even as you bury your face in the curve of suguru’s back.

and ah, satoru thinks. there it is again. 

that sickeningly sweet sense of deja vu; the sensation of a certain something flourishing deep inside his chest. warming him up, trickling through his frost-bitten veins. that one little itch he never manages to satisfy, that never goes away, something that took root inside his heart years ago — watered by the sweet looks on your faces.

this everyday slice of heaven, right in front of him, that he’s been greedily partaking in ever since he moved in with you. since he married you.

(married.)

sometimes he still can’t believe it. 

”it’ll be done in a minute,” suguru hums, and satoru blinks. broken out of his syrupy stupor. ”you two go wait by the kotatsu, okay? must be cold, poor babies.” 

and, as always, his voice is a little teasing. a tiny bit condescending, if you really strain your ears, in typical suguru fashion. but it’s laced with a touch of sweetness; one that would be too much for either of you to stomach, if it were to drip out of his lips with nothing to water it down. so satoru accepts it. welcomes it, even.

and you follow his suggestion. making your way towards the living room, satoru trailing behind you, continuously enamored by every little thing he sees. every little piece of the home you’ve built for yourselves.

your living room is cozy. several potted plants seated here and there, a thick quilt to cover the kotatsu, a bowl of satsumas on top of it. a sleepy cat on your couch, golden sunshine ruffling her fur. a santa hat lies beside her, and satoru snags it without much thought. pulling it over his head.

his gaze shifts to the christmas tree over in the corner, eyes filling with a childlike kind of wonder. it’s decorated to completion, weighed down by colourful ornaments and lights, a star at the very top. suguru cut it himself, bringing the biggest and prettiest one he could find back home.

(satoru had gone with him. partially to help carry it back, mostly to get a glimpse of suguru's biceps flexing with the swing of the axe. he’s a simple man.)

and beneath it, presents are already beginning to pile up. carefully wrapped, in bows and silken paper, growing more each day. shattering suguru’s hopes of maybe having a more lowkey christmas this year — but satoru couldn’t be more relieved. this is the only time of year you let him get away with pampering you both to his heart’s content.

a smile blooms on his lips. he plops down on the floor, crossing his legs, right as suguru walks in with a coffee pot in hand. their gazes overlapping.

and something mischievous begins to brew within the blue of his eyes, something that makes suguru narrow his own. satoru pats his thigh, twice, a coo on the tip of his tongue. santa hat sitting pointedly on top of his head, fluffing up his hair.

”c’mere, suguru! sit on santa’s lap.”

”— you’re disgusting.”

the words are playful, but a pout still slips into the curve of satoru’s lips, and he huffs out a displeased little breath. his husband pretends not to hear it, so satoru turns to you — sitting so prettily to his right, already anticipating his next move. puppy dog eyes on full display, he gives you a soft tilt of his head, snowy tufts of hair falling over his eyes.

and you sigh, in what he knows is resignation. his faux pout turning into a satisfied grin.

you curl up in satoru’s lap without much of a fuss, letting him circle his arms around you. an indulgent smile rests on your lips, but he knows you love this; his broad chest against your back, the heat of the kotatsu warming your feet. breathing in the fading scent of your shampoo, he leaves a peck on the sensitive spot right behind your ear, and you try not to shudder.

then satoru smiles. squeezing you, lightly, sweetly, eyes rich with honeyed affection. voice dripping with playful endearment. ”there we go,” he coos. ”what does my angel want for christmas, hm?” 

”i want you to stop stealing my peppermint sweeteners,” comes your answer. instantaneous.

silence fills the room. a moment passes. outside your frosted windows, a bird takes flight from the branches of your apricot tree. and satoru clicks his tongue.

”… santa can only do so much, baby.”

two deep scoffs fill the air, heavy and bemused. one from you, one from suguru. satoru only giggles.

”just kidding!” he chirps, planting a kiss on the top of your head. ”don’t you worry. santa’ll give you all the peppermint sweeteners you could ever want.” 

you raise a brow, exhaling amusedly. craning your head to meet his gaze. ”and he won’t end up using them all himself?”

”of course not! blasphemy.” 

a moment passes.

”… maybe one or two. as a treat.”

a string of protests slips from your lips, and satoru tries not to burst into a fit of giggles. suguru just watches, silently, smiling lightly as he pours hot coffee into two ceramic cups. steam wafting up to the ceiling, a cat jumping down from the couch to curl up in his lap. he places one in front of you, not taking a single sip of his own until he hears you hum blissfully at the taste — pink lips against white ceramic. a bitter taste on his tongue, sweetened by your approval.

then he starts peeling three satsumas, absentmindedly, and satoru swallows down the love-ridden honey choking up the back of his throat. pretending the domesticity of such a simple action doesn’t melt his heart down to the marrow. 

he turns his attention towards the window. frost sticking to the glass like spider-woven webs, soon to be melted by the glow of the mellow winter sunrays. flitting in through the curtains, cascading over the room, splattering across the floorboards. framing the hue of your hair, the smile on suguru’s lips.

and a memory comes to him. sudden, hazy, faded at the edges. ghosting his subconscious.

he remembers the frost, the biting wind, the frightening majesty of the snow that fell that day. breaking into his world through a rift in the stratosphere. he remembers the contrasting warmth of the person who held him, who cradled him close; the soft lull of a woman’s voice. 

for a moment, satoru thinks he can almost, almost see it before him. hear those gentle words, see her tired smile. why was she always so tired?

(look, satoru. isn’t it pretty?)

— he can’t recall how it sounded. if it was melodic and soft, or raspy and broken, happy or sad. but he does recall that it made him feel safe. safe enough to find comfort in a sight so other-worldly, so very foreign.

it should’ve been frightening, but it wasn’t. the first snowfall satoru ever saw knocked the breath from out his lungs, stole his heart with cold hands, left him with a suffocating nostalgia. but the memory is precious.

and now, he feels that sense of other-worldliness in this; a kotatsu for three, a warm house, peeled satsumas and promises of a christmas cake soon to be baked. one lovely spouse in his lap, the other gazing at him with that fond look he always assumes goes unnoticed. a cocoon of safety — a ghost he doesn’t need to chase anymore.

warmth. enough warmth to make up for the snow and frost outside your home, all the experiences he missed out on as a child. warmth, warmth, warmth. funny, how that happens to be satoru’s favorite thing about winter. 

he looks at the two of you, hoping you won’t pay any mind to his silence. for once, he hopes you’ll stay wrapped up in your awful, awful coffee, so bitter that just looking at it makes his throat feel dry. just so he can get away with admiring you for a little longer. from the contours of suguru’s face, to the skin of your collarbone, to the rings on your fingers. ones he put there himself. 

and ah, satoru thinks, there it is again. again and again, as always, forever. that warm, warm feeling flourishing in the depths of his chest. 

he hopes it never goes away.

[envy-of-the-apple]

Earth Kills Moon

Dark!Gojo Satoru x reader

Word count: 6.3k

Part one: Sun Eats Moon

Part three: Moon Starves Sun

Synopsis: A retelling of Sun Eats Moon in Suguru's perspective

(Warnings: forced relationships, bullying, non con touching, non con kissing)

Suguru liked you. 

It wasn't even a crush. A passing interest, maybe. You were pretty. You had a nice smile. Though, he'd never directly spoken to you, he could tell that you were kind. Not in the artificial cherry most people were. Natural, like honey, never spoiling. You share the same homeroom as Satoru, and he'd always tended to be observant, unlike his friend. One thing he liked about you was how observant you were. You were constantly looking out for your friends, mere acquaintances, and everyone in your vicinity. Often, Suguru wondered if being a people-pleaser was natural or from a fear of not fitting in. 

Suguru is observant. He notices the lingering gaze Satoru gives you when you walk away, hurrying to catch up with the rest of your friends. Satoru then turns back to the carton of chocolate milk you'd left him.

"Cute," Satoru says after a minute. It's more of an afterthought than anything. He pops the carton open. Suguru hears the fabric tear. He hums in agreement. The topic switches to something else, a hot celebrity maybe? Suguru can't remember. That day had been so insignificant to him. It hadn’t mattered to him for Suguru to remember anything further.

A few days later, Suguru noticed Satoru was spending a lot more time with you. 

It was hard not to notice, actually. His friend attached himself to you like he'd die if he couldn’t. Satoru went everywhere with you now. Suguru caught him walking you from school, offering you rides in his new car, following you to the lunch hall. And if he couldn’t go to where you were, he’d drag you back to him. Watching you and Satoru was a bit like watching two magnets. North pole and South pole. So different, yet constantly finding the other. 

“Tryna’ run away from me, now?” Satoru asks, a teasing lilt in his voice as he watches you fiddle with your bag.

You laugh, continuing to fish out your lunch box. “Just grabbing lunch.” 

“Eat with us,” Satoru insists, “we found a great spot up at the rooftop.” 

You meet Suguru’s gaze just then. He’d been silently lounging on a nearby desk, observing the two of you. He gives a smile. You return it. Polite. He wonders if your mother taught you to smile like that.

“I thought students weren’t allowed up there?” You ask Satoru. 

The boy rolls his eyes. “So, who cares? It’ll be fun.” 

You pause, right then. The tiniest of hesitation. Suguru wonders if you’re noticing just how different you and Satoru were. You, the people pleaser, meek, always more than willing to bend towards authority. Satoru was rougher, more resilient, uncaring of signs and rules. The gap between the two of you is astronomical. Could you feel it as well?

Whatever you’re thinking, it’s gone in a moment. You rise, giving Satoru another laugh. To Suguru, it sounds pretty. 

“Well, have fun for me. Besides, I can’t ditch my friends. They’re waiting for me.” 

With that, you give both him and Satoru a tiny wave, before disappearing out of the classroom. Suguru waves back. Satoru doesn’t. Instead, he keeps his eyes on your back until he can’t see you anymore. 

“Got ditched again, hm?” Suguru teases. Satoru only groans, tossing his head back as he leans dangerously on the chair.

“Always leavin’ me for ‘em, too,” he complains, “so fuckin’ annoyin’.”

Suguru can only smile, getting up to follow his friend out the door. He can barely count how many times he’d seen this before, each with a different person. It starts the same. Satoru will cling onto you for a couple more days, and then ask you out. When you say yes, he’d date you for a few weeks before eventually getting bored and dumping you. 

It’s a cruel cycle, something that’s just an inevitability with Gojo Satoru. The boy can’t stay in one place, he’s constantly moving around, never one to stop. For Satoru, Suguru was the most permanent thing in his life. Which made sense, they were pretty similar in terms of ideals. 

A cruel cycle, and Suguru feels a tiny bit of sympathy for you. You were sweet, unlike the type Satoru typically went for. Honey. Natural. Truthfully, Suguru was a little disappointed as well. The type of disappointment he’d feel when someone took the last crab stick before he could. A fleeting feeling, one that ultimately wouldn’t matter. 

◉

From the day they first met, Suguru knew one thing: Gojo Satoru has never been told no before. 

It made sense. He was the only child to one of the most powerful families in the country. Spoiled from day one, some could say. Satoru grew up knowing nothing but wealth and prosperity. They met when they were both still in elementary school, still with high-pitched voices and large eyes. Suguru’s family was fairly affluent as well. Now that Suguru thinks back, perhaps their meeting had been orchestrated by meddling parents in order to form more connected. It didn’t matter, either way. It had benefitted all three parties, after all.

Yes, Suguru knew from the moment Satoru pointed at him and declared him his ‘best friend’, that Satoru had never been told no before. 

Satoru was the Sun. The universe revolved around him, catered to him. Suguru supposed he wasn't much better considering he too spoiled his best friend in that sense. They were different. They'd been born different, coming from families who cherish them with wealth and power. Suguru supposes it was natural for them to be so intertwined. Like calls for like. 

Suguru isn’t aware of the exact details, but he knows you rejected Satoru. 

The boy doesn’t have to tell him. His friend is uncharacteristically quiet during that weekend. He has no interest in the arcade, or the next basketball tournament his team is going to compete in. Satoru just sits on top of Suguru’s bed, casually sucking on a carton of chocolate milk. Suguru glanced down at the abandoned PlayStation remote. He’d lost yet another game against his dark-haired friend with no complaints. Satoru didn’t even play

You’d really done a number on him, Suguru thinks to himself. Suguru would assume it’s heartbreak, but he knows his friend better than that. Something burns in his chest, but he’s pushing it away before he can figure out why. Nipping it in the bud. It was a cruel thought. A bad one. He should ignore it.

Well, it’s done. It doesn’t matter anyway. Satoru would eventually get over it. He’s not known to sulk. 

He’s not there to see what Satoru tells them, but he’s there to see the effects. 

It starts out small. Or perhaps just not noticeable enough. Gojo Satoru has always attracted attention, whether it was satisfactory or not. Lackeys, Satoru often calls them because they're too far beneath him to even be called equals.

Suguru notices their sudden interest in you before even you can. A harsh word here and there. Giggling at the word 'easy'. You peacefully trek on, not noticing the abuse until it turns physical. That starts at the end of Monday. 

By Tuesday, they're already shoving you down each chance they get. You get surprised when it happens the first time, then the second, then the third. You have soft skin, plushy, Suguru could tell. He wondered if it was getting marked now. He wonders if you go home, peeling of your uniform, staring at the bruises of hands on your skin because you’re so fragile.

(They never go too far, not enough to completely injure. Suguru knows this because one time, one of the idiots had pushed you too hard. You’d stumbled, nearly hitting the back of your head with a metal locker. Satoru had seen. Suguru doesn’t know what Satoru did, but that particular one was gone the next time and the rest got the memo to scare, not injure.)

Satoru never takes part in this, but he keeps an eye on you sometimes. Tuesday evening comes and they both silently watch you through a window. You move through an empty hall, before they arrive again, slapping your binders out of your hands, chortling with each other. They're too far away to hear, but Suguru could bet it would sound like nails scraping against a chalkboard. 

Out of the corner of his eye, Suguru watches his best friend. Satoru looks impassive, face blank as he stares down at your figure. Akin to a child watching ants burning through a magnifying glass, instilled with that innate desire to see them explode into ash. 

When the lackeys leave, you bend down on the floor, collecting your stuff. Your hair covers your eyes, so he can't see your expression, but he can see your shoulders tremble. Were you-

A corral of people run to you. They lean down, picking up the stuff you had missed. You look up, your eyes are shiny but you're laughing when they say something. You wipe at your eyes, standing up as they lead you out of the hallway. Suguru had seen them hanging out with you before. They all seemed like they supported each other, supported you. 

Suguru feels his frown deepen, conflicted. He doesn’t like it.

"It's not nice to pick on the weak, Satoru," he quietly says. 

Satoru's eyes trail your figure out the door. He gives a small hum.

By Wednesday, your friends disappear from your side. 

The abuse is getting worse, noticeable to the point where the rest of the student body is heavily avoiding you. Teachers won't raise a finger at what's happening. As much as they like to preach about their 'zero tolerance for bullying', Suguru knows they'll willingly turn a blind eye when matters involve Gojo Satoru. No teacher wants to deal with the wrath the Gojo family is more than willing to unlease for the sake of their heir.

Yet, you aren't getting it. You don't break, don't bend. He can feel the humiliation roll off of you in waves, yet you don't react. Which was strange because he knew your archetype. A people-pleaser, constantly bending over backward for other's sake. You want nothing more than to become part of the crowd again, completely invisible. You’re community-oriented. You thrive off of companionship. This ostracization must be killing you. Suguru doesn't get it until he spots your face, just once, narrowed eyes, anger. 

Pride. He'd forgotten other people had that too. Though, Suguru admires it, a part of him knows it shouldn’t last.

Suguru thinks he does it because he pities you. You're a little naive. Suguru has your thought process figured out. You think if you take the torment long enough, Satoru would eventually just forget about you all together. Once he's done with you, you'd focus on picking up the pieces that used to be your life. It's not a bad plan, if you weren't dealing with Gojo Satoru. 

The boy is a hurricane. Fast, unrelenting, unforgiving. Satoru won't stop. He won't stop until you're ruined and broken. Turned into a mere asteroid of what you once were. 

So, Suguru decides to give you a push in the right direction. 

The students have already created a wide circle for you by the time he steps in, bending down, picking up the stuff you had dropped. You're silent until he hands you his pieces. He doesn't bother responding to your timid thanks. 

"Give in," he tells you, watching the way your eyes widen as you look up at him.

You're weak. Physically, emotionally. He could easily pick you up with one hand, crush your body with his fist. Satoru could eviscerate your body from existence. You don't stand a chance with him. With either of them. 

His advice to you is good. Reasonable. And yet, he sees the face you make, the way you slowly get up. You won’t listen. That same burning feeling in his chest starts. It's gotten more painful. 

You don't listen to him until you lose nearly everything. Just as he warned you. Friday comes. You become Satoru's. And it's a little too late for everything. 

◉

Suguru doesn't think you ever learn that Satoru loves messing with you. 

Or, perhaps you do, but you can't help it. You're too honest, too open. He often wonders if that's how you were raised. To be honest, open, vulnerable. Your parents must have filled your thoughts with delusions, coddling you with words of cheap motivation. The world is your oyster. You just had to reach out and take it.

Maybe now you're finally realizing, sitting on Satoru's lap, that all men aren't created equal. 

Clearly, you weren't happy about it. Yet, you aren't complaining, sitting there pliantly legs firmly crossed, hands curled into tiny fists, staring rigidly on the floor. The first few times Satoru had done this in public, you were always biting your lip, tears threatening to fall. Now, Suguru thinks you just dissociate, coming back when Satoru laughs at something, jostling you in his arms. 

It's a bit like watching a helpless bird on the ground, twitching and spasming after it had just collided with a glass window. Pitiful, but there was nothing that could be done. It's the inevitability of it all that makes him pity you more than anything else, really.

Every so often, your eyes would catch his. It's a quick glance, as though you were wondering if he was watching. He can barely catch it, but Suguru is observant. Much like you. It's meaningless, and your gaze returns to the floor. Your fists tighten. 

Granting you mercy, Suguru stops looking at you during those times. 

He's not sure how Satoru sees you. Perhaps, you're akin to a dog for him. Though, that might not be very good for you. Satoru hadn't been very good with animals when he was younger. Satoru had always been rough with any pets he came into contact with, pushing and tugging. Suguru doubted that had changed. 

Satoru's is your official title. It isn't a relationship. It's an ownership. Unequal from the start. The one who holds the leash in the end, will always be Satoru. 

It took a while for you to fully learn that. 

Suguru didn't mean to catch the two of you. Looking back, it was probably because Satoru couldn't care less if someone was watching. Maybe Satoru was being obvious on purpose. It was a little while after school had officially ended. Suguru knew your usual routine would place you right at the library, scrolling through books. Satoru would most likely be there too, pestering you about this and that. It's the scene Suguru prepares himself to walk into.

Instead, you're wedged in between the white-haired boy and the wall, there's no space for you to do anything but sink. You're already crying (when was the last time you smiled?), trying to pull away but Satoru isn't letting you. He's gripping you by the chin, forcing eye contact. His sunglasses are off, tucked on his collar. 

Suguru's close enough to hear. You're begging. Apology after apology. It's barely a whisper, but they're spilling out of you like a prayer. He can't discern the context, but he knows enough. 

You made Satoru angry. 

He's still smiling, but it isn't sincere. Almost bordering on mania as he tightens his grip on you, forcing you further into the wall. Suguru doesn't think Satoru has ever hit you before, but now he's wondering if quick violence was preferable to this. 

"Don't be like that," Satoru chides as another squeak leaves your lips, "Where was that smile you were givin' him, hm? C'mon, pretty girl. You were wearin' it just a second ago." 

"It-it wasn't like that, I swear," you continue to plead, still not realizing that it's too late, "he was giving me his notes. Please-please Satoru-" 

"Wrong answer," he cuts you off, you flinch at his harshness but Suguru decides Satoru's being nice to you. He's been known to do worse, "we've been over this before, haven't we? Or did your stupid brain forget?" 

You're choking down another hiccup. It takes a minute for you to calm down enough to speak clearly. Ever impatient, Satoru's hand digs into your shoulder. 

"I'm sorry, Satoru," you say, "it won't happen again." 

He tilts his head, waiting. You wilt under his gaze. 

"I'm sorry...’Toru." 

Satoru gives a satisfied hum, pulling back and Suguru can practically see your lungs sag with relief. His mania is gone, replaced by something much more lighthearted and carefree. Suguru'd seen it before, but it was certainly something watching Satoru go from one high to the next. Even to Suguru, it's terrifying to witness. 

Suguru decides to make himself known right then. He comes out of the shadows, acting as though he'd just arrived. His friend lazily gives him a wave, curling an arm around your waist. You try to scrub away your tears with your forearms, unaware of how much Suguru had seen. Another mercy Suguru grants you. He doesn't acknowledge it. 

The three of you sit in the library for half an hour until you're done pretending that you're studying. When Satoru walks you home, Suguru follows. He notes that you barely hesitate to give Satoru a chaste kiss on the lips, and he wonders how often his friend has demanded one from you for you to be so casual about it. 

He thinks he gets it when he and Satoru are walking on the street without you. To Satoru, you aren't a dog. You aren't a pet, something that he keeps to see bark.

No, you are just Satoru's. 

◉

Towards the end of the year, Suguru realizes that Satoru loves you. 

He's nicer to you, now. Suguru doesn't think you've realized how softer Satoru's gotten, but the change is there. He spots less marks on you now. The biggest evidence he has is that stolen moment of you and Satoru. You'd accidentally fallen asleep during lunch break, dozing off on your desk. Satoru was right next to you, gently pushing your hair out of your face. Satoru loves you. 

You've changed too. Adapted, he should say. You cry less, now. Each time he sees you, you look more and more put together. As though, you're done mourning. The final stage of grief. Acceptance.

Despite how much nicer Satoru is to you, he's still just as clingy. Suguru notices that even now, none of your former friends speak to you. No one at school does. It's an unspoken rule to not mess with Satoru's things. 

Suguru can still remember the last guy who hadn't gotten the memo. A new student. Freshly transferred. Suguru had heard the conversation. The guy was hardly interested in you. It was nothing more than small talk. The pat on your shoulder had been thoughtless at least, friendly at most. 

Satoru beat him until the boy was bloody and had a broken nose. A week later, he'd transferred again. 

You're off limits. To everyone but Suguru. 

The Earth is the only planet capable of sustaining life within this cold solar system. It's close enough to the sun to feel the warmth, yet far enough so it doesn't burn. It's strong, too. A powerful magnetic forcefield, capable of shutting down the sun's cosmic radiation. Thus, the Earth spins happily around the Sun, surrounded by a sea of dead planets. 

So, sometimes when Satoru can't walk you home. Suguru does. 

It was just the beginning of spring. The school year was starting to end. The school itself was starting to slow down. Teachers were getting less and less strict, less work was given out. It didn't matter. Colleges had already been picked. They were all close to the end. 

You don't say much when the two of you are alone. Suguru understands. It's hard to say much of anything when you're crushed by the weight of Gojo Satoru. But Suguru could have sworn he'd seen a flicker of relief when he came to pick you up and not his friend. You're clearly happier when it's him. Suguru decides he likes how that feels. It's a quick feeling of superiority. Something that quickly disappears when your eyes flick down. 

He knows where your house is, but he lets you take the lead anyway. Suguru figures it's the least he can do, give you that sense of control when nothing you do ever really does anymore. 

You and him have forged a shaky companionship. He's not sure what he is to you entirely, but you seem reliant on him in some way. it’s his fault, he thinks. He wonders if it has to do with the contraception he'd given you. He can still remember the trembling hands as you took it from him, curling the packet into your grip. That day he went home and his fingers felt strangely itchy. 

Does the Earth ever wonder if it can turn the Sun?

When he asks you a question, you answer. At least you aren't mute, though Suguru doesn't think he'd blame you if you ignored him. Your voice is stilted, with enough words to answer the question, but still not enough to fully sate him. 

And then, you break. 

Just a bit. 

A tiny piece of you shatters, and you show yourself to him. 

He'd been talking about something insignificant, college, his plans. Just ramblings. Somehow, Satoru comes into the conversation and he's talking about the area of his friend's college campus, how Satoru mentioned that he's looking for apartments for the two of you to stay in. And then, you're uncharacteristically scoffing. 

"Right," you say, head faced down on the sidewalk as you kick a rock, "because I'm following him there." 

Suguru can't help but place the sarcasm in your voice. The bitterness. He's heard it before, but it's a fascinating thing hearing it come from you. And then Suguru realizes that you accidentally gave something away. 

You were leaving. 

Somehow, it never crossed Suguru's mind that you were still rebelling, even now. And yet, he can't shake off the heat in your voice, your words. 

You seem to realize this too, freezing. 

He lets you falter for a few more moments before giving you a reprieve. 

"Satoru's idealistic like that," he let out. 

Your shoulders lower, and for the sake of both you and him, he doesn't press any further. 

He doesn't let himself let it go, even when he drops you home, arriving to his own house. Always cold. The mansion's lights are always off. No one's ever home. And Satoru's out of town. 

It's better this way, Suguru thinks as he lies in bed, staring up at the ceiling. No distractions, he can think better, as he replays your words over and over again. You were leaving. You were leaving. You were leaving Satoru. 

The night passes. When Satoru comes back to town, he's joyful as always, an arm slung around your shoulders. Suguru watches the way he coos at you, saying how much he missed you. You take his affections the way you always do, with a strained smile and wavering eyes. 

You glance at Suguru. Suguru stares right back. 

For a moment, Suguru thinks he understands why people are so enthralled with solar eclipses. The moon is seen as an underdog in most instances. It must be thrilling when a weak satellite can cover the sun's rays. Even for just a little bit. 

Suguru doesn't tell Satoru. He pushes the burning in his chest, ignoring the itchiness in his fingers. Things are better this way, right? After all, the two of you come from completely different worlds. It's nonsensical to think otherwise. 

Two weeks before graduation, you disappear without a trace. 

And Satoru breaks. 

It's a slow dissent. It comes in stages. The boy is angry at first, searching for you at school, when he can't find you there he loses his facade and demands where you are from your parents. They can't give him a clear answer because you're an adult now and you barely told them a thing before moving out. Suguru doesn’t think they knew what Satoru was to you. He doesn’t think they ever will.

The heat fades day by day, Week by week. Satoru starts to deflate the longer you aren't in his hold, his to mangle, and grab, and keep. He stops taking care of himself. His skin became paler, cracked lips, hollow cheeks. His eyes turn into this grayish blue that Suguru can't bring himself to look at for too long. He loses weight day by day. 

Suguru had never seen him react this way before. Satoru was always shining. He was the sun. Now, the center of the solar system was dying. He can feel himself dying with it. 

Satoru hadn't just loved you. Satoru had been obsessed with you. He breathed you in, inhaled your essence like oxygen. You'd been a part of him; a necessity. And then, you tore yourself away, leaving him bleeding on the concrete.

Guilt. Suguru feels it in his stomach, rising to his throat, threatening to stain his clothes. It's too late to say anything now, so he keeps it huddled deep inside of him. Suguru hopes it'll never come out. He helps the best he can, being there for his friend, his best friend. 

It takes a month for Satoru to start eating properly again. A few months later he starts regaining his usual physique. The gray in his eyes stays for a bit longer than Suguru likes. Suguru supposes he should take what he can get.

A year passes like that. The evidence of what you left behind fades, like bruises disappearing on skin. Suguru and Satoru become college students. Then, they graduate.

When Satoru joins the business, Suguru, his right-hand man, his second, his best friend, is right next to him. They’ve always worked well together, but that doesn’t change as they shift into adulthood. Despite how different Suguru and Satoru were, Suguru liked to think that their personalities were stagnant; unchanging even to the times.

What Satoru feels about you remains stagnant as well.

Suguru doesn’t think about you often, these days. Barely a few times a year, when he feels nostalgic enough to get out his old high school yearbook. He’d page through, spot your smiling portrait face. He’d find himself staring at you far longer than he liked too.

At first, Suguru thought Satoru was the same. Much like how one thinks about a lost toy they cherished when they were younger. The resentment would fade with time. Satoru didn’t speak about you for years.

Suguru hadn’t expected the girls, however.

He doesn’t notice the first one. He sees her, but he doesn’t internalize it. She’s hurriedly putting on her clothes after a clearly exciting night, so Suguru respectfully averts his gaze. He’s more focused on his exasperation at how Satoru had missed yet another meeting with the board. They would be less than pleased if they discovered Satoru didn’t show up because he was hungover.

The second time it happens, Suguru has a passing thought of how familiar the girl looked, despite being sure he’d never seen her in his life.

The third time it happens, Suguru realizes all the recent girls Satoru’s been bringing strike an uncanny resemblance towards you.

It’s not anything too obvious, but all of them would look a bit like you. Most would have your skin tone, your hair. One had your eyes, not the color, rather the shape of it. Satoru had kept her around the longest.

Suguru doesn’t say anything about it. Part of him wonders if Satoru is even doing it on purpose.

Suguru loves Satoru like he would his own brother, but his recent hobby was starting to get on his nerves a bit.

“So much work,” the man complains, “Why can’t we just send all this off to Ijichi?”

“He has his own work to complete,” Suguru reprimands, “the sooner you stop complaining, the sooner we can finish.”

Satoru rolls his eyes but moves to another page of meaningless paperwork; Something that would be scanned into their system and then tucked away into a random file cabinet. They currently sat in Satoru’s grand kitchen, lounging on the barstools after Suguru had pounded Satoru’s door in. Satoru had let him in with an irritated look, complaining that it was the weekend and he had ‘stuff’ to do.

“He’s my assistant,” Satoru retorts, “my work is his work.”

“The reason why we’re in this mess in the first place is because you kept pawning off your job to the poor man in the first place. You’ve given him wrinkles from just the stress of being in your vicinity.”

“That’s insulting,” Satoru counters, “my presence is nothing but calming.”

“You do the exact opposite, actually. A black hole that sucks the soul out of everyone who hangs around you.”

“You hang around me all the time and you don’t have wrinkles.”

Suguru smiles. “It’s because I don’t respect you enough to listen to anything you’re saying.”

Satoru’s about to respond, when another voice interrupts him. Alluring, feminine.

“Satoru,” she coos, “When are you getting back here?”

From his seat, Suguru has a clear view of Satoru’s bedroom. Only her head is peeked out, and Suguru notes her bare shoulders. Your eyes, and your lips this time. She’s tilting her head, mouth curved in a coy smile.

Of course. Suguru can only roll his eyes. There’s that same burning feeling in his chest. During the years, it hasn’t really gotten any better.

“Coming, coming,” Satoru calls back, “just a minute, babe.”

“Stuff to do, hm?” Suguru drawls with amusement. Satoru flips him off.

"Worry 'bout yourself," Satoru says, "when's the last time you got any, huh? Honestly, when's the last time you've taken a break? A vacation?"

"I can't," Suguru replies, "I'm always stuck babysitting you."

“I’ve been waiting for half an hour, ‘Toru." The woman interrupts. "Can’t you just do it later?”

Suguru hadn’t even noticed it. He brushed it off, barely hearing their conversation as he shuffled around the papers.

Satoru had.

He hums. Straightening his back.

“Yeah, I’ve changed my mind. You should head on home.”

At first, he thought Satoru was talking to him. Then, he hears the woman’s annoyed huff.

“Hold on, you’re kicking me out?” She asks.

“Yeah, sorry,” Satoru says, not sounding very apologetic, “I got a lotta’ stuff to do and you’re not gonna wanna stick around.”

His tone is light, but Suguru can’t help but place a sense of annoyance in them. The anger. His posture is stiff, almost like he’s primed for a fight.

‘Toru. She called him ‘Toru.

You used to call him ‘Toru.

“Seriously, I-”

“I hate repeating myself: Get the fuck out.”

There’s silence, and then Suguru can hear her mutter to herself as she shuffles inside the room. She comes out minutes later, not quite dressed, but presentable. She shoots Satoru a glare, to which he only waves off. The door shuts with a noticable thud.

“Back to work,” Satoru says, “do you feel hot? The AC has been acting up, lately.”

He carries on like that, back to normal, as though he wasn’t about to snap just a few minutes ago. Suguru follows suit, not aknowledging the outburst, much like he doesn’t aknowledge most things regarding you.

Later, Suguru laughs about the hypocrisy of it all. Satoru brings home physical reminders of you, but he refuses the remnants of you. The most intimate parts, he’d kept hidden away from his life, yet he still wishes to touch, to feel. He wonders how you’d feel if you knew that Gojo Satoru is wrapped around your finger, even now.

◉

Satoru had done something yet again. It's always something with Gojo Satoru. Suguru should have left him to deal with the legal team himself, but here he was, trailing beside the firm’s directors as the man droned on and on how well Mr.Gojo would be well taken care of how here our clients are family. He forces himself to push away that feeling in his chest, scorching his throat. He was getting sick of the constant blabbering. He’d glanced away for just a second.

And then he saw you.

You, not some remnant, not some picture, not someone similar. You. He knew it was you. A little older, a little taller. You’d switched the high school uniform for a blouse and a pencil skirt. Suguru stares. He’s tempted to say your name, seek you out, as though you’re old friends-

He reels himself back in.

You disappear through a frosted glass door, completely unaware of his gawking. You hadn’t seen him. Good. The firm’s director didn’t notice his pause, carrying on as though nothing happened. Suguru smiles and laughs at the horrible ice breakers, but he also steals a glance at the name of the door you went through.

Later, Suguru looks up Higuruma Hiromi. A well-established lawyer. Worked at the firm for nearly a decade.

You are his sole paralegal.

Law. He had never considered it for you. Now, he thinks it’s a little fitting. He can’t help it. He looks you up. You have no social media, most likely from a remnant fear, but he finds where you went to college, what your area of study was, where else you’d worked, your life. Questions he’d had for nearly a decade he finally has an answer.

Honestly, Suguru was a little mad it was all so easy.

He can’t see the entire scope of your life, but he knows you were happy after high school, away from Satoru. You seemed happy when he caught that glimpse of you. There was a slight smile on your face, you never did that with Satoru around.

Satoru’s a little pathetic, a thought he has to concede to. He’s still hung over you, while you clearly hadn’t thought of him in years.

Suguru stares at your picture a little more.

The burning feeling comes back again. Hotter, melting.

Oh.

Suguru is disgusted by you.

You, that bitch loitering in Satoru’s bedroom, that greedy firm director. Disgust, that sick feeling crawling down his stomach, seeping into his bones. He’s disgusted by the weak.

He’s even more disgusted when they think they can defeat the strong. Decieve them.

You always thought you were better than Satoru, better than Suguru, even from the beginning. Even when you rejected him. Even when Satoru’s goons were torturing you, you still thought you could get out of it somehow. Even when Satoru had his hand on your shoulder, claws sinking into your flesh, you were still looking for a way out. It was like watching a rat trapped in a cage, pathetically sniffing around for an exit.

The weak could never escape the whims of the strong. It was a truth of the world, something he’d always known and yet it’d take a decade for him to put the words together. The weak could never make a fool of the strong.

You are weak. A mere satellite floating along, before getting trapped in the Earth’s gravitational force. Suguru could crush you with one fist. Satoru could evisirate you to atoms.

Does the Earth ever wonder if it can turn the Sun?

“I’ve put together a legal team that will represent you.”

Suguru places the neat stack of documents onto Satoru’s desk. The white-haired man barely gives them a glance. Suguru knows Satoru won’t ever look at them, even when your name is hidden somewhere within the sheets, along with Higuruma’s. Suguru wonders how long it’d take for Satoru to figure it out. It’s a shame he won’t be there to see it unfold in real-time, but perhaps, once Satoru puts the pieces together, he’ll thank him.

Here, in the present, Satoru types away at his computer, barely paying attention to Suguru’s words.

“Oh, great,” Satoru says off handedly, “thanks, man.”

Suguru sighs.

“Uh, I love you?” Satoru tries again.

“Never repeat those words to me ever again,” Suguru responds, “I wish you’d be a bit more interested in this, considering it’s your fault the company is in this mess in the first place.”

Satoru gives a hushed hum of agreement. Suguru smiles.

“In other news: I won’t be here next week.”

That catches his best friend’s attention. Satoru gapes at him.

“You’re quitting?”

“No, idiot. I’m taking your advice. I’m taking a few weeks off. I already put it in the calendar that you never check so why did I even bother.”

“A vacation? You never take vacations, even when I beg you to,” Satoru squints at him, “What’s the occasion?”

Eventually, Satoru will figure it out. For now, Suguru wants to enjoy this.

“I worked hard this year. I should reward myself, shouldn’t I?” He reasons, “oh, and I have a surprise for you showing up in a week or so. Let me know what you think of it.”

“A gift? For me?” Satoru beams. “You really do love me.”

“Don’t push it.”

The Earth is the only planet capable of sustaining life within this cold solar system. It's close enough to the sun to feel the warmth, yet far enough so it doesn't burn. It's strong, too. A powerful magnetic forcefield, capable of shutting down the sun's cosmic radiation. Thus, the Earth spins happily around the Sun, surrounded by a sea of dead planets. 

If Satoru was the Sun, then Suguru supposed he would be the Earth. Close enough to receive the star's radiance, but with a strong enough magnetitic field to shield from solar winds. 

If Suguru was the Earth, then Suguru supposed you would be the Moon. A tiny cratered satellite he tugs along with him, forever in sight of the burning sun. 

[no-144444]

the grid: complimenting you!

featuring: Oscar Piastri, Charles Leclerc, Daniel Riccardo, George Russell, Alex Albon, Lewis Hamilton, Max Verstappen, Lando Norris

-------------------

Oscar Piastri 

Oscar turned the corner into your shared bedroom, and he was worried. It was the first time you’d spent with your estranged sister in years, and he couldn’t even be there. Stupid media days and their awful timing.

There he found you, teary-eyed, and tired on your bed, still in the dress you changed into mere hours ago. He dropped his bag at the door and walked over to you, cupping your cheek in his hand. 

“What happened?” he whispered, gently brushing your cheek. 

You didn’t answer, just shook your head as your eyes welled with tears. You were willing yourself not to cry again. You’d cried so much in the 30 minutes you’d been home that you’d thought crying more wasn’t possible, then Oscar came in with all the care and comfort in the world and that made you want to cry even more. 

He sighed, dropping his hand. “We don’t need to talk,” he whispered. “I’ll run us a bath.”

He left you to regulate yourself again, running a bath in your en suite. He came back, walked you in, slipped your dress off of you and led you into the bath, before doing the same to himself. He sat behind you, gently shampooing your hair just how you like it, softly speaking as he spoke about his day. 

“Then Lando decided it would be a fucking brilliant idea to hide my shoes around HQ,” he chuckled softly, pressing kisses on your neck as you hummed along. This was what you needed. You needed him. After your bath, he got you both dressed and into bed, his arms around you before you started talking. 

“Nothing’s changed,” you mumbled into his neck.

“Pardon?” he whispered.

“Nothing’s changed, since we were kids. She was still the same bully. It’s pathetic really, but I really thought she’d turned a new leaf and wanted to reconnect,” you scoffed. “Silly, I know-”

“That’s not silly, it was hope,” he smiled. “And it’s not your fault that she’s an awful person. That’s not on you. You’re, frustratingly, just the person she’s decided to project her insecurities on, so you get the brunt of it. And that’s everything to do with her, and fuck all to do with you. You’re this incredible, funny, intelligent, talented, complex, beautiful, interesting woman, and you’re strong. So much stronger than the 11 year old she’s used to. She’s pathetic, and she needs to realise that you being brilliant shouldn’t take away from whatever she has going for her, but she can’t. And I’m so sorry that she upsets you, I just need you to know how fucking amazing you are, and how wrong she is about you.”

You hugged him closer. “Thank you Oscar, I love you.”

“I love you so much,” he pressed a kiss to your cheek. 

-------------------

Charles Leclerc

Charles was no stranger to complimenting you at all. He rather enjoyed the way you reacted when he complimented you. Sometimes you smiled, sometimes you laughed, sometimes you rolled your eyes, and sometimes you moaned-

Anyways, you and Charles had been going out for about 2 years at this point, and the entire world was none the wiser. To them, you were just Carlos’s girlfriend’s friend. That’s all you’d ever be, them at least. You got to enjoy the perks of celebrity status, without ever having to compromise your privacy, it was the dream. Sometimes it sucked when you got random videos of random girls on your instagram feed claiming to be with Charles, or claiming that he was with so and so, but you knew it was the sacrifice you needed to make to continue your relationship, and keep your privacy. 

Charles on the other hand, would scream the fact that you were his girlfriend for all to hear if he could. He was obsessed with you. When you’re in the Ferrari garage, he’s constantly trying to touch you, constantly looking at you, constantly winking at you, everything is about you. Most of the time you have to remind him that you’re not dating publicly. Any time you try to remind him, he hits you with “Why don’t they find out now, mi amour?”  To which you roll your eyes. 

What you didn’t think he’d ever do, was post pictures of you on his instagram (face and all, not even soft launching) to his 16.5 million followers with the caption ‘ma femme’.

-------------------

You practically ran through the Ferrari offices in Monaco, racing to get to your boyfriend and talk some sense into him. Too bad he was busy in a meeting with Fred. Kidding, you didn’t care. You knocked on the door, walked in before getting an answer, and grabbed his arm, and dragged him behind you into his own office. 

“You’re crazy,” you sighed. “You’re fucking insane Charles.”

He gave you a guilty smile and a shrug, wrapping his arms around your waist. “I’m so sorry my love, but I cannot not let everyone know about my most beautiful girl,” he pressed his lips to your cheek. “I don’t know what else to do-”

“You can’t sweet-talk your way out of this Charles, what the fuck am I going to do? I have to be a public figure now, I have to do-”

“You’ll do fine,” he whispered, nosing at your neck, breathing in your perfume. “You’ll be alright.”

Somehow, he made you believe him. 

1,638,937 likes liked by oscarpiastri, landonorris, carlosainz

ma femme

comments

arthurleclerc H20 just add water anyone? -> charlesleclerc she liked that. I did not.

alexalbon dude took hard launching to another level.

carlossainz :)

oscarpiastri wait so does that make Y/n my new mum? -> nicolepiastri Oscar?????? -> y/ny/l/n I promise he's yours :) (maybe? Charles is very attatched to you)

-------------------

Daniel Riccardo 

The FIA gala was a yearly event that you’d gotten used to attending. You were Daniel’s wife, and this year, Theo and Ellie, your twins, would finally be old enough to come with. They’d just turned 4, and you trusted them enough to behave themselves at such a public and prestigious event. The entire family was dressed to the nines, Theo and Daniel in matching black tuxedos, while Ellie wore a flowery dress, and you wore a red gown. 

You held Daniel’s hand, Ellie’s hand in your other, while Theo clung to his father like his life depended on it, and you three stepped out onto the carpet, cameras flashing, reporters shouting, people walking. 

After posing for a few photos, Ellie ran up to Penelope and Theo ran off with her, safely in Kelly’s hands. You waited with Daniel as he answered various reporters' questions. 

“And how do you feel about your wife and family supporting you tonight?” 

Daniel’s usual wide smile, somehow, got wider. He turned around and gestured for you to come over, you obliged. “It means more than anything that I have people in my corner, but especially my beautiful wife,” he pressed his lips to your cheek as you chuckled. “And my kids, of course.”

You chuckled as the camera panned to you, and Daniel couldn’t help but kiss you again. 

“She’s just the best person I’ve ever met, and I’m so lucky to have her in my life,” he grinned. You continued on with the night, and when you turned to him in your hotel bed, both of you tired and weary, you smiled. 

"I'm pretty luck to have you in my life too."

-------------------

George Russell

“How did you deal with the disappointment after your disqualification, George?” Will asked, and George fought back the urge to roll his eyes, but then remembered what you’d done for him when he got home to Monaco. 

He smiled. “Yeah well, I flew straight back home and kind of moped my way through the airport, but when I got home my lovely girlfriend had set up a dinner for us as a ‘consolation prize’- her words, not mine, and I think it cheered me right up.”

“So, your girlfriend is kind of like your rock?”

George nodded. “Completely. She’s supported my career from the very beginning and I’m very grateful to her for that, especially how she’s been kind enough to follow me around the world on this mad journey every year, all while still being the CEO of her own company, I mean, she’s just so hard-working and amazing, I just-” George was interrupted by Alex chuckling beside him. “Shut up Alex,” George scoffed, smiling. “I love her loads, so, yeah, she’s completely my rock and I adore her.”

-------------------

Alex Albon 

“And you have someone very special with you today, don’t you?” Jack smirked, nodding towards you off-camera. 

Alex smiled, looking at you, then back to Jack. “Yes, my fiancé is here today.”

Jack raised an eyebrow. “Fiancé?”

“Yeah, we got engaged just during the break,” Alex explained, the biggest smile on his face. 

“Congratulations!” Jack cheered, pulling Alex in for a hug. “I’m so happy for you both.”

“Thanks mate,” Alex smiled.

“So, now that you’re to be wed, do you want to join the interview Y/n?” Jack chanced, knowing how notorious you were for not wanting to do interviews. It wasn’t like you were rude or anything, but this was Alex’s sport, you had your own sport (figure skating), and you answered interview questions of your own all year. 

You shook your head, laughing as Jack tried to convince you to join the interview, Alex dying of laughter in the back. Eventually, you gave in, standing beside him with a big smile on your face. 

“So, wedding planning?” Jack turned to you both. 

“Nope, too busy focusing on the Winter Olympics,” you shot back, making Alex laugh. 

“Exactly, I’ll be busy wedding planning while she’s competing this winter,” he wrapped an arm around your waist. 

“Part-time F1 driver, full-time wedding planner?” Jack mused. “Taking time off F1 to plan then?”

“Sounds about right for the most beautiful girl on the planet,” Alex smiled as you felt your cheeks get hot.

You somehow got through the rest of the interview without getting embarrassed by him again, but at the end he pulled you in for a kiss in front of anyone who had decided to tune into the SkySportsF1 channel at that moment. 

Oh well, at least he was going to be your husband. 

-------------------

Lewis Hamilton 

You smiled as he crossed the finish line, another win to add to his 105. It had been a nerve-racking race, but you’d gotten through it. You followed Toto to the pitlane, ready to greet and congratulate him. And there he was, sweaty and gross, but on the top step, where he should be. Where you knew he would be. 

He ran straight over to you, wrapping you up in his arms and lifting you over the barrier. You were no stranger to this, over the years he’d always lift you over the barrier to ‘kiss you properly’. 

And he did that. He pressed his lips to yours as the entire Mercedes team cheered. 

“You did it again,” you smiled, pulling back. “Congratulations darling.” 

He smiled. “Thanks baby, I couldn't have done it without you.”

You scoffed and pushed him off, smiling. He had things to do, including the post-race interview.

“Wow Lewis, what a result! Anything special to make it just work this weekend?” 

Lewis smirked at you as you shook your head, begging him not to. “I had some good news this week that made me feel pretty good.”

You rolled your eyes as the crowd went wild. 

“And what would that news be?”

“I’m going to be a dad.” 

The crowd didn’t shut up for about 3 minutes. 

“Yeah,” Lewis continued. “My gorgeous wife is pregnant and I couldn’t be happier to have another little one of her running around. The camera panned to you and you shook your head. Lewis offered you his mic. 

“You can’t charm your way out of this,” you scoffed. 

“I can try,” he shrugged, pulling you into his side. “You are the most beautiful woman on the planet,” he smirked, speaking away from the mic. You rolled your eyes but smiled all the same.

He would be the death of you one of these days. 

-------------------

Max Verstappen 

Max sighed at his Sim as it crashed again, not noticing you coming in the front door. “This fucking thing keeps crashing!” He complained. “It’s such bullshit.”

“Did you try the thing I told you about?” you asked, walking over and leaning down beside him. 

“I did,” he lied. 

You rolled your eyes. “You’re such a shit liar,” you chuckled, starting up the software cleaner to get rid of old useless files. He wrapped an arm around your waist and pressed a kiss to your arm as you fixed up his sim, completely entranced by you. The chat was going wild as they watched the sweet moment between the two of you. 

You chuckled. “Hi chat,” you waved. “Max is a man-child, you’re right.”

“Hey!” he feigned annoyance as you laughed. 

“I’m kidding!” you pressed a kiss to his cheek. “You just need me to fix everything for you, right?”

“Well why date a smart girl and not use her brains?” he complimented and you felt yourself getting shy. 

“Shut up- just- your stupid game should work now!” you called after you as you walked off the kitchen. 

“I love you, liefste,” he laughed. 

“Fuck off!” 

-------------------

Lando Norris

“So today, we will be putting it to the test. Who is better in a kart? Me, or my F1 World Champion girlfriend?” 

“I wonder,” Max chuckled from behind the screen as Lando frowned, and you struggled to keep in your laughter.��

“Well, maybe you’ll win,” you offered, taking his hand. 

“Oh, thanks for the pity vote,” he scoffed. 

“Well, I’ve never lost,” you shrugged. To be fair, you’d had an incredible career, never dnfing, always in the top 3. You were unheard of. “Well, apart from when I lost to Max Fewtrell, our other Quadrant racer, in a race when we were kids.”

Max came on screen for a split-second, smiling about the fact that he’s the only person who’s ever beat you.

“Wait, what?” Lando exclaimed. “Max is the only person who’s ever beat you?”

“To be fair, I was 2 years younger, and it was my first time in an F3 car,” you defended. 

“How did I not know that?” Lando stared at the two of you. “You’re way too talented to have been beaten by Max.”

You burst out laughing as Max’s jaw dropped in shock at Lando’s words. 

“Thanks mate!” Max scoffed. 

“No problem,” Lando smirked back. “I mean seriously though! She’s fucking incredible! You can’t blame me for being a bit shocked.”

“Fuck off!” Max laughed in shock. “At least pretend to still respect me as a driver mate!”

“She’s my girlfriend!”

“I’m your best friend!” 

“She’s World Champion!”

Max was silent, then nodded. “Fair.”

-------------------

navigation for my blog :) (masterlist)

[amourcheol]

ave, general

❝The Eagle of Rome has returned to you at last.❞

historical! au | fluff, smut, crack | 16.1k words

s u m m a r y : after your husband returns from the wars in foreign lands, you could not be more proud to see him be the shining pride of rome. however, even among the celebrations and your own personal news, lee jihoon only wanted one thing—some time alone with you.

c o n t e n t : roman! au, roman general! jihoon, husband! jihoon, father! jihoon, mother! mc, a lot of historical background and roman terms to add historical accuracy, soldiers! bss + wonwoo and chan, this is bss and friends, all of them are so annoying it's a wonder they aren't executed, seungcheol is, in a literal sense, a baby, this is a bullying chan campaign, the soldiers do NOT know how to talk to a baby, domesticity <333 mature content ↠ mentions of loss of loved ones, descriptions of war and death, dirty talk, petnames (my love, my sweet, darling, mea vita), fingering, oral sex (f. receiving), slight exhibitionism, unprotected sex (roman contraceptives are dookie), multiple orgasming, slight aftercare

t a g l i s t : @hyuckworld @gyuswhore @lexyraeworld @moonlightwonu @spooky-goose1003 @dvalitaes @cookiearmy @lllucere @syluslittlecrows @mrsjohnnysuh @fancypeacepersona @thepoopdokyeomtouched @monstacheol @xabsolutelynothingx @kyeomiis @icecream-sundaes @peachytokki @jihanniecheol @ourkivee

a u t h o r ' s n o t e : she is here!! i promised myself i would release this once i've watched gladiator II and she is back...changed woman...i guess this is a belated bday present to jihoon? thank u for inventing music king </3 enjoy reading loves !!

back to masterlist

“WHERE IN JUPITER IS HE?”

The maid whined as she focused on the crowd once more—thousands of citizens gathered across in the Capitol, the road cleared for the procession about to occur. Giddy conversations of every man, woman and child flourished for a mile, and you had to hold onto the girl accompanying you to not be trodden over.

“Careful, mistress!” Myrtia, your servant, warned as you dared take a step at the edge of the hill. “They will be here any minute now!”

You did not listen, holding onto your heavy shawl tighter as you waited in earnest of what was to happen. Rome was a city of chaos, but you did not hear the noise—despite the crowds, the instruments, the chanting, every single voice seemed irrelevant as you stood over the Capitolium. The little houses underneath you swirled around the hill, all evolving the temple behind you, the destination of the people about to be welcomed. Columned buildings made of stone and marble surrounded the crowds, speckled with garlands, its bright colours of vermillion shining in the summer sun. 

A small sigh left your lips. Today was the day he would come back home to you.

“By the gods!” Myrtia let out an excited screech, grabbing onto your arm and pointing towards the empty street, barricaded by the people. “They’re here, they’re here!”

Following her finger, you stared at the scene.

That was when the parade entered. 

Screams of elation spanned across the crowd as thousands of soldiers flooded in tight ranks, accepting the cheers with pride as they marched along, prisoners of war being dragged along by their chains. There must have been hundreds, spanning back beyond your vision, dirtied and haggard, but that was the consequence of challenging the Empire. The soldiers all adorned their red and silver uniform, smiling at the city which welcomed them.

Your eyes scanned the front of the parade, lips curving at the five men on decorated horseback. Each and every one of them had their distinguishable responses towards the people who sang praises to them, and you longed to see them ride up to the Hill where you could greet them.

When your gaze hovered to what rode in front of the men, it widened.

Four horses, adorned in the finest metals and blood-coloured clothing, led the chariot of the same colour, fully festooned in laurels. Gold swirls cemented on its front, making itself heard with its screeching wheels.

It was not the chariot you cared about.

No, it was the man who stood in it.

The man who was clothed in royal purple and gold, holding a laurel branch in one hand and a sceptre in the other. The man, whose wild black hair perfectly settled the golden crown that another beside him held. The man, whose ghost of a smile sent the crowd in absolute frenzy, beginning up a chant to his name.

“Hurrah for the Triumph!”

“Hurrah for the Triumph!”

“Hurrah for the Eagle!”

Your heart stopped to a standstill.

At last. At long last, the Eagle of Rome had come back to its nest.

“Mistress, look!” Myrtia exclaimed, pointing towards the star of the show, the lead victor in this parade. “Your husband achieved the Triumph!”

You glanced at her with unadulterated pride before focusing on the man in front, coming closer in your vision as he began the ride up the hill. The Triumph. A public celebration of a certain general who managed to lead Rome to a special, foreign victory. It meant the destruction of the enemy, complete desolation, which a mere centurion could not simply achieve. To receive the Triumph was to be respected by the highest of the Roman officials. 

You smiled at the notion. The destination for the parade was the Temple of Jupiter behind you, its columns holding up the huge, faded roof, towering over the few beloved relatives of the generals that led the soldiers. “I never doubted he would.”

The crowds grew wilder as the generals journeyed closer, halfway up the rocky hill—everyone opened their doors, leaving their houses to witness the rare spectacle. “Do you think they would let us speak to them?” your maid wondered out loud, following your steps as you turned your back, walking to the Temple. Standing right beside the steps, upstaged till they reached your height. “Gods, I forgot how big the temple is sometimes!”

“Wait here,” you said, holding onto the polished stone as you climbed up the steps. The thundering sounds of hooves on cobblestone entered your ears, and the few other relatives which accompanied you silenced, joy in their faces as the parade ascended. You turned before the show, the entire building shading you with its presence.

There he was.

With his four white horses slowing, neighing wildly at the company that arrived at the hill. With his red and golden chariot inciting excited Latin from the crowd, there he was, swiping past in front of his friends. The horses finally stopped, just before the steps, and the generals behind him followed suit, halting their own as they waited for their commander.

Their commander let go of the reins—stepped down from the chariot, purple robe flowing after the steps. The head that wore the crown turned to the Temple, laurel and sceptre still in his hands.

His calculating eyes skimmed the crowd, face exposing a little pride at the turnout.

He then faced his destination—right on you his stare settled, standing alone at the entrance.

You swore you saw his entire body still.

You were not wrong. The commander parted his mouth, eyes widening with who welcomed him past the steps. Gods, he nearly dropped the possessions in his hands, staring and staring at the woman.

No, not just a mere woman.

But you, his wife.

One of the generals, instantly noticing their leader’s change, got off his horse, same black hair glinting in the sun. He walked over, taking the objects from his hands, smiling knowingly. 

When the leader’s hands were free of the spoils, he willed his feet across the sanded street, first step atop the stairs. His gaze never wavered, unable to stray from the woman who haunted his nights. 

You, however, could not wait at all.

A choked sob escaped you as your own feet dashed forward, barely able to control themselves as you ran to him. His arms began to raise as you collided against him, wrapping your hands around his neck and crying into his purple-clad chest.

“Missed you...Jihoon…” your muffled murmurs slipped into his attire. “Missed you...so much.”

You felt strong arms envelop you, a rough-hewn face burying into your shoulder. “I thought of you everyday, mea vita.”

Mea vita. My life. A smile caught onto your tears as you hugged him tighter. “And I thought of you every night.”

He returned it, feeling his lips curve upon your skin. Placing a small kiss, he pulled away slightly, only to take your face with one of his hands and lean in closer. Enveloping your lips with yours, he kissed you with the longing of a thousand lost souls, finally returned to their other half. 

A soft groan threatened to leave your captured mouth, but then you felt your husband pull away, hands upon your waist. “I must stop here, my love, or I would not be able to stop afterwards.”

Cheeks burning, you did not let go of him. “Are you not finished?”

Shaking his head, he looked beyond you, to inside of the Temple. “I have to pay respects. It is the final part of the ceremony.” He turned to you again, aching to take you before the sacred grounds. “I cannot have you waiting for me that long.”

You were to object until the raven-haired boy behind him spoke up, waving his hand about. “We can escort her home, Jihoon,” he suggested, patting his general on the shoulder. “We do not need to go inside.”

“Are you sure, Wonwoo?” your husband asked, looking towards the other four. 

One of the centurions, with straight, cropped black locks framing his face, grinned smugly, holding onto his reins. “Oh, just let her leave with us!” he exclaimed. “We all know she missed us more than your stone-cold arse!”

You chuckled as Jihoon knifed the man with a glare. “A few hours in Rome, and Soonyoung is already a pain in my backside.”

The younger centurion beside Soonyoung scoffed, brown locks being caressed by the wind. “As if he is not a bother for us all.”

Soonyoung mocked a gasp. “Seungkwan!”

“Everyone, quiet down!” Another man declared, eyes closed and head raised in pride. “We all know our Captain’s wife wishes to ride with me.”

Soonyoung began to chortle at the claim. “_____, you might as well walk home than take Seokmin’s offer,” he mused, earning a near-death experience with a dagger thrown at him. 

Raising a brow at the bickering group, you raised a finger. “You know what? I think I shall ride with Chan.”

The said-boy perked up, eyes widening. “Me?” He asked, dumbfounded. “Well, of course, I just—”

“He would fall asleep mid-journey!” Seungkwan complained, crossing his arms. “It is already past his bedtime!”

“Hey!” Chan chimed in, but it did not help that he looked away, trying to stifle a yawn. Seungkwan pointed and laughed, proving his stupid point. 

“Enough!” Jihoon shouted, silencing them all instantly. “If _____ says she wants to go with Chan, then that is final.”

All of them began to complain, but one warning glare from their commander had them quieting like scolded children. Chan, being the one chosen, began to smile in innocent satisfaction, earning the evil wrath of Seokmin and Seungkwan. Soonyoung merely shrugged, whereas Wonwoo put a hand on his chest, heartily agreeing with his commander.

You glanced at the man in charge, looking as ever the victor in his royal robes. “Come home soon.”

Stealing another kiss from you, he squeezed your sides in comfort, smiling in reassurance. “I already am home, vita.”

THE LEGACY COMMANDERS ALWAYS KNEW HOW TO MAKE THE MOST NOISE.

Throughout the half-hour journey, the five men talked of their lives for the near-two years they were away—the battles they had won, and the siege they had laid over Alexandria, where Mark Antony and Cleopatra were finally defeated.

Chan glanced back every five minutes to check you were stable on horseback, urging you to hold tight whenever a rockier road was being taken. You patted him softly where you rested your hands upon him, showing him you were well. “Do not fret over me, dearest,” you assured him, earning an uneasy chuckle from him.

Unfortunately, the few centurions, riding right beside you two, heard your reassurance, and instantly resorted to striking fear. “Hanging onto Chan for dear life will not help you!” Seungkwan remarked loudly. “One wrong bounce of the horse and he is flying off!”

The youngest of the men, on instinct, tightened his hold on the horse, now fearing he would drive his commander’s wife to her death. Soonyoung laughed at the scene, but set his sights on the next youngest down. “Seungkwan should not be talking,” he crowed, galloping further ahead. “Pray tell us, how much denarii did you borrow off Wonwoo to heal your broken leg? You know, after you tripped over a tent rope?”

“Careful, Soon,” Seokmin exclaimed over the horses’ hooves. “Or Seungkwan will not hesitate to call on all the escorts you went bankrupt over in Egypt!”

Soonyoung immediately whirled his head to you, who eyed him incredulously. “_____, it is an exaggeration!” he deflected. “It was only one visit, merely to see what the women were like—!” 

“Is it true, Wonwoo?” you asked, who was fighting back a grimace at his friend’s endeavours. “Is our dear centurion as scandalous as he’s accused to be?”

The answer was swift. “Soonyoung’s cock is as clean as the city sewers.” 

As everyone cackled, the guilty flushing with embarrassment, he quickly switched the conversation to everyone’s adventures while on the road to Alexandria. Soonyoung did most of the storytelling, with Seokmin chipping in with great pride—Seungkwan had to tell the two of them off when they exaggerated their military prowess, while Wonwoo only laughed, narrating the truth of their adventures. Whatever they told you, though, you knew that they came out victorious.

The Legacy Legion was destined for greatness—especially if Jihoon Park commanded it.

By the time they were done, you had arrived at your villa, almost on the outskirts of Rome. The huge estate had been gifted to your husband by his superior, Octavian, who was thankful for the continuous loyalty he had seen from the Legion. Its exterior towered over the five horses, guards opening the gates to let you and your friends inside.

The estate was basked in whites and greys, roof the colour of baked bricks adding vibrancy to the faded walls. When entering, you were met with your bustling courtyard, servants hard at work with preparations for Jihoon's return. Within the four walls were different rooms which served different purposes—you could smell the different breads and meat being cooked on a slow heat, taking their time to be fully made. The boys began to salivate at the aroma, and when you felt Chan’s stomach grumble beneath your fingers you reined in a laugh, waiting for him to heave off before helping you down as well. 

“Take the horses to the stables,” you ordered one of the servants walking past you, who nodded, shouting for other men to come and help him. 

Seokmin groaned as he sniffed the air again, holding his armour-clad stomach. “I cannot take this any longer!” He whined, stomping to where the smell took him. “____, I must have cena now or so help me Ceres!”

“Stop complaining about lunch!” Seungkwan crowed. “I gave you half of my breakfast, and you pinched Chan’s bread too!” 

“Here we go again,” Wonwoo mumbled. He then heard grumbling in his abdomen, and knew he could not argue against his body. 

You watched the absolute creatures in tenderness, and waved them all over. “Come,” you began, walking inside the first door. “I wish to show you something.”

“This better be some roasted boar!” Soonyoung grumbled, earning a jab in the arm from Wonwoo.

The destination was not far, and with one further turn, you ended up in a smaller, yet spacious room, golden sunlight streaming through the windows. You ushered the boys in, taking up the entire space, and they were all about to complain when you showed them.

Every single man in the room melted at the sight.

“By the gods!”

“Tell me it is not an illusion!”

“This is a better sight than roasted boar!”

Laughing, you put a hand to your lips. “Not so loud now! Jihoon is not aware of this yet, and I wish to tell him myself.”

“Of course!” Wonwoo agreed, eyes dancing. “By Jupiter, he would be overjoyed!”

“I hope so,” you voiced out your wishes, glancing at the surprise. 

The boys were about to say more when they heard the distant sounds of thundering hooves near the villa, and everyone stilled. 

“Quick!”

“Everyone get out of here!”

“Seungkwan, move—”

The five greatest centurions of Rome scrambled to get out of the tiny bedroom, rushing into the courtyard where Jihoon now made his entrance, crown still upon his head. He saw the rather guilty exit of his men, and raised a brow at their strange behaviour.

“What are you all—” he was about to ask, but then the boys dashed towards him, each grabbing his arm and pushing him to their last destination. “Wait, hold on—!”

“This is of extreme importance, we assure you!” Wonwoo simpered, knowing his end was near with the behaviour he and his friends upkept. 

“Even more important than lunch!” Soonyoung added.

“Even more important than roast boar!” Seokmin chimed in.

Jihoon was about to throw them off when they pushed him into the small room, waving excitedly at you. “We will be looking for food!” Seungkwan called from the door, and Chan looked at you apologetically before following after his friends. 

Watching them busy themselves, he turned to you, cocking his head. “What was all that for?” 

“They are terrible actors, but they had good intentions.” You then bit your lip, glancing beside you. “Actually, they brought you here for a reason.”

“Oh?” He took a step forward. 

Nodding your head, you put your hand upon the stone. “Jihoon, while you were gone, I had a life-changing experience.”

Furrowing his brows, he put his hands on his hips. “And that was?”

Exposing a little smile, you ushered him closer, gazing down at the said-experience.

“My love, I gave birth to our son.”

You felt Jihoon’s world still for a moment.

Within seconds after, he closed the distance to the cot, following your gaze.

There, wrapped in blankets, lay a small baby, lost in sleep.

The general did not know what to say.

He could only watch the little bundle of life as he dreamed of things which he could not understand, tiny lips brushing against his tiny thumb. The man’s heart began to race at the sight of his closed eyes, the flutter of his lashes as he stirred in slumber. 

So innocent the baby was—so vulnerable that he wondered whether people of his time even knew what innocence meant.

He thought all good had withered from the world till his eyes beheld this child. His son.

“It was he that helped me cope with your absence Jihoon,” you continued, and you did not know why it began to hurt to talk. “You see, the boy looks so much like you.”

Your husband’s eyes flickered to you, catching the melancholy in your stare. He knew—of course he knew how you felt about him hardly being here.

You could not blame him, though. With a position of such esteem came great responsibility, which he would risk his life to fulfil. It was his honour, his undeterred loyalty in what he believed in, that made you fall so deeply in love with him. Still, you admitted that life was barely liveable without his magnetic presence near you.

He propped his hands on the edge of the cot. “May I...may I hold him?” 

“Of course,” you replied, slowly pulling the boy in your arms, cooing softly so he stayed asleep. When you were sure he was peaceful, you held him out to your husband, who took a deep, shuddering breath.

With shaking hands, he raised them towards his son, feeling the soft cotton of his blanket beneath his fingertips. Staring at Jihoon, you made sure that he would not let go—satisfied, you gave him the stirring bundle.

Another hard sigh escaped him.

The child, on instinct, nuzzled further into his hold, right into his chest, and he knew his answer straight away. His heart fluttered nervously, holding his breath to not wake him. It was so bizarre that his nerves heightened with every second, fearing he would let go—his sword was heavier than this child, yet his hold on him was shaky, uncertain. 

He wondered if he could ever get used to this feeling.

There were sensations he had experienced which brought him immense joy. His victories, his commandeering of the Roman legions, the subsequent victories that were guaranteed under his leadership. His centurions, who, despite their incessant complaining, shouting, general presences, were the catalyst to his success. You, who was behind the man that he was, and became—the reason he breathed. 

A small murmur escaped the little boy, and all the love Jihoon had lost these years had come back.

He was never the one to expose such extreme emotions, but gazing at the baby brought him such…peace. In truth, he had not felt peace in a long, long time, yet the feeling washed over him, like small waves upon the shores of a beach. Each twitch of his fingers, every kick of his feet brought his soul to a standstill, then revived it once more. 

He contributed to this creation. He was half the reason for the slumbering life in his hands.

His stare did not leave his son. “What did you name him, vita?”

Your gaze was rooted to him as you answered.

“Seungcheol.”

Jihoon’s rocking froze. 

His eyes darted towards you, and the pure shock which emitted had your heart breaking. His mouth parted, only for silence to welcome his tongue. 

It was now your hands which held onto the cot.

Seungcheol was not some ordinary name you thought up on the hour of the birth.

No, this name was originally held by the previous leader of the Legacy Legion.

Most importantly, the name was held by yours and Jihoon’s dearest friend.

Choi Seungcheol was a sweet, charismatic boy who had grown up in the same neighbourhood as you and Jihoon. He was the nail in your house of the trio, and the mastermind of the romance which weaved between the two of you. 

He had an incredibly bright future ahead of him. Under Octavian’s army he had achieved the title of primus pilus—the leadership of an entire legion—with all of the boys, including Jihoon, under his command. He was an advocate of justice, and had risked his friends many times for defending the rights of Rome and her citizens against tyrants.

It was these very tyrants that brought about his downfall.

Jihoon was never meant to leave your side these past two years. He was meant to stay in Rome under Octavian, but the rivalry against Mark Antony had crossed lines, and war was about to be waged. Seungcheol, forever the hero, vowed his undeterred loyalty to the former, and promised to shed Mark Antony’s blood.

That very night, the commanders of the Legacy Legion were celebrating the war when a group of assassins launched an ambush—the five of them managed to cut out and leave, but Jihoon was on the verge of death fighting. Your husband was to die that night.

That was when Seungcheol made a sacrifice. 

He hollered at the assassins to fight him, giving Jihoon the chance to escape. Your husband begged him to run, but he knew his friend would not listen. 

When Jihoon saw the dozen daggers slash into Seungcheol’s chest, he could not let the sacrifice go to waste.

It was this act that brought him the rage to accept command of the Legacy Legion. It was this dire need of vengeance that helped him cope with the months of stalemates across Egypt, when he thought Mark Antony was to escape.

It was Choi Seungcheol’s sacrifice that made Lee Jihoon the Eagle of Rome. 

Thinking of this particular past had your vision stinging.

Jihoon scoffed, stroking his baby’s brow. “Imagine how smug he would be now,” he mused, “If he knew we named our son after him.”

The thought had you rasping out a laugh. “Gods, we would never hear the end of it.”

He cracked a smile, gaze never straying from his bundle. He grew silent once again, clamping his lips together. Scared to wake him if he rocked him further, Jihoon settled the boy back into the pillowed cot, blinking back the stinging in his eyes. 

He turned to you, and seeing his change of expression had you stepping closer. “Darling?” you got out, your hands raising to touch his face. “What troubles you?”

Shaking his head, he wrapped his fingers around your wrist. Leaning into your palm, he replied, “Nothing troubles me, vita.”

Then, he pressed a small kiss upon your skin. “I have no more troubles now that I have seen him…and I have him because of you.”

His gaze settled upon you, eyes glossed with teary gratitude. “Thank you, my love, for bringing me peace.”

The words nearly made you cry.

Jihoon did not let you, though, when, with his other hand sliding around your waist, he pulled you to him. He enveloped his lips with yours, and with a whine you accepted him, closing your eyes. The kiss you shared was achingly soft, seething with months upon months of longing—he turned your head slightly, and his lips delved deeper, taking you fully with the strength of a waking beast. 

His hands dug deeper into your sides, feeling the desperation seep into his lips as he slowly pushed you back, your arms closing about his neck, needing him all over you. Sliding your hands within his locks, you revelled in its velvety softness, knowing you could live forever in him. 

The action had your husband humming into your mouth, a perfect incentive as he backed you against the wall, pressing himself fully against you, extinguishing any last atom of space between you two. You could not get enough of him, trying to make up months of his absence in this kiss alone, but you wanted more, needed more, or you would collapse in his arms.

It was fortunate for you that he understood you perfectly.

However, your dear friends did not understand at all, bursting into the nursery in utmost hurry.

Five pairs of eyes rooted to the passionate scene before them.

Chan let out a shrill scream.

You and Jihoon repelled from each other, breathless gasps emitting as both of you whirled your heads to the door. The five centurions gathered at the doorway, stunned at the show that went on before they interrupted.

Seokmin let out a groan, clutching his stomach. “I regret eating that entire boar now,” he rasped out, turning away from the panting couple. Seungkwan elbowed him harshly in the gut, making the former double over.

Soonyoung sauntered in, stepping past you two in mighty fashion. “You both are insufferable!” he yelled, bringing out baby Seungcheol and rocking him in his arms. “Carrying out such atrocities with a child nearby?”

“I apologise for the disturbance, general,” Wonwoo said, glaring at the man who now cooed comically at the baby. “We were just...um, we were to ask ____ of the plans tonight.”

“But y-you seem to be very preoccupied!” Chan added, pulling the men near him away from the door. “So we shall not disturb you again!”

“You should have thought about that before,” your husband hissed. “And what do you mean by plans?”

“For your return,” you answered, smiling a little as you regained your composure. “It has been too long since you stepped foot at home. Of course I am to celebrate.”

“And do we not exist to you?” Seungkwan demanded, armoured hands at his hips. “You include Jihoon only as if we were here in Rome partying this entire time!”

“I wished that were the case,” Soonyoung drawled, stepping beside you, swaying the baby the entire time. “I would rather the company of wine than you foul-smelling bastards anyday.”

Seokmin, recovering, scoffed, pointing a finger at his fellow centurion. “Oh, do let us know then, Soonyoung, who was calling us his dearest friends on the march to Alexandria?”

“That does not count!” he countered, waving off the claims. “I was beyond gone from wine, and everyone spews rubbish when drunk.”

“You spew rubbish anyway,” Wonwoo muttered.

“You are lucky I am holding Jihoon’s child right now, or I would have knocked you out.”

“Just Jihoon’s child?” you crossed your arms. “And what if you were holding someone else’s baby?”

There was a pause at that. “I shall not comment further.”

“Enough!” the general ordered, silencing the bickering group. “Out, the lot of you! Go back to your own homes and leave us alone!”

“But _____ said we can stay here and help with preparations!” Wonwoo voiced out, stepping forward in haste. 

“I never said that!”

“Please, Jihoon,” he continued anyway, “I have no wish to dump all responsibility on her.”

The said-man pursed his lips in thought, clearly in no hurry to keep his friends when he could be using this precious time to continue what he left off with you. Already his hands ached to linger further over your body, but if he was disturbed once again, then he would kill his subordinates without hesitance.

Seokmin stopped his train of thought. “Personally, I have no wish to do housework,” he jeered. 

Your husband then smiled, which was more a flash of teeth. “Brilliant. You can piss off back home, then.” He then directed his threatening stare towards the others. “All of you.”

Five pairs of eyes turned to you, hoping for your objection on the matter. However, you only shrugged, holding out your hands to the man beside you. “General’s orders, I fear.” When a series of groans followed at your verdict, you took Seungcheol from Soonyoung’s hands. “Do not whine like that, friends! I am giving you the chance to have more fun before tonight’s celebrations!”

“Whatever,” Seungkwan grumbled, turning his cloak as he stepped out of the room. “I am off to get more drinks! Anyone but Jihoon may join me.”

“Hey!” the commander shouted, but the men were already leaving, save for Chan, scratching the back of his head. 

Seokmin cocked his head in question at his friend’s stillness. “What are you standing here for, fool?”

“Well, um,” Chan started, his shy gaze levelling with yours. “I am not inclined to wine as of now, so I was hoping if I could...err, linger here and help around…” His eyes widened, raising his hands. “But if it is bothersome I will accompany the others!”

Your heart melted at his timidity. “What are you so nervous for? Of course you can stay. Those four idiots will only be causing trouble the entire afternoon.” 

“And we intend to continue such troubles at night as well!” Soonyoung declared, almost skipping to the entrance. “Honey wine, here I come!”

“Chan, are you sure?” Jihoon asked, gesturing towards the exiting group. “You should rest a little after months of fighting.”

“I am alright, I insist,” his soldier assured him, raising his arms. “Let me take care of the child.” When you obliged, handing him the stirring bundle, he slowed his movements, ever so careful not to disturb him. He darted his gaze over you. “You, uh,” he said, and he chuckled sheepishly, a blush rising upon his cheeks. “You both carry on with whatever you were doing before!”

Before you could say further, the man was hurrying out, forgetting to close the door as he took Seungcheol with him.

You and Jihoon watched him go, stunned at the sudden entrance of the centurions, and then the sudden exit within minutes. You could not help the huff of laughter that escaped you at their antics, catching his attention. “What is the laugh for?”

“Your commanders, darling,” you mused, wrapping an arm around your husband. “They are more bizarre than usual.”

Exhaling through his nose, he returned your embrace twice over, engulfing you within his hold. “My half-witted commanders,” he reminisced, running his fingers across your back. “They are delighted to be back.”

“I can tell,” you giggled out, leaning into him. “I missed them greatly.”

His face ghosted a little smugness. “But you missed me more.”

“You keep convincing yourself of the notion.”

Feeling his laughter reverberating off him, you felt yourself being pulled at arm’s length, looking up at him once more. Your husband leaned in then, gently pressing his forehead against yours. “No one is at home anymore, vita.”

A raise of your eyebrow. “Chan just asked me to stay here.”

“Oh, you know what I mean,” he insisted, brushing his nose with yours. “We are alone...with no one to bother us again…”

Much as you would like to follow his intentions, you feared the state of the pending party. It had been two years since the Eagle and his centurions’ return—their triumph will be celebrated without fault.

“Jihoon,” you murmured, taking great pains in retracting from his kisses. “I must go.”

His lips trailed down to your chin, making your willpower all the more weak. “Can you not spare me even an hour?”

If you could spare him half that hour, you would have gladly indulged him, but the party arrangements awaited. The soldiers, and your general, deserved the best of welcomes.

So you made yourself separate from his tempting hold, taking a few steps away from him. “I cannot offer even a second, my love.”

The man pretended to be beyond upset at your resistance. He waited till your feet landed on the entryway when he spoke.

“Perhaps it was better you did not give me a mere hour, vita.”

You looked back. Leaning against the stone cot, he let his lips curl upwards. “It simply would not suffice.”

The curiosity in your eyes had him further smirking. “I need an entire day to make up for the two years of absence from you.”

It was sheer luck you were holding onto the doorframe. 

“Careful, love,” he cooed, which only had you stumbling further out of the door in shock. His laughter followed you faintly as you left the room, blood rushing to your cheeks in drastic speed.

You hoped ardently, without shame, that he would carry out his intentions.

Then, you aggressively shook your head, heading straight to the kitchens. Not these thoughts at the moment, _____.

You have a party to prepare for.

THE NIGHT OF THE WELCOMING ARRIVED AS QUICKLY AS YOU HAD HOPED.

The guests began to enter your estate as soon as the sun descended on the empire, bringing words of praise and gifts to your husband and his soldiers. Your pride swelled exceedingly at hearing the positive messages, encouraging everyone to drink to their health. The smiles did not cease, widening further when the men and women fawned over your child. They wished for your baby to grow up just like the man he was named after, and you smiled, scared that one word from you would have your tears gushing.

You had everyone lay on their seated beds, surrounding tables filled with nourishment. Orders spilled from your lips to never stop the plates of beef and veal and fish and infinite other meats—tonight, your guests would feast like emperors. 

Eventually, the stars of the legion arrived, howling in celebration at seeing you adorned in indigo-coloured finery. You reckoned that they had drunk a fountain’s worth before showing up here, but you only hauled them inside, showing them to their place—cushioned couches all set up around low, circular tables, food nearly toppling off the edges. 

Seokmin drooled at the sight. “Out of the way, bastards!” He declared, running straight for the bedding in the middle part of the cushioned arc, settling himself nicely before digging in instantly. “Tell your slave Chan to bring us some wine!”

As if on cue, the soldier came rushing in with huge jugs of the featured drink, looking at you. “Is this alright?”

“Of course, Chan,” you said, taking the jugs from him. “Now you lay beside your friends! You have helped me enough.”

“Where is that man of yours, my lady?” Soonyoung drawled, snatching a cup of honey wine from the servants. “He did not accompany us this afternoon.”

“He had to go meet Octavian,” you answered, the rest of the centurions lodging themselves on the cushions. “There were honours he had to receive from him before he could officially celebrate here.”

“As long as he gets drunk with us, I do not mind,” Wonwoo voiced, raising his cup in toast. 

Seokmin, seeing Chan looking around in embarrassment, poured a cup full of alcohol and pushed it in his hand. “Drink up, boy! I am not having you shy away from your victories!”

The latter seemed much inclined to throw away the wine, but his friends began to groan. “Fine, fine, but only a sip!”

Seungkwan downed his cup, sighing into it. “He will never grow up.”

Wonwoo eyed you with concern as he plucked a grape from its pack. “Will you not have a rest with us?”

“You men have your fun,” you insisted. “I will settle when Jihoon comes home.”

Fortunately, that did not take more than ten minutes, you catching the sound of hooves outside the estate. Footsteps sounded from the entrance, and you whirled to see your new arrival.

The primus pilus of the Legacy Legion looked every bit his title—regal, powerful, magical in his purple robes, hemmed with gold as it draped over his loose white shirt, exposed on his right arm. His locks, longer than his hair months ago, curled slightly along his neck, roughening his usual soldierly demeanour.

Squealing, you rushed to him, greeting him with a kiss. “Come, come!” You exclaimed, ushering him inside.

“The general’s arrived!” Seokmin before you with the others following, albeit with more difficulty.

Jihoon directed a soft smile at you before sneering at his friends. “At least finish chewing on your food, you babies.”

“Care about your own baby before calling us such, you prick!”

“You are very lucky you are drunk, Wonwoo!” 

“Sit with them,” you said, tugging him to a free space between subordinates. 

As your husband obliged, he let his curiosity wander. “And where are you off to?”

Your gaze went beyond the dining hall, into the leeways that brought you to the kitchens. “I am a host, dear, and that means making sure all my guests are accommodated for.”

His grip on you was strong. “When will you come back?” He asked, thumb brushing over your hand.

You let your lips slip into a small smile. “Soon.”

And you were off, letting Jihoon’s eyes brush over you instead of his touch.

A few hours into the party and the chaos began.

You knew it was bound to happen eventually, with the amount of wine being consumed—your friends alone downed half the deposits, the consequences of such reckless drinking being exposed by their behaviour.

The centurions’ area was by far the loudest: Seokmin drank to the point he pissed in the jug that stored his wine, Seungkwan then threatening to topple that very jug atop his head. Soonyoung resorted to self-praise in his stupor, with Wonwoo shaking his head, yet laughing uncontrollably at every unfunny quip the former slipped out. Chan giggled as he sipped his alcohol, Jihoon watching all his friends with a full cup in his own hand. 

It was around midnight when you heard the voice of your beloved calling for you. 

“Vita!”

Excusing yourself from your tipsy guests, you walked to your dear men, who were creating a ruckus in your home. You felt soft fingers caress your shin within your dress, and you looked down to see your general smiling at you.

“Sit, my love,” he said, tugging you down to him. “You have made me wait a while.”

“Fine!” You exclaimed with mock exasperation, laying down next to him. 

He wrapped his arm around you, pulling you to him, your entire back pressed against his front. “There,” he whispered, and the proximity of his breath had chills running down your spine.

You hoped he could feel the warmth radiating off you.

“_____!” Seokmin exclaimed, pointing his cup at you in accusation, wine sloshing out and spilling. “I have a bone to pick with you!”

“Oh, gods,” Jihoon cursed quietly.

“So I found out from our esteemed general that you named your son Seungcheol.” The man scoffed. “How could you commit such an action?”

When you raised your eyebrows, he smirked in disbelief, gesturing towards himself. “My lady, I am offended you did not name him after me.”

Wonwoo spit out his drink, unable to control his laughter. Seungkwan poured himself some more, clicking his tongue in amusement. “Gods forbid we have another Seokmin in our circle.”

“Now what is that supposed to mean?” the man demanded, bunching his robes from his arms. 

“I know you are not that stupid,” was his sly answer. 

“Boys,” Jihoon seethed, glaring at the two about to send the estate down with their fists. “Lay off the anger or lay off the wine.”

Grumbling as they broke off their spat, you looked up at the mediator, swirling his cup. “You know you do not have to be a general here.”

Your husband hummed absent-mindedly, lazily running his hand along you. “I know, vita. Can I ever rest, though, when I have such rowdy dogs barking around me all the time?”

Chuckling, you leaned into him, his honey-like scent engulfing you. “Have you drank?”

“Only a little.” You felt a lilt to his voice as he continued. “Sober enough to see clearly how divine you look. Especially in this dress.”

You stilled as his hands began to wander downwards. 

Your voice barely came out as you said, “Jihoon, what…what are you doing?” 

He did not respond, instead adorning a small smile on his face as his fingers ghosted down your body, to your stomach. On instinct you stopped his trail with your own hand, gripping his wrist. “Jihoon!” you hissed. “There are people right beside us!”

“People who do not know what is going on around them,” he added, gesturing to his friends. Sure enough, each and every one of the centurions were out of their minds, save for Chan, who was too preoccupied trying to take away their drinks. 

Jihoon turned to you once more, eyes inviting. “I mean, I will stop if you wish.” His movements turned slower, your hand still on his. “If you have other…pressing matters.”

Your mind could only think of damning whatever ‘pressing matters’ there well to the underworld. Perhaps he could see it too. “If roaming eyes are what you fear,” he whispered, “Then let me solve that problem.”

In a flash, he brought one long slit of his toga, resting the huge sheet of fabric upon you so your entire body was cloaked, along with his wandering fingers. So casually he began his journey once more, widening your eyes with each finger spiralling downwards.

When he reached the spot, shielded only with your silk, his head rested softly against your neck. “There we go.”

He barely grazed the slit, but the very sensation had you squeezing your own hand upon his. “Easy, darling,” he whispered, as if he was not the reason for your change. “I haven’t even done anything and yet you falter.”

“Not my fault you went away for two years,” you hissed. It was a terrible thing to say, really, but your desire was bubbling. Your rationality, in turn, simply had to depart.

The comment only made your husband chuckle. “I was saving the Empire, vita.” His other hand, completely free, occupied itself, his solitary finger ghosting along your skin. “Would you rather I damn the world to the gods and serve at your feet instead?”

“As if you do not already,” you murmured, your hand loosening on his wrist. 

Earning another soft laugh from him, his new freedom had him sliding down further. “And where did this…newfound confidence come from?” he asked, one finger delving into your slit and eliciting a shuddered breath. “I’d only hear gasps from you before.”

His slow endeavours found your clit beneath the silk, and the seething gasp that tore from your mouth had the bastard sighing in satisfaction. “Ah, see?” He continued, his hand upon your shoulder now sliding beneath his cloak. It found refuge upon your breasts, perked from the sheer desire burning inside. “Fuck, I missed, I–” His fingers circled your clit, and you closed your eyes, heart beating rapidly underneath his other hand. 

Your breathing turned harsh, eyes darting to the members of your husband’s legion—completely unaware of the shuddering mess of nerves you had become. “Look at you,” Jihoon sighed out, fastening his fingers. “Acting out with our loved ones under this roof.” Your soft whines were music to his ears. “Whatever shall I do with you?”

“Maybe you should—fuck,” you cut off, your legs tensing, a dull, delicious ache growing at the small of your back. “Jihoon, I—”

Your line of speech was interrupted by another voice. You had hoped it would be your husband, taunting you further into oblivion, but it was a voice of pure concern.

“By the gods, _____, are you alright?”

You blinked back to see Chan, holding two glasses of wine, shaking off Soonyoung’s hands. Your eyes then widened, acutely aware of Jihoon’s fingers slowing, your release fading. 

Sly as an asp, your husband retracted his hands, still under his cloak. “What is the matter, dear friend?”

The centurion had his gaze fixed on you, confused at your state. “Is _____ okay, general? Her breathing, she…it sounds uneven. Even her eyes are dazed.”

Soonyoung, taking the lucky chance of his friend’s engrossment, snatched the wine from his hand, downing the bowl. “She is drunk, you fool!” he exclaimed, loud enough for Wonwoo to double over, cursing his rowdy mouth. “And you should be as well, instead of ruining our fun!”

“My lady, allow me to indulge you with wine,” Wonwoo sang out, trying to catch a jug of alcohol from thin air. 

Seungkwan snorted at his attempts, successfully stealing Seokmin’s drinks and chugging the lot. “Oi, you prick!” The latter yelled, nearly bringing the estate down. His friend merely laughed, calling him names and finishing the rest of the wine.

Chan, glancing for a moment away, focused on you once more. “Jihoon, I fear for _____.”

You feared for yourself too, but not in the manner the soldier spoke of—more your sanity at the pulsing, the near undoing now far from being reached. 

Jihoon pressed a kiss to your temple, smiling at Chan’s words, despite differing intentions. “You worry too much, Chan,” he said, beginning to get up from his cushions, taking you gently into his arms. “It is as Soonyoung says. Mea Vita here has had a drink too much.”

The centurion seemed a little unconvinced, but his trust for his commander outgrew any suspicions. Seokmin scoffed at the couple attempting to leave, shaking his bowl at you both. “And where are the lovebirds off to?” he demanded.

“Lady _____ is tired from the honey wine,” Chan explained. “Jihoon is helping her sleep.”

“Ha!” was the boy’s reply. 

“Are you really that dim-witted?” Seungkwan asked, laughing darkly at the youngest’s naivety. 

“Huh?” Chan glanced at his general.

The general declared to his guests, “I will be retiring with my wife, but enjoy until dawn, friends!”

Cheers arose from every corner of the estate, no doubt eager to live up to his request. Jihoon then rested his eyes on his soldier, who looked up at him with great bewilderment.

He only offered a sly wink before slipping into the hallways. 

Chan’s confusion only deepened. 

Soonyoung spluttered into laughter. “You poor fool!” 

Seungkwan’s smirk was prevalent as, taking the bowl filled with fresh honey wine from the tables, he sat beside Chan, offering him his first drink. “Let us educate you, dear man, on what exactly is about to happen between our general and his wife.”

IT TOOK APPROXIMATELY TEN SECONDS BEFORE YOUR PATIENCE SNAPPED IN YOUR DARKENED HALLWAYS. 

You slapped your hands against Jihoon’s purple-clad chest, and tried to push him back into the stone wall. Of course, when one had the strongest general in the Roman Empire as a husband, physically overtaking them is an impossible action.

Which was why he began to laugh at your efforts before casually taking your wrists, whirling you about.  Suddenly your back was against the wall, with his face near inches from you. 

“Cannot control yourself for even a minute?” He purred, bringing your hands above your head. “Has the journey to our bedroom become too difficult?”

“Stop fucking about with me” you got out, aching to have your hands freed, touch his face, his lips, but he was too strong. 

The man leaned further. “No, vita…it has been too long.” 

He brushed his nose along with yours. “Don’t think I’ll be satisfied with simply fucking you against the wall.”

His words alone had your heart beating faster, eager to see how he would play the night out. It had been far too long since you had felt such promise of pleasure in these years.

“I won’t be either, general,” you mused, and the fire that sparked in Jihoon’s eyes could have very well brought you your undoing then. 

That was enough for him to swoop in, damning all sweetness to the underworld as he collided his lips with yours. 

You swore you could never tire of Jihoon’s lips as he moved hungrily, grip on your wrists tightening. A small noise lodged in the back of your throat, aching to be released but to no avail. His mouth refused to pull away, miss even a moment of how you felt against him. 

The years away made you realise how much you missed his touch—lips in sync, bodies snuffing out any distance left—you had no choice but to whine into his mouth, opening yourself up fully to him. You wanted him all, without a single drop of hesitation.

Feeling the exact same, he happily delved further, an eon-old kernel of fire singeing his lips and searing you with his desire. His tongue, catching onto his lust, slithered past your teeth, swirling your tongue with his and increased the volume of your moans. 

Gods, your moans, your little voices of passion were like victory trumpets to his ears, every single ah! or fuck! riling him further into a frenzy. He had not forgotten these glorious sounds when he was thousands of miles away, but it had been so fucking long since he had heard them in person, and not just his dreams.

So he relished in your moans. Completely engulfed himself in your bubble of desire as his one hand strayed from your wrists, skirting downwards along your body. Grabbing hold of your skirts, he raised them to your hips. He caught sight of your cunt, and he swore his mouth watered. 

“Stop it…stop stalling, Jihoon,” you seethed, soul almost withering in wait for your husband to ruin you already.

Fortunately for you, he was the most accommodating man.

His hand freeing yours, it journeyed downwards to the real treasure. Your eyes widened at his finger sliding inside you, and the pure, ethereal sensation of his touch finally attaining your cunt had you dazing off completely. Your mouth forgot all words, as if forgetting how to speak the languages which Jihoon whispered now on your skin.

With your hands gaining newfound freedom, they carded through his hair, finding refuge in the soft, growing locks, tidied for the party. You would have done more had Jihoon not circled your clit, and the delirious sensation was back—your legs nearly gave way, and you let out a whimper as you held onto him tightly, lest you fell at his feet. 

His sharp eyes caught onto your weakening state, slowing his ministrations. “How about I take this somewhere else?” He rasped in your ear. 

Not waiting for your answer, he slid his hands underneath your thighs and picked you up, you instinctively wrapping your legs around him. He did not cease his kisses, his tongue dancing inside your mouth while finding the door to the bedroom. 

He did not waste a single moment—kicking the door open with his foot, he settled you on the table right beside, throwing the objects to the floor. Giving you a small peck, he journeyed downwards, slowly kneeling before you while opening your legs.

His husky chuckling rang in your ears. “Gods, after so long…” he could not even finish, pressing airlight kisses upon your inner thigh, each phantom touch nearing the kernel of arousal. “So…fucking long…”

The minute he reached his destination his tongue slipped free of his mouth. Holding onto your thighs, he let himself take the last step.

His tongue sliding along your cunt had you melting on the table. 

You were certain the table had crumbled beneath you, the ground fading as your husband explored you, lapping up the arousal dripping since the moment he graced you with his touch. A satisfied noise left his occupied mouth, you tasting like the honey wine you poured for him not an hour ago.

This. This made fighting relentlessly for two years worth it. This made every single drop of blood, buckets of sweat and floods of tears worth it. Life was hard, torturous even away from Rome, from you, but all that dark anguish in the time lost between you two was worth it if this was his reward.

And Jihoon would make sure this, too, would be worth it for you.

His tongue found your clit, and if you were not a mess before, the tendrils of pleasure that came with reduced you to cinders. He circled the bud like a slow march, growing faster with each passing beat. You moaned his name, a mantra on your lips which only rang louder. 

“J-Jihoon,” you kept whimpering, and his tongue would circle faster. You begin to thrash against him, unable to sit still while he brought you such unadulterated thrill. You would have happily grinded against his face had his hands on your thighs not tightened, indicating to stop fidgeting.

In honesty you tried—you endeavoured to be composed, but the bastard made the task impossible. The writhing continued, and would have kept going had Jihoon not halted his actions.

You let out an agitated yelp. 

“I’m sorry, vita, but you have to stay still,” he replied, fingers running along your thighs. “Do you not want to enjoy this?”

His lips glistened as he spoke, courtesy of your cunt. With his head in between your thighs, he was a feast for your eyes. “Fuck, Jihoon, I…I already am.” 

Maybe he agreed that he was a fine feast, for he curved his shining mouth in a dark smirk, eyes not leaving yours as he slowly slung a leg over his shoulder. “Well then,” he began, repeating with the other leg, fingers skimming the naked skin. “Let me add to your pleasure.”

This time, when he dove in, he was relentless.

You gripped onto the edge of the table, fingers digging into the wood as he quickened the rhythm of his tongue, working on your bundle of nerves so deliciously you wondered how your soul still survived inside your body. 

The wondering stopped, your questions answered when his finger joined in on the ravishing, sliding inside you and knocking the breath out of you. He was so undeniably good, knowing you liked the insertion slow, almost testing the waters before completely undoing you.

And gods bless him, for that is all he intended to do. The Eagle of Rome only knelt for the gods, but you, your whines, your writhing pleasure he drank like a man parched…

You had become a deity in his eyes; and a celestial figure deserved the best of service — hours upon hours of honing your desire because he was the only one who was capable of ruining you.

Another finger found itself inside you, and your cunt began to pulsate at the fullness it achieved, inching along the growing tension bubbling deep within your gut. Beads of sweat dripped down, your willpower to not thrash against his face about to snap, and when he fastened his pace an obscenely loud moan ripped through your mouth. 

You were much too close to the final high.

“Fuck, Jihoon—!” you nearly cried, hands unable to stray from his hair, his wonderful, lustrous hair. “Jihoon, please, I’m so clo—”

His free hand on your thigh squeezed you ever so slightly, as if aware of your near absolution. He only sped up his work, his fingers gliding in and out so quickly you could not keep up. If that was not enough, his mouth sucking on your clit was ready to bring the sky down on your head.

But Jihoon was ready to risk the destruction of all the world. Ready to face the gods in his last hour as he swirled your swollen bud with his tongue one last time.

That was enough to come undone.

Your release came crashing, curls of pleasure riding all through your body as your mind misted into fog, no thought or idea save for the slow assistance of your husband, easing your throbbing. A lust-struck sigh came out of you, hand falling from his hair onto his tensed shoulder. Sensing your high washing over, he slowed his tongue, fingers withdrawn from your cunt.

He caught your gaze in his, two slick fingers hanging between you two. He dared you to look away as he brought them to his lips, slipping them inside and tasting the residue.

That sight alone could have made you come for the second time. 

The bastard knew it too, for a ghost of a smirk exposed itself on his face, once his fingers were clean of your arousal. “Could not let it go to waste,” he murmured, as if your wetness was liquid gold. 

Hands back on your thighs once more, he lifted himself up gently, toga in disarray over his service. With you sat upon the table, his fingers found home upon your chin, lifting your line of sight on him.

Pure hunger lay dormant in his eyes. 

Not just his eyes, but his mouth still, when he leaned in and kissed you. You returned it without question, desire coiling around your soul as if it had not been released mere minutes ago.

You did not care. Not when you had waited so fucking long.

The man smiled between the burning kisses, humming at your lusted agony as he slid an arm around your waist. “My love—” a kiss upon the corner of your mouth —”What more shall I do—” another kiss, to the other corner—”For you?”

If he kept at it like this, you were going to forget your mother tongue. “Inside me…” you mustered between his lips on you, on your skin. A pathetic attempt, but your mind was still recovering from your release.

He paused, a malicious grin curving. “Pray, mea vita, my sweet, was I not just inside you?” Tugging you off the table, he held on tight as your knees buckled. “See? Even your body speaks for me.”

Your leg brushed against the weakness of his argument, almost tenting his toga. “Does yours?” you managed to remark, catching the defeated furrow of his brow. 

His stare had you silent once again, butterflies forming in your stomach. Leaning in, his lips brushed against the shell of your ear. 

“I’ll have your body screaming for me when I’m done, vita.”

Your body, in his response, shuddered against him.

Jihoon did not wait for more as he slotted his mouth along yours, igniting the flame again, unable to have enough of you as he whirled you around, eliciting the same little whines he adored so ardently.

He swooped you up in his arms, knowing your legs could not take the walk to the bed. Never stopping his kisses, he knew where to go by memory, hands skirting along your skin as he neared the final haven of tonight. Despite his words, he laid you gently upon the bed, continuing his trail upon your cheeks, your jaw, anywhere where you would allow him. 

Your heart sang at what was to come. Memories flooded you, passionate nights of years ago reminding you of what had been, and what distance had snatched from you. You had never forgotten the last time you both had made love, the very last night you both had been offered before he was to sail away to satiate his need for vengeance. He had asked nothing from you, not a single request, even though he knew you would have given it to him in a heartbeat. 

No, that night, he had explored every inch, every crevice of your body—burned his presence onto your skin till the entirety of Rome knew that Lee Jihoon had left a piece of himself in you. That piece morphed into the child you bore, but Jihoon had never really left your soul, despite the thousands of miles stretching between you two.

“Never again,” you let yourself whisper as he broke away, your hands fisting themselves in his toga, tugging off the fabric which was another form of distance. You needed him once again. Yes, you had withstood miles upon miles away from him. But now, you could not handle even inches apart.

He understood. He always understood, slipping off the clothing till it reached his hips. Climbing over you, his abdomen exposed, you could not believe your cheeks burned at the sight of him half-naked before you. A small chuckle escaped him, and he stole a quick kiss before burying himself into your neck.

His fingers reached for the loose straps of your dress, barely of use. “Take these off for me, darling,” he whispered, and the order vibrated along your skin, ready to be followed. While you desperately tried to pry your dress off, he pressed open-mouthed kisses along the base of your throat, making your simple task an impossible mission.

One strap fell, and Jihoon’s teeth slowly sank into your skin, sucking at the spot with such passion a soft groan trambles out of you, unsure whether you could get the other half of your dress off. Thankfully, with someone as accommodating as him, he pressed an unironically chaste kiss before finding the last straps himself. 

The pure smugness in his eyes had you in near tears. “One little kiss, and you’ve ceased working,” he drawled breathily. “Must I do all the work, my sweet?”

You would have cursed his ancestors had he not brought your dress down, tossing the clothing to the side and drinking in your bare figure. 

A breath shuddered out of him, certain that you could inhale the pure lust oozing from him. “I can’t…I cannot believe I went two years without…without this—”

The words were left unfinished as he wasted no time, indulging your mouth for moments before pouncing downwards, taking your left breast in his mouth and skimming his teeth softly against the nipple. The man was riling you up now, you taking his hair in your hands, certain you were trying to tear his locks out with the way you held onto him. Jihoon did not seem to mind, too occupied with your breasts to pay heed to your damage.

“Jihoon, please, I need you to—fuck!” cut off with his tongue encircling your breasts, you nearly had had enough. Your cunt ached for the final descent, your patience growing thin. “Please, I-I need you inside me!”

His answer was allowing one last lick to your right nipple, cold striking your breasts as he looked down at you, eyes glossed over with carnal delight. With his hand he ripped away the toga pooling at his hips, and his cock was freed, almost enraged to be cloaked away in silk. 

You looked like a fool staring at it, but you could not help it—you did not remember it being so huge, even though it has been inside you countless times. Another piece of evidence that he had been away from you long enough.

“Ogled enough, darling?” his voice snapped you back, and you were almost embarrassed at the shit-eating grin that lit up his face. 

“Shut up,” you mumbled, but you could not say more, you being silenced with his searing kiss. 

Pulling away, his forehead rested against yours, black locks tickling your cheeks as he held your one side in one hand, and his cock in another.

Nudging your legs apart, the tip brushed against your folds, and your soul nearly departed from the ghost of a touch. “Careful,” he warned, thumb stroking your hip, and he stole a glance at you.

“I love you, vita,” he whispered.

And began the final descent.

His cock slid inside, slowly, ever so slowly, but with every inch you felt each layer of your spirit stop to a standstill. Jihoon never stopped watching—catching your parted mouth, the shallow, uneven breaths you took, the knitted brows, your fingers holding onto him for dear life. He could not help it, see—these few seconds, these few, transitory moments, where both souls are on the edge of the world, and none know whether they’d hang on, or fall to their doom.

This moment encompassed such an image within the features of your face.

And he relished it. Captured the image, and used it as fuel to his carnal fire as he buried himself into you, releasing a breath he kept inside the entire time. Maybe it was after so long, but the two of you stayed still, your husband fearing you might snap. A frivolous thought, of course, but one can believe anything when one is so vulnerable.

One look from you, though, had his doubts disappearing in an instant. You let a small smile escape, and it was all he needed before he slowly withdrew, the mere action so gratifying you wondered whether it was another one of your dreams, a vision granted by the mercy of the gods.

Maybe the gods were extra pleased, for Jihoon was no dream—only a very pleasing reality, waiting for your whimpers to fill the room before thrusting back into you again. The rhythm was beginning to strike, and you were its follower; the shy hesitations started to fade, and you could feel his desire burning with every slide out, and every slide in of his cock into you, holding onto your hips to keep you steady. 

With each thrust you felt the stakes of your pleasure reach higher and higher. Tendrils of delight rippled through you with his movements, quickening yet keeping his fluidity, like an elegant dancer in a warfield, somehow managing to emerge victorious with his body alone. Of course, you could never doubt your husband. He was the favourite of the Empire for a reason.

“By the gods, you—” he plunged into you once more, and he grazed a certain spot inside you that had you seeing the universes. “You’re so fucking good to me, you—”

Never finishing his sentences, never even finishing his line of thought, the sole thing in his mind being your delicious fucking folds, your cunt which felt so perfect around his cock. He leaned in further, teething sweet love bites onto your neck, revelling in your pleasured groaning, growing louder and louder with each quickened thrust. “Yes, vita, just like that!” he exclaimed, never stopping. “For all of Rome to hear!”

He did not care a bit if the world heard them now. All that mattered to him was you, you and only you.

More so when that familiar, growing ache of nerves was back, warning you of your impending release. Jihoon was ruthless to you, relentless with his cock, unforgiving with his tongue and teeth which managed to devour your every inch. There was no escaping it—the ache was like a tightened knot, with his actions well on its way to unravel it.

“I-I’m close, Jihoon,” you breathed out, pressing your lips on his chest, his shoulder, anything you could grasp. “Please, love, I need to—”

“I know, vita,” he guttered, as if he, too, was close. He did not care much for that, though, when all he could focus on was you, all broken words and teary gazes beneath him. “I know.”

To add even more to your doom, he brought back an older prospect, fingers circling your clit and heightening the delight swirling within your gut ten times over. The nerves were pumping, faster and faster, and you were deathly aware that it was now or never.

Your eyes, seeing stars throughout, found your husband within the mist of desire. “J-Jihoon…”

Everything was forgotten. Not a word remembered in the fog of your mind but your vita’s name, your lover’s name, bright as the summer sun, as bold as the royal colours he adorned in his triumph.

As true as the love never lost between the two of you.

It was enough for the Eagle of Rome to capture your lips, holding you in a heart-wrenching kiss.

It was enough for you to completely ruin yourself.

Your cries drowned onto his mouth as release came crashing, legs shaking as you died and resurrected all at once, came undone within his hold. The world slipped away in that moment, with him as your anchor, saving you from being eternally lost.

While you lay breathless, Jihoon slipped himself out of you, breaking away from your kiss to cry out himself, spilling himself onto you and the sheets. A haggard fuck escaped him, arcing over you before throwing himself beside you. 

Silence welcomed you after that.

The din of the party remained, and both of you gasping, but a silence followed, like a warm winter blanket. Both of you stared at the ceiling, the moonlit parts of the surfaces, trying to catch your breaths after what you both just experienced.

Turning your head, you caught Jihoon already stealing glances. They were heavy-lidded, unsurprisingly, yet you found it endearing, despite the circumstances.

“What?” you got out, cocking your head at his soft staring.

He shook his head, smiling tiredly. He stretched his arm out towards you, murmuring, “Come here.”

Obliging, you followed under his arm, resting your head against his chest. Despite the granite-hardness of his body, no other surface would suffice. Your head rose and fell along to his uneven breathing, a small comfort. 

As the general gazed down at you, the softness returned; his thumb stroked along your cheeks. “I…” he began, voice huskier than usual, you humming in satisfaction. 

“Yes?” you got out, hanging onto his every word. 

Glancing away for a second, he looked to the window, and the view it offered of the world beyond.

He then glanced back at you, a better world he had found of his own.

“I am…so happy…” he whispered. Whispered because he had to tell his world what he felt. “So happy to come back to you.”

Your heart but into a thousand butterflies.

A smile as wide as you could muster was your response.

And as he continued stroking your hair, and you leaning into his hold, you too, knew that you felt the exact same.

For the Eagle of Rome had returned to you at last.

CENTURION LEE CHAN HAD WITNESSED HORRORS.

He had seen thousands of dead men, scattered across the sands of Egypt. He had seen ships sink before his very eyes—by the gods, he had even seen the beginnings of death, when he nearly drowned at the final naval battle that secured Legacy Legion its victory.

None of these events, however, made him more queasy as realising that you, while you were laid beside your husband, were not experiencing intoxication from honey wine. It was an exhilaration of a completely unusual kind, a feeling that had the tips of his ears reddening. 

His fellow men’s reactions only made it worse. “What did you think they were going to do?” Seungkwan only demanded. “Sleep it off on their first night together?”

“Well, how was I to know?” the youngest visibly shivered. “I do not know how married people work.”

“Poor soul,” Soonyoung tutted out, no plans for pausing his drink. “I fear for when he is to wed.”

“I still do not understand,” Seokmin voiced out. “They have a whole child together. How did you not…”

“My apologies for not pondering over our general’s intimate life,” Chan grumbled. “How idiotic of me.”

“Do not mind these deviants,” Wonwoo assured him, handing him a fresh cup of wine. “You just drink their awful comments away.”

He spared a fearful glance at the cup, filled with honey wine. “I should not,” he meant to declare in a confident stance. His voice, already weakened from a previous revelation of his commander’s, had rendered his declaration as a childish mumble. “The baby would need my attention sooner or later.”

“Fuck the baby!” was Seokmin’s great exclamation, clicking his tongue. “He is already the star guest of this damned celebration. We—!” he patted his chest repeatedly—”We were supposed to be the ones our people fawn over!”

“Your need for attention never fails to astound me,” Wonwoo remarked, circling his drink. “The boy was named after our murdered friend.”

“It happens to men like Seokmin,” Seungkwan drawled, slinging an arm around him, “To those men who received no attention at home.”

“Fuck off!” Seokmin jeered, rasped out from the alcohol buzzing in his system. “At least our Roman women fawned over me this afternoon. Where were your girls?”

“My, my, our dear Seokmin’s imagination runs so wild!” The second-youngest cooed condescendingly, grabbing Wonwoo’s cup, which had the latter furrowing his brows. “He dreams of female attention when we have seen no evidence of it!”

Soonyoung wished to join in on the bullying, chiming in, “And now he envies a child that cannot control its own piss!”

As everyone laughed at the poor, drunk soul, who genuinely looked as if he might cry, Wonwoo waved his large hands around, as if attempting to calm everyone down. “No more harassing the unloved virgin.”

“We were not talking about Chan though,” Soonyoung instantly piped up, his next said-target narrowing his eyes. 

“Just because I choose to save myself for someone I love,” he grumbled, which had chuckling resonating around the group.

“Gods help her when she turns up, then,” Seungkwan sighed out, drinking Wonwoo’s wine. 

Perhaps Chan might have said something in retort—might have even garnered the strength to punch the honey wine out of his friend’s insides when one of the servants came hurrying. 

He identified her as Myrtia, your personal maid, who looked incredibly distressed. “Centurion Lee,” she immediately began, “Seungcheol keeps crying!”

“Oh, gods,” Soonyoung crowed, “Wet-nurse first, soldier second, is it?”

“At least he is not a whore first, Soonyoung,” Seokmin muttered.

“Both of you, shut up!” Chan finally snapped, turning to Myrtia once more. “Where is he right now? Will _____ not tend to him?”

“Our dear _____ is a little occupied being tended to herself, remember?” Seungkwan reminded him, his smirk malicious. 

The youngest flushed scarlet, shaking his head. “Right, of course…” He heaved himself off the cushions, to much of his friends’ agitation. “I will see what to do.”

“What?” Soonyoung sat up, but the alcoholic daze had him swaying slightly. “Wait, wait, wait, don’t just leave!” 

“Take me to Cheol,” Chan said to Myrtia, but before she could even agree, four rounds of disapproving voices hurled towards the poor boy.

“No!” Seungkwan exclaimed first, taking great pains to hoist himself off the long tables. “No, no, you cannot go on your own!”

“Exactly!” Seokmin joined in, using Seungkwan’s toga to try hauling himself up. “You will die in there!” 

Wonwoo clicked his tongue, even though he, too, was beginning to follow after his friends. “Chan is not going to die with a mere child.”

Chan watched his superiors rise carelessly from their furnishings, already feeling a little frantic. “What are you all doing?”

“Why, coming with you, of course!” 

“Myrtia, my sweet,” Soonyoung purred, patting a hand on her shoulder, “You lead us straight to the baby!” 

Hurriedly nodding, she turned and headed towards the destination, five centurions hot on her heels as they were led down the familiar hallways. Chan muttered to himself, but did not have time to self-ponder when he was constantly being distracted.

“How much longer is this going to take?” Seokmin whined, holding onto the walls for support. “And since when did the lamps on _____’s walls start shaking?”

“It has not been a minute and you’re complaining!” Seungkwan snarked out. “It’s a wonder you managed to walk forty miles everyday, lazy git.” 

“Not lazy enough to slice your mouth right off!” 

“Just this door here,” Myrtia said, turning into the empty doorway, dipping her head in respect as she stepped out of the way, allowing Chan to enter first, the rest stumbling behind him. 

Sure enough, the first noise heard in everyone’s ears was the wailing—a screechy, whiny sound which reverberated off the stone walls, striking discomfort, irritation, turmoil in the hearts of whoever heard them. The man who felt it the most dashed to the cot, brows joining together in agitation over the sight of the baby. 

“You would think Chan was the father,” Seungkwan retorted. “Do something about this crying, boy!” 

“You really are heartless,” Wonwoo scolded, following after the youngest. Observing the crying child, he pursed his mouth into a thin line. “How does one…stop a baby from crying?”

“Only a mother can take care of her child,” Seokmin voiced out, as if he thought of a ground-breaking notion akin to Plato’s wisdom. 

“We are not disturbing _____,” Seungkwan rebuked, shaking his head vigorously. “Those two have waited nearly two years to fuck each other again.”

“Let them have their fun!” Soonyoung roared, which had the baby crying louder. “Gods, Chan, you are the youngest after Cheol. Handle this sobbing mess!”

“I have seen twenty summers,” Chan muttered.

“Yes, so a baby in my eyes!” 

“Of course you are going to consider Chan as a baby, you geriatric. It’s a wonder you did not collapse on the battlefield.” 

I will kill you in the next war, Seungkwan.”

As the rest started grumbling amongst themselves, the youngest gently picked up the bundle, slowly rocking him in hopes to calm the crying. Seungcheol’s face was reddened with the constant sorrow, and it broke Chan’s heart a little, hoping that he would gain some newfound power and solve whatever problem ailed him. 

A sigh escaping him, he began to mumble sweet nothings to him, morphing those whispers in a quaint song he heard from his own childhood. His melody was like honey wine, words so soft, his voice so sweet, that the men that accompanied him began to quieten, turning their heads to the origin.

Wonwoo watched the scene, smiling lop-sidedly. “You are a natural!”

“It is quite embarrassing,” Seokmin admitted, scratching the back of his head, “That the youngest of us is the only one able to calm a child.”

“None of us claimed to be good with children,” Seungkwan thought out loud, observing the younger soldier tend to the sobbing, which had quietened to mere whimpers. 

Soonyoung tried to raise a brow—strong on tried, but he was too drunk to carry out such a simple action. “You always boasted of your relationships with your nieces and nephews.”

“That is different. I could care less about random urchins.”

“Seungkwan!” Seokmin exclaimed. “Seungcheol is no urchin.”

“He was though, was he not?” The man scoffed, albeit a bit tenderly as he began to reminisce. “Gods, did you forget how insufferable he was?”

“Always on our arses, too,” Soonyoung agreed, snickering. “Do you remember when he got us in shit with Octavian?”

“Talking back to Caesar’s successor during our first military session.” Wonwoo visibly shivered. “The punishment still haunts me.”

But the distant memory only made the rest chuckle, as if the centurions had not received verbal lashings from the leader of Rome at that time. Silence bathed the room, only Seungcheol’s voice sputtering through the surface of calm. It had only been a meagre two-and-half years since the inspiration behind his name had passed, but with the hardships of the Alexandria campaign, it had felt like decades. Even Chan felt the age of this campaign, although he was young when he suffered the loss. 

He sensed the loss a little more that night as, walking away from the cot, he leaned against the wall. As if unable to stand, he let his legs buckle a little, sliding down and settling on the floor, feet spreading out before him. “I sometimes see him in my dreams,” he admitted. 

There was a heavy pause. 

Then, “He visited me more a year back.”

Everyone focused on Soonyoung. Travelling to where his youngest friend sat, he copied his position, continuing, “I told Jihoon about it, actually, right before Actium…I deemed it a sign of the gods.” A small laugh huffed out of him. “He then corrected me, saying it was all Cheol.”

“Typical,” Seungkwan said, smiling. “Take all the might of the gods and reward himself for it.”

“I cannot blame him, though,” Wonwoo countered, wandering over to the seated duo, looking down at their general’s son. “A loss of faith can come with a loss of a loved one.”

“Yes, but look at us now!” Seokmin reasoned, gesturing to them all. “Victors of the coming generation!” 

“But these so-called ‘Victors’ cannot stop a baby from crying,” Wonwoo murmured, sitting beside Chan. “I doubt we deserve that title.”

“Hey, at least Chan deserves it.” Seokmin hurried to sit beside the former, watching tenderly over at the baby. “Look, he is silent now!” 

“No way!” Seungkwan exclaimed, sauntering to the group and settling beside Soonyoung, reaching over to inspect the claim.

Sure enough—at the centre of the most powerful soldiers in Rome, almost slumbering in complete peace, was a silent Seungcheol, happy Seungcheol as he stirred only if Chan moved his hand, or shifted his legs. It was not as if they had not seen a mere child before, but, once again, this bundle, so full of life, was different. This was their commander’s legacy. Their leader’s soul extended from his own life-force, his evidence that he loved. 

This Seungcheol that the five men stared at was the new beginning. 

It was a long time before anyone spoke. “Do you think he looks more like one over the other?” Wonwoo asked.

“All babies look the same to me,” Seokmin offered his opinion. 

By Seungkwan’s incredulous glance, it seemed it was not appreciated. “No one let this idiot have a child of his own.”

The accused frowned, genuinely hurt. “Hey! I should like to have a family one day. Give you all opportunity to become uncles again.”

“I would recognise your baby anywhere,” Soonyoung crowed, “Because it shall be the ugliest out of ours.”

The gasp that escaped Seokmin had Chan choking out a laugh. Seungcheol stirred at the action, which had the latter immediately stilling. “You guys need to insult each other’s future children a little quieter,” he whispered. 

The former had other plans, though. “Wait, can I hold him?” 

Chan shot a concerned glance. “Fine, but be careful!” he insisted, slowly handing over the bundle to Wonwoo, who, after smiling at him, passed him over at the end. 

Seokmin began rocking the child, who glanced up at him, languidly blinking up at the soldier. He was ecstatic, softly touching the tiny nose, and feeling his mouth widen into a grin. “See? He likes me already!”

“Yeah, after Chan has done all the hard labour,” Wonwoo commented, beaming at the baby’s expression. 

“I want Cheol after you,” Soonyoung demanded, crossing his arms, “So he can see what a real man is like.”

“Real jester, more like,” Seungkwan muttered, earning himself a hard elbow in the side. 

What Seokmin wanted to do was tell the eldest to wait his turn. He did not have the opportunity when he smelt the air around him, and found it most foul.

Chan noticed it immediately as well, and within the next few seconds, the others caught on. Five pairs of eyes whirled to the baby, who had the audacity to giggle.

Seokmin let out a scream. 

“BY THE FUCKING GODS—!”

Everyone scrambled to their feat, the rest struggling to hold back their amusement. “Not so loud!” Chan hissed, though he was restraining a laugh, only successful by the finger on his lips. 

“Stupid damned baby!” Seokmin screeched, holding the bundle at arms length. 

Wonwoo could not help his laugh, which spluttered out of him. “You cannot blame a baby for acting like one! It is like scolding a dog for running after a bone.”

The comparison had Soonyoung bellowing out, holding his stomach. “I always knew Seungcheol was annoying, but shitting on us is another low!”

Seokmin visibly shivered, patience running thin. “I hope he is rotting in the underworld,” he cursed, completely merciless. 

“I hope he is laughing at you,” Seungkwan prayed instead, wiping a few tears from his eyes. 

Chan only shook his head, walking to the doorway and stretching his head out. “Myrtia!” he called out, catching her tending to the guests in the dining areas. 

Quickly she arrived at the scene, understanding immediately what had occurred, judging by the men’s reactions. “Hand him over, Centurion,” she ordered, he obliging her instantly. 

“Sorry?” Seokmin offered, as if he was the one who soiled his toga. That had the others laughing even more, which had him furrowing his brows. “You men are the worst!”

“After ruining Chan’s night with all our complaints, it is only fair that we turn to you!” Soonyong explained, as if that was perfectly reasonable. 

Seungkwan cackled darkly. “We really are each other’s worst enemy.”

Wonwoo somehow found that incredibly sentimental. “I would not have it any other way,” he said, slinging his arm around Chan, ushering the other three to join in. “After all, who knows us better?”

“You make a stellar point!” The eldest clasped onto Chan’s free side, poking him in the cheek. “I would not wish to befriend any other wretched bastard.”

“You do not possess the ability to make friends, Soonyoung,” Seungkwan pointed out. 

“Then what are we?” Seokmin demanded, offended, the last to join the group. 

“Comrades?”

“Colleagues?”

“People who have seen me naked?”

But it was Chan, who was quiet all this time, observing his older—usually irritating, sometimes diabolical, yet always beloved—superiors, there formed an answer which had been settled in his heart the moment he had found their company nearly a decade back.

“Brothers.”

The men surrounding him stilled, gawking at the centre of their group—the centre that was always the core of their brotherhood. Although there was ample opportunity to poke fun at the situation, they found no ground for such humiliation. They only watched as, in an almost comical image, four pairs of eyes softened at the boy who had grown right in front of them. 

Wonwoo ruffled the youngest’s mop of waves. “And you are the dearest out of us all.”

“And do not forget it,” Seungkwan said. “Even if we make you seem otherwise.”

Chan smiled at them all, face flushing at the amount of attention received. A comfortable silence fell over them, everyone pondering over different notions, reminiscing of their times together. 

Soonyoung, however, possibly still a little intoxicated, thought of a completely different opportunity—thoughts of the very near future. 

“Men,” he began, “I have a proposition.”

The soldiers perked up, about to brace themselves for a revolutionary idea.

“Who wants to spy on Jihoon and _____?”

There was a momentary pause. Chan, visibly horrified, whirled his head left and right, praying to the gods that his fellow brothers felt the same. 

“Go on, then.” 

And as the four eldest centurions shuffled to the nursery’s entrance, Chan scrambled for a solution, because he would have rather been Mark Antony’s prisoner than listen to his commander and his wife…solidify their reunion.

He sucked in a sharp breath. 

“Wait!” 

The men paused, looking over their shoulders. “What is it?”

That intake of breath was released in complete devastation. So much for calling these utter shits brothers. 

“How about we all drink? I shall…” A hard gulp. “I shall join you properly all this time.”

They could not believe it at first. Chan, however, trudged over to them, grabbing onto whatever shoulder was nearest. “I mean it.”

He swore his brothers seemed happier in that moment than they had been cradling Jihoon’s child. 

“Well, what are we waiting for?!” Soonyoung roared, already leaving the entrance. “Let us empty the coffers!” 

And as the five most powerful men in Rome ran to be utterly gone with alcohol, Chan could not help but huff out a laugh, and hoped he had done his primus pilus a favour. 

YOU HAD ALWAYS ADORED THE WAY YOUR HUSBAND SLEPT.

As one of the most esteemed, strongest generals ever walked on Roman soil, Lee Jihoon looked as vulnerable as your baby son as he lay next to you. His body rose and fell with every breath, his arm a strong comfort around you. 

You could not help the smile that slipped past your mouth, watching him rest so peacefully after two years. You loved every single inch of your husband, but these little pieces of him, offered to you on rare occasions—with the sun bleeding through the bedroom windows, cool air drifting inside, kissing your skin—were a treasure rarer than all the wealths of the empire. 

You dared not wake him, lest the moment ended, only allowing your fingers to stretch a little forward. Your fingertips caressed the small cuts, scars on his skin, wishing you could fill every crevice of his battle-worn face with your liquid love. 

How beautiful he was, with or without what his experiences added onto him. 

Perhaps he could feel the adoration radiating off of you, for he began to stir faintly, humming to your caresses. His arm around you pulled you closer, and you were mere inches from face. 

What fortune to be so close to him, because you witnessed his eyes flutter open. Dark, chocolate irises welcomed you, and you wished with your heart that you could dive into them, and be forever lost in their haze.

“Morning,” you uttered, smiling.

He offered a lazy one in return. “Morning, my love.”

You almost beamed. “I love it when you say that.” 

His brow raised absentmindedly. “What? Morning?”

You tutted. “I think you need to sleep some more.”

“Hmmm…” he nuzzled into your neck, closing his eyes. “I will if you sleep with me.”

“But I already am.”

He craned his head back, nestled in your chest. “I think you know what I mean, vita.”

Involuntarily, you caught your lower lip between your teeth, and by the look on Jihoon’s face, he had half a mind to copy your actions.

Perhaps you would have let him too, if you did not hear a suspicious sound.

You perked up, head turning towards the door, where the origins of the voice—voices, as you listened in—lay. Your husband, catching onto your change of countenance, stretched himself before sitting up straighter, eyes squinting at the door.

Grabbing onto your clothes, which lay unceremoniously on the floor, you half-dressed yourselves before you reached just before the entrance of the room. The voices were much louder, a sense of agitation filling each one.

The loudest of the noise, amongst all the bickering, was a soft wail.

“—you stupid prick, I told you not to feed it that!”

“Well how was I supposed to know what it likes?”

“I hope you and Seokmin never have children—”

“Gods, Jihoon is going to be raging mad—!”

“What it deserves for being called Cheol—!”

You did not get to hear the end of the discussion, for Jihoon grabbed onto the doorknob and burst open the door.

Shrieks were heard on the entrance, five centurions stumbling into your bedroom, one with a special, wailing package in his hand.

“By the gods!” your husband exclaimed, shaking his head at his subordinates, scrambling to stand straight. “What are you all doing, muttering about behind our door?”

“Uhh…general!” Wonwoo declared, earning a sharp hiss from his friends. “We actually…uhhh…” He looked at the others, confused. “What were we here for?”

Soonyoung, rubbing his temples, seethed, “Seungcheol, you idiot!”

“Ah, yes!” Wonwoo straightened, deepening his voice to pretend sobriety. “Seungcheol!” 

Seokmin’s eyes widened. “But Seungcheol died years ago!”

Seungkwan then smacked him around the head. “Not that Seungcheol, you fucking idiot!”

You are the fucking idiot, you ugly bastard!”

You glanced at Chan, whose focus only lay on the crying child. The one who held him looked as if he might burst into tears too, but you spoke up before you had any more crying children in the house. “Here, let me tend to him.”

The boy handed you your son, but you noticed he dared not look you in the eye. “Is something the matter?” you asked him softly.

Soonyoung scoffed at your question. “Silly little virgin has been shitting his toga ever since he heard you two fucking like rabid dogs.”

“Watch your filthy mouth,” your husband guttered, which had the scolded-man shrinking back behind Wonwoo.

Seokmin snickered, Seungkwan smirking as you glanced at the youngest. “Chan…” you trailed off, not really sure on what to say.

Thankfully, your husband seemed to have a solution. “Chan, please grow up,” he remarked, crossing his arms over his tousled clothing. “You were holding my child mere seconds ago.”

“He just needs to stick his cock into someone,” Seungkwan said, a bit too matter-of-factly.

“Or something,” added Seokmin, the honey wine clearly still talking.

You saw Chan physically recoil from the statement. “What did you even have in mind?” Wonwoo asked, nose scrunching in distaste. “Actually, I do not want to know.” 

“Sober up, the lot of you,” you said, unable to stay serious, despite the death glares Jihoon offered them. “I need you all to help me clean the place up today.”

Everyone unanimously groaned, causing the latter to get irritated. “If I hear a sound from you pathetic drunkards, then it’s 40 miles around the city.”

Soonyoung turned his head to you, clearly exasperated. “_____, did you bite his cock or something?”

“Soonyoung!” You gasped. 

“I need to lie down,” Wonwoo groaned, turning towards the door. “I shall be dunking myself in a well nearby.”

“Take Seokmin with you,” Seungkwan drawled, fixing his hair. “Maybe this time he will actually drown.”

“If I drown little man, I’m taking you with me,” the man snapped. 

“Chan, dear, please sort them out,” you requested, hearing him sigh.

“I shall try my best, my lady,” he mumbled, knowing that his best efforts will be in vain. 

As he began to leave, you called out his name. He looked back, and you smiled as you rocked Seungcheol in your arms. “You are his favourite, Chan.”

The revelation had his frown morphing into a small smile, bowing his head ever so slightly before turning to his centurions. “Let us give our general some privacy.”

Seokmin grumbled underneath his breath, following after Chan. “As if they had not had enough privacy…could have made another baby for all we know…”

Jihoon focused his gaze on Soonyoung and Seungkwan. “Remember. No fucking about or it’s 40 miles.”

The latter waved his hand, opening the door. “Yes, yes, we are aware.”

Soonyoung mocked a salute, adorning a most dramatic drawl. “Of course, your excellency, no doubt at all, your royal highness, please, do give us further idiotic orders to taunt us with, your magnanimous majesty!”

Jihoon’s glare did not waver. “Get out.”

“…right on, general.”

And so the last of the centurions were out, you standing at the door as they made to leave. Before they exited, though, they all simultaneously waved at you, some a bit too enthusiastically, others a soft gesture. 

“Ave, _____! Ave, general!”

And they left, laughing already with plans to bring more merriment into their lives.

Your husband joined you, leaning against the opposite door frame. “I have a feeling they’re going to drag poor Chan into some brothel.”

“I think the boy would pass out before that would take place,” you said, chuckling as you glanced down at your child. “At least he takes care of Cheol well.”

“Does he?“

“…better than the average soldier, then.”

“At least they had fun yesterday.” Jihoon took a step closer, observing his son giggling at his mother’s entertainment. “Though they test my patience everyday, they deserve all the reward.”

“Do not exclude yourself, my love,” you reminded him. “You did not enslave yourself to your armies to disregard yourself like that.”

“I do not exclude myself.” His hand reached out, holding Seungcheol’s little head. How strange, that his entire head could fit in his palm. “I am simply happy with what I have right now.”

He offered you a smile. “I am more than happy with you and my son beside me. I ask for nothing more.”

You returned his smile, heart bursting at the seams as he leaned in, enveloping your lips with his in a sweet kiss.

And as the two of you played with your son in the morning light of the Roman sun, you snuck glances at your husband, the light of the Empire. The Eagle of Rome.

Finally, your home was now complete.

[arijackz]

PICK A CARD: Your Road to Fame

♛ “If God gives you something you can do, why in God's name wouldn't you do it?” ―Stephen King

Disclaimer: This is a general reading, take what resonates. This is a gender-neutral reading, change any pronouns to apply to you.

p1 → p2 ↙︎ p3 → p4

♕ Pile One (8oP, 3oW rev., Temperance, The Hermit)

Your road to fame would be quite unorthodox and since you’re paving an original path, it would take time, patience, and dedication. This is not an overnight sensation type of thing. Think Sheraseven- the Sprinkle Sprinkle Lady ✨. She had been consistently making content (unique, neo “feminist” videos way before it picked up in media) for well over a decade. She even had a spiritual side to her, she talked about esoteric themes in pop culture and made guides on how to manifest and attract abundance. 

This is my spiritual pile, you would get famous for offering psychic insight (using clairaudience capabilities in particular) or putting your own creative spin on things using your spiritual attunement. Like Sheraseven for example, she combined her interest in esoteric practices with her love for pop culture and social commentary. 

Inherently, esoteric studies have smaller audiences so it would take significant time to build up worldwide fame (if you even want that). 

Honestly, with your skills, any fame you get is due to a higher power. You are a conduit for elevating the collective consciousness. You will be seen because your insight is meant to be heard. Society is heading towards a deep transformation and shift of power from the ultra-rich to the common man and you’re one of the ushers of this change. Your words empower people and are a primary reason for your incarnation. 

Any platform you build is going to be held to a higher standard than most in the eyes of the public and the universe. People are going to look at you for guidance and inspiration and the petty, nasty shit you see in media nowadays will not bode well if you enact it. You will be made an example of how to behave and treat others. Your bad actions will be punished more harshly than anyone else’s and your good actions will be rewarded tenfold. 

Major Jupiterian and Plutonian influence. A genius astrologer on this app tracked the most common nakshatras of K-Pop Idols, and Jupiter dominated their charts. They are held to an incredibly high standard and are trained to be model citizens. However, their fame surpasses the average celebrity and they are practically worshipped worldwide. *ahem* You.

I mean… imagine if a holier-than-thou mental health, peace, and love guru was bullying people on Twitter, nobody would listen to anything you have to say. You HAVE to pay careful attention to your media presence and image.

Howeevveerrr, your biggest personal challenge is trusting yourself and your capability. The thing with spirituality is, it lies outside of human perception, so there is no concrete evidence to prove it to others. So, you would battle with, “Am I even right? Will anyone believe me?” and it would cause a shit ton of anxiety cause you’re constantly questioning yourself. 

Be cautious not to clip your own wings. I can't stress this enough: you are meant for this! You are the real deal! If others don’t believe in you, so what? Only YOU need to believe in yourself. Offer honest help to others, and if they choose not to take your advice, that's their loss. Remember, you can lead a horse to water, but you can't make it drink—just as my grandmama would say. DO IT THE FUCK ANYWAY!

But have patience! That’s another thing, you’ll grow frustrated if your platform isn’t building as quickly as you’d like. You have to remember that the divine has a hand in this ordeal, they are going to attract the right people at the right time and it likely won’t align with your sense of urgency. Trust the process and stay committed—you’re on the right path!

P.S. Your work will be slow. Most careers require a “grind”, yours won’t. You need to prioritize introspection, drawing your attention inward and looking for answers deep within your soul. Don’t stress logic and manipulation of the algorithm, trust your inner knowing. 

(Do you have a prominent Pluto in your chart: Either in a cardinal house or conjunct a personal planet? You are a major player in the world’s rebirth.)

Okay bye bye! MUAH! 💋💋

The Seer of the Space Between Worlds

♕ Pile Two (7oS, 9oS, Queen of Wands, The High Priestess, 5oS, 10oW, 5oW rev.)

YOU’RE SEXY AND HOES ARE MAAADDDDD.

Your road to fame is you embracing your authentic self. Something about your beauty: your looks, how you style yourself, who you’re seeing romantically, your creativity, your sensuality,

or you could lead a visually pleasing “soft girl” lifestyle. Anything that makes people look at you just swoon. 

People would be mad because they think you have it easy. You don’t really have to do much, but be beautiful because people desire you and your lifestyle. If you’re a woman, I see you leading self-confidence courses and teaching women of all ages how to raise their self-esteem by detaching from anything that drains their inner wild woman.

This reading is hyper-feminine, if you’re a man you’d get famous for your proximity to women or will have a female-dominated fanbase that sees you as their dream guy and wants to date you. 

You create a wonderfully comfy vibe; everything you do looks effortless, even if it takes a ton of hard work behind the scenes. You sell a fantasy, showcasing the polished version of a lifestyle while hiding the nitty-gritty realities. Take that Ballerina Farms lady, for example. She’s running a farm, raising 50 kids, and cooking from scratch daily, all while looking FABULOUS. I bet she goes to bed exhausted! Yet to the public, everything appears romantic and effortlessly beautiful, making it seem far easier than it actually is. Now everyone is dreaming of escaping to a self-sustaining farm and embracing that charming cottage-core lifestyle.

However, underneath all the glitz and glamour, there is something dark in your mental space. You attract a lot of envy. People desire your lifestyle to the extent that they’ll get buddy-buddy with you just to be near what you have, hoping it will rub off on them. You’ll have to learn to navigate deceitful energies and “friends” who are secretly competing with you.

People will like the idea of getting you out of your “princess” character. They want you to look like the bad guy- someone who is actually a mean bitch underneath your cool, calm, and collected persona. 

This aspect of fame, in the broader context of your life, will teach you discernment and help you trust your intuitive judgment of others. However, on this journey, you may find yourself grappling with intense paranoia and trust issues. Having been burned by people in the past, you'll become hyper-vigilant, determined to avoid the same pain again. Yet, through this struggle, you'll also discover the importance of vulnerability and the value of genuine connections, allowing you to grow stronger and more resilient in the face of adversity.

You will meet the best people in your life and your greatest adversaries at this time. 

But don’t sweat it, they hate you because they don’t have shit on you.

Okay bye bye! MUAH! 💋💋

She Weaves Timeless Romanticism Into The Mundane

♕ Pile Three (Page of Pentacles, The World, 10oW, King of Pentacles, Powerful, Saturn, Gemini Medical, Seduction)

You have the power to unite the world baby. Your key to fame is sharing your perspective on life. 

You possess a deep understanding of a universal truth that many remain blind to, and it's crucial to share your ideas. If this resonates with you, you'll likely feel a weight of knowledge pressing down on you, creating a longing to communicate and connect with others. This insight isn't just a personal burden; it’s your ticket to stardom. By expressing this truth, you have the potential to inspire others, spark meaningful conversations, and elevate both yourself and those around you. 

You have the gift of the gab, can charm the birds from the trees, a mouth like a magpie, can sell ketchup to a lady in white gloves, and every other saying under the sun that says your words are seductive. 

I don’t think you realize this but you have a knack for attracting an audience. You may feel insecure and think people stare at you for no reason or listen too intently to everything you say, but it's because you radiate an aura of importance. 

Significant placements: Saturn in a cardinal house or major conjunction, Libra, Cap, Aqua, Pushya, Anuradha, and Uttara Bhadrapada.

Your mind is critical, astute, and hyper-aware; this aspect of yourself bleeds into your physical existence. Your body language communicates this fact and people pick up on it, giving the impression that you’re intelligent and have something important to say.

You know those internet personalities who, for whatever reason, people hang onto their every word? When something happens in the media, people rush to their comments and ask about their thoughts and opinions. Or, all their content is their knowledge about niche things or their viewpoint on divisive arguments in society. That’s your shit right there. 

You’re likely not too interested in mainstream media and like to consume content that expands your knowledge and mentally stimulates you. 

There is a deep sense of doubt here, you’re probably reading this and going, “But I’m not smart🫤.”

LIEESSSSS!

You don’t give yourself nearly enough credit, you’re a genius! You might be surprised at how interested people are in your thoughts if you find the courage to share them. Sure, you’ll encounter some naysayers along the way, but who cares? It’s the internet, and let’s be honest—people can be insufferable. You could say the sky is blue and there’d be some smartass like, “Well actually, with all the methane in the atmosphere the sky turns pink with a dash of purple at approximately 6:44 pm in the western hemisphere  ☝🏾🤓.”

You can’t let these losers silence you. 😭😭

Focus on those who resonate with your message and don’t let the negativity hold you back. Your voice matters, and the world needs to hear what you have to say!

Just to reiterate, it IS your ticket to getting the spotlight you deserve.

P.S. If you have Saturn dominance, especially in relation to Mercury, you likely experienced some delays and struggles in your education and learning development (SAMESIES). You might have a speech impediment or struggle to find the right words. 1) Things will get better with time and you will likely surpass everyone else in terms of communication because you will put a lot of focus into refining your speech. 2) People will find your speech endearing because it shows that you’re human, imperfect, and relatable. It makes it easier for people to connect to you and resonate with your message. 

P.S.S. For some of you, this message is tied to your academics and whatever you’re learning professionally. 

P.S.S.S It's hours later, and I'm letting my intuition shape your mood board. The imagery is… quiet yet formidable, like towering mountains or the very core of the Earth. You have an intellect that doesn’t need to scream that it’s sharp. You embody the dignified essence of Saturn, exuding a carefully crafted composure. People are drawn to unravel your layers, eager to glimpse the depth within. It may sound strange, but over time, people come to see you as profoundly wise.

Okay bye bye! MUAH! 💋💋

The Gentle Fortitude in Peace of Mind

♕ Pile Four (Page of Swords, 2oP, 4oW, 4oS rev., 9oS rev., High Priestess)

Haha, you think you won’t find love but you’re about to receive one of the greatest love stories of a lifetime 🫵🏾!

Your road to fame is a blossoming partnership filled with love, mutual respect, and endless banter. 

It could be a familial, platonic, romantic, or a friends-to-lovers situation, doesn’t matter. Your bond with another is what will catch the media’s attention. In today’s age, this could be in the form of a podcast or live streaming where people get to observe you and your person’s natural flow of conversation.

Do you know Aaron and Jo? They’re commentators who’ve been friends since childhood, and their unique rapport is magnetizing. It’s effortless and incredibly comfortable to witness, making their interactions feel genuine and warm. They have middle-school boy humor but they’ve refined it over the years, so it appeals to all audiences and is genuinely hilarious. You and your person will have something one-of-a-kind like this. 

This is sort of separate from the reading, beyond the potential fame, this person is coming into your life (or is already in it) as a gift from the Universe. The karmic scales are balancing in your favor. You’ve spent years emotionally pouring into people with very little in return and as a form of justice, you are going to meet people who “Match your Freak”, so to speak. 

Placements: Tropical Aries, Sidereal Pisces, Uttara Bhadrapada Nakshatra. Any Cancer or 4th house placements. 

You’ll know this is coming when you’re going through a season of release. Whatever has been draining you emotionally and torturing you psychically will just… poof!

One day you’re going to, “fuck that shit, it’s not the deep- WE BALL!” your way to success 😭😭.

This is my bubbliest pile. Not that you are a bubbly person, in fact, life’s trials and tribulations took away your ability to crack a smile for a while. But this new phase you’re entering is nothing but giggles and a great fucking time. You deserve it!

This person is going to nurture you in ways that even your inner child can’t fully comprehend. The success you find online won’t even feel like the ultimate prize; it’s the deep connection you build that truly matters. This bond will uplift you and provide the support you didn’t know you needed, making the journey all the more rewarding.

P.S. You might have Libra or 7th house significance in your chart because a core aspect of your life revolves around connection and partnership—more so than most. It's time to celebrate! Toss your cap in the sky, you’ve completed a huge karmic cycle and your blessings are coming! 

Okay bye bye! MUAH! 💋💋

The Joyous Hum of Divine Union

[hotyanderedaddies]

Blake Gives You a Valentine's Day Gift

[Yandere Bully]

[Here's a short oneshot with Blake which takes place before he claims you! And Happy Valentine's Day!]

[Yandere! Bad Boy x GN! Nerdy Reader]

·゜·:.。..。.:·☆·゜·:.。..。.:·☆

Valentine’s Day: the day for couples to express their love to one another.

Sometimes you felt a little annoyed about the over-commercialization of a holiday that was meant to celebrate love… but a little part of you also knew deep down that you said that because you were single on Valentine’s Day.

Sighing, you tried your best to ignore the scores of lovey dovey couples walking down the hallways of the crowded school. 

All you wanted to do was get home as soon as possible so that you could spend the night just lounging around in bed— binge watching tons of crappy reality TV shows while eating a whole box of parmesan Cheez-Its.

It sounded perfect!

Your locker door slammed shut, jolting you out of your envious stupor and making you jump back.

Standing there, his large hand placed onto the front of your locker door, was Blake: the ultimate school bully, and someone who you tried your hardest to avoid at all costs.

“Here,” Blake grunted as he forcefully shoved something at you.

“Wha—?” you wondered aloud as you examined the stuffed animal that had been thrusted into your hold. It was a classic teddy bear with a cute little red bow around its neck. You looked up at the bully with confused eyes.

A pinkish hue formed on Blake’s face and he averted his gaze from yours for a brief moment. 

“Happy Valentine’s Day,” he muttered.

Before you could say anything, Blake turned around and disappeared down the hallway, swallowed up in the crowd of other students.

You examined the teddy bear in your grasp, wondering why on earth Blake would give it to you of all people. You barely even spoke to the guy! Why would he want to give you a gift on Valentine’s Day?

You kept puzzling over it for the rest of the day, and even when you got home.

You placed the teddy bear on your desk in your bedroom, which was positioned across from your bed. You kept eying the teddy bear, still confused to no end. 

Blake was the scary school bully who never spoke to people, unless it was to tell them to fuck off. So why would he want to give you a Valentine’s Day present?

It made no sense to you at all.

But still, you couldn’t help but smile the tiniest bit that you had your very first Valentine’s Day gift from a guy… even if that guy was Blake.

Chuckling a little to yourself, you quietly muttered, “Happy Valentine’s Day, Blake” to the teddy bear before returning your attention back to the TV…

·゜·:.。..。.:·☆·゜·:.。..。.:·☆

“Happy Valentine’s Day, Blake,” you said, your audio being caught perfectly by the hidden camera in the teddy bear.

Blake eagerly watched the video feed on his phone, staring hungrily at the image of you sprawled out on your bed. Even though you were clad in a hoodie and sweatpants, Blake was still rock hard as he imagined himself wrapped around your form, securing his arms and legs around you so that you couldn’t leave his side.

His heart raced faster when you said his name, and he grew desperate for you to say it again.

Buying that teddy bear with the hidden camera was the best idea he’s ever had, he truly felt. Now instead of having to wait all night and through the tortuous weekends to see you, Blake could get a glimpse of his darling any time he wanted.

Blake’s been madly in love with you ever since he first laid eyes on you.

He knew from that moment that you were made for him — meant to be his, and his alone.

“Happy Valentine’s Day, my love,” Blake whispered, his fingers caressing your image on the screen. “I love you so, so much. And I promise we’ll be together really soon.”

[ladybyakuya]

IS WHAT LOVE IS ? | GEN NARUMI.

+cw.— omegaverse au ( alpha!male x beta!reader ) + roommates au + college / university au, gen narumi x f!reader, fast burn ( we don't appreciate it enough ), world building, angst & hurt, smut, mentions of alcohol, bullying, blood and physical injuries.

+syn.— When college got busy with upcoming internships, classes became hectic, sleep schedule got fucked up and exam stress piled on: gen narumi sought blissful comfort in your presence. However, the same can not be said about you.

+wc. —5k ( dw I think I'll often talk about this in my main.) 

+playlist. — affection by between friends \ no love in L.A by dutch melrose \ fire by jvke \ is this what love is by wasia project.

+notes. — one of my favourite things to get things done by challenging myself so please be kind to me if you feel my writing is little off or not fitting my general pattern. thank you, enjoy reading. | redirect to blog navigation.

+tags. — into the omegaverse collab by @goxjo + other tags : @sukirichi @to-eden @stunie @interstellar-inn

[ one. ]

"We should fuck,"  Narumi announces walking into the dorm room half-clad in the towel and boxers freshly showered, clusters of hair falling onto his face, wet and aromatic opening the door with a bang. Still, it failed to startle you like it generally does. His arm is still holding the door open as you try immersing yourself more into the university website that is spread open on your laptop attracting a fair amount of attention. A barely visible deft amongst his eyebrows arises as his presence remains unbeknownst to you even after he clears his throat. Are beta's senses that dull? 

You take the bluetooth earphones off your ears. "Did you say something?" you pose the question as if you are aware of his presence just now. 

Letting his fingers skim through his wet hair he grumbles, "We should fuck," with pinnable irritation in his voice not that you would know why he is being cranky. 

It is your turn to be silent. Your eyes switch over to the calendar hanging on the wall right beside him. It is still two weeks for Gen before he starts to show the bare minimum signs of an approaching rut. Besides, he has never been this ridiculous. "Did the summer heat finally take your sanity?" you exclaim with a scoff returning the annoyance right back at him but respectable enough to look at him as you spoke. Your phone chimes followed by a vibration and Narumi is forced to cover one of his ears with the arm that has been holding the door all the while; his other ear suffers the damage.

"How many times did I tell you to tone it down a few notches?" He gets inside finally closing the door. All you could spare for response is nothing but a glance of unease. Who is he to tell you what to do and what not? You put your notebooks and a few things in your bag as his whistle finally blows off. "It's been two years already. when are you going to finally give in to my alpha charms, huh? I know that you are no strangers to the modern ideas of mating. I mean you are quite active so why don't we just celebrate the last year of graduation being fuck buddies rather than just roommates?"  You roll your eyes when you are still facing his back to him. You turn around to tuck your hair behind your ears making the bluetooth earphones visible. Holding up your fisted right wrist in his direction you tap on the watch two times and fist out your palm with all five fingers and Narumi just squits his eyes. Before he could make full sense of what you are conveying, you are already out of the door and Narumi knows better than anyone that you love listening to music at high volumes without interruption. Maybe you do so because you are a beta or you are sad or annoyed about something. It couldn't be him, could it? Sometimes when the surroundings get too quiet and you are listening to music he can hear what song it is. 

Not that he is a fan of your music taste but he has rather expressed in preposterous ways to exhibit his distaste for your tastes, likes, and dislikes, sometimes even unasked for one and you were fine with it. You were fine with his obnoxious, rude, and rough behavior. Even in his class, he has a hard time getting along with his batchmates. Every once in a while he would come up with bloody knuckles or a bleeding nose, scratches in his face sometimes and you would have no other choice but to tend to his wounds. You never bothered to ask how he got hurt or why he hurt others and he never decided to divulge. Being at the top of the university has prevented him from getting expelled. The professors are fed up with him but are willing to put up with him only because he is sincere in his studies. And, he is surprisingly good at it given his nature. Sharing a room for almost more than two years with an alpha like Gen Narumi is not a cakewalk, especially for a beta like you. Even before moving into the dorm room, you knew that you would either be paired with an omega or an alpha. You knew what you were getting into and with the advancement of medicinal chemistry cohabitation with other species of your kind has become easier than before yet the primal urges never really fade, do they? After all, what is more dangerous than an unmated alpha? 

You check the time. You are so early for someone who has an interview for the first time. You sit with the other candidates without a slice of panic in your body. Thanks to Gen for nuking your attention into something that you would never expect in nightmares or another universe. Like what the fuck was that? What kind of question was that? Was that even a question? As for a fact, an alpha's desire is too innate to ignore. And with the amount of patience stored in Gen Narumi's body if anything was possible it would have happened in the first few months of college year. Wait a minute! is he finally asking you out after trying to hide it for almost two years? If yes, that would certainly explain why one time he gave you cologne on your birthday which would complement his scent too. Not only that, it would surely explain how he snuggles to you during movie nights, or on liquid nights he would almost spoon you when his ruts were approaching he was too broke to buy video games. But at the same time, you can not completely claim those actions as an act of pursuit of seeking a potential mate in you since it was just an extremely rare occurrence. 

You remember the time when both of you just came from an exam semester party being too drunk, high, and happy to change or freshen up. Both of you just passed out on the nearest bed to the door of the room and you swear you felt a graze of something sharp upon the nook of your neck. But you swiped that thought at the back of your mind thinking it as a dream or some bad alcoholic effect. That night you woke up with Narumi in your bed sleeping like a log, a loud log to be specific. You have always given him space during his ruts since it works better that way; rather than arguing to come to a truce. That's how you have always been. That's how betas had to be. You would always find him buried under a futon with bloodshot with a game controller in his hand, and a lot of junk food packets all around the room yet you chose to give him space because that is how you avoid alphas like him; the more you indulge with him, the greater the chances to be under his target radar. 

"Y/N L/N is next. Be prepared." the mic announces breaking the pensive silence and your reverie of thoughts for a mere blinking moment.

On the first day when you moved in you clearly stated that you would file a complaint if he ever tried to scent you, mark you during his ruts. He just joked saying, "So, it's okay when I'm not in a rut?" but you would not budge or answer him so he mentioned in a sing-songy tone, "Oh don't worry. Betas are hard to influence. You should know that darling.  Plus, you are not exactly my type." with a smug so loud on his face that you wished you could throw something at his face but engaging with him would give him a crack to widen the gulf, explore and test waters. . .you know better than that. But since unlike other alphas, he listened to it, he abided by it, he sustained it—- well tried to or he was just poking the bear for fun. He often does that when he is out of video games. 

That is how you have always maintained a boundary between him and you. 

Gen Narumi finds it impenetrable. You think all the things he does, he does it out of respect which is not exactly true. There is respect but just a pinch. Sharing a room with a beta wouldn't be too bad. That's what he thought when he came to know about you. He did mention in his admission form that he would not like an omega as his roommate but he did not expect it to be beta. It could have been an alpha or a zeta, someone either loud or too mute. Mediocrity has always been a foreign concept to him. And what's up with "do not scent me or mark me." as if he would be interested in such things. He is not like other alphas. Some alphas spend their ruts giving in to their urges while some take suppressants. Gen Narumi belongs to neither of them. He spends his ruts eating junk and playing video games. works both ways actually. It has always been like that since he was expressed as alpha in society. What would he do to a beta? or that's what he thought. 

This morning when he said, well, suggested that you and him should fuck he was possessed perhaps. Why on earth would he say that? It does not make any sense because never in two years he has thought or even looked at you with a splotch of romance. Most of the alphas in his batch have already found a mate or maybe were forced to. He might be the only unmated alpha in this university which is why lesser potential omegas approach him. An unmated alpha is always seen under the lens of threat. And, if they came to know how he spends his ruts, they would not even acknowledge him as an alpha. At the start of the college year, he would often end up bullied by other alphas because of that. The last thing he wants to do is to use his pheromones on others. Why would he waste it on others? He doesn't exactly know for what or whom he is saving it. He would come to the room late whenever he got into a fight. One time he was so tired of all the bullying that he did not even try to defend himself or scare them away. By the time he reached the dorm room,  he was too hurt to breathe properly. That night Gen Narumi came to know that even a beta can calm an alpha, and nurse them into good health if needed. He was too hurt to protest or say anything, all he could do was to imbibe your scent while you were taking care of him. Even betas have a smell. Did you do that on purpose? release pheromonic signals to calm him? Would it be so hard to believe if he were to say that most alphas took their roommates as mates? He can certainly try, at the very least he will get a good laugh out of your reaction. If you did that on purpose he has a chance to show other alphas that he is actually an alpha not that he cares what they say but since you showed your interest in him in a puzzled way he would certainly try to match your level. wouldn't this be a win-win situation if he fucked you? For you, for him, and others as well; it certainly would. That's right. This morning you did not pay enough attention to him so he will say it again just so he can reject you. That's what an exceptional alpha would do. He is exceptionally good at gaming and studies though so he can not see why he should let this opportunity slip through his hands like sand.

You open the door with the help of keys while holding your bag in one hand and your cell phone in the other. Gen does not leave his seat to hold the door rather graces you a glance and goes back to whatever he is doing. 

“Yeah. I’ll definitely call you back, Hoshina-san.” you disconnect the call and Gen’s eyes are on you. He does not look away so you took it as a cue to explain something, anything. He just needs some info to be fed so that he does not start again. “Hoshina Soshiro is gonna be my supervisor if I get the job. The interview wasn’t so bad but I don’t wanna get my hopes up. He is one of the best and doing an internship under his guidance would be a great start. ”

“Stay away from that guy,” Gen grumbles looking back at his desk. It is unusually neat today. Not to mention his futon bed is folded and kept on his bed in a side enough that one can sleep peacefully without any problem. You would have said something to him if your attention did not keep faltering . . .Gen rolls his revolving chair in your direction, one of his legs is touching the wheels of the chair while the other is stretched creating a huge gap. His left-hand travels under his t-shirt and it hooks on his right shoulder.  "we should fuck," he declares, inept and inert.

"oh god! Not again" you let out a groan and sit on the bed near to you. Your head is in hands not because of what he said or what he did, not even because your patience is thinning with each tick of the clock enough to not to put up with this anymore but because of what is about to come out of his mouth the next.

"So, you heard me the first time ?" he barks while leaving his chair. You just wave your hand nonchalantly in a gesture to dismiss him but he locks his hands in his chest taking a stern stance in front of you.

You tilt up your head looking him in the eye, "You know Gen we shouldn't do this," your elbows rest on your thighs as you start to scratch your index finger with the other.

"don't you mean can't? you can't do this?" Is he serious? Isn’t he joking? Oh God. Why isn’t he joking like he generally does? Maybe a reaction would keep him quiet but what kind? A yes? A no? Or a laugh?

"you know better than others that I can fuck, literally too sometimes." You exclaim hoping to judge if this is really serious or just some sort of prank. If the latter, then it's not funny. If the former, then you might have to consider moving out. You get up from his bed to grab towels and bathroom needs."Why do you ask?"

"I don't know. Maybe I need to prove to someone that I'm an alpha." Gen regrets saying that. Your hands have stopped as you look at him which rarely happens. You never do one thing at a time. Fuck! You’re still looking at him. Gen unlocks one of his hands and scratches his jaw. 

"well, you chose a very wrong person to fuck, to prove then. I despise alphas. I would be much happier if you weren't one," That’s a little harsh, even from you. 

"as if a beta like you could get me hard." You keep the shampoo and conditioner bottle on the desk with much greater force than needed. Here it comes. . .Oh okay.

"Well, have you been with Beta before?" Gen tries to dodge the bullet because this is not the direction of conversation he wants to go. "that's exactly my point-" 

"an omega?" you pause and take a few steps towards him "An alpha?"  

“Wha—t? What’re — you talking — about?” Gen blabbers. He does not step away as you come closer but he has the urge to do so.

"god. Please find someone else to lose your virginity." You turn around the moment you finish deciphering his goal. Gen starts to growl underneath everything that comes out of his mouth now. "me being an alpha won't affect you being a beta if we were to fuck. and I don't wanna hurt an omega or alpha—His patience is thinning out too. This really isn’t the way he wanted this to go.

"But you'd hurt me?"

"That's not what I meant,"

"Are you a virgin, Gen Narumi?"

"Yes—I mean no." He glitches and now he can not look at you.

"Which is it?"

". . ." 

"I'm too tired to think about it now," you express with an exasperated sigh walking towards the bathroom.

"Is that a yes?"

"maybe be,"

"forget it." His tone is too sharp, demanding for someone who was begging you to fuck.

"What?" You stop before entering the bathroom and turn your head to him. "forget it" He repeats. You tilt your head, "But you just said. . ." you are starting to understand what this is really about. He does not want to fuck you neither want to lose his virginity or whatever he is trying to protect. It is his alpha ego acting up. He wants you to say yes so that he can reject you so that it strokes his alpha-nature. That’s it.

Your face distorts in disdain in his dense thought process.

Gen Narumi squints his eyes and then blinks. When he opens his eyes you are in front of him. You push him onto the nearest bed, your bed, and sit on his lap, legs folded and creating a dip on the mattress under the pressure of it, thighs grazing his pelvis.

"what're you doing?" Gen gasps as you let your palms touch his chest. He is gonna explode. His heart is beating so fast. You can feel it. Oh My God. You didn’t think this through.

"Well, let's see if a beta can get you hard or not." 

You undress your top. You are not an omega. There is no stench. But your scent is so muted that he has to either influence you to emit some or get closer to inhale. The first option is a no-no because he would not like to anger you while you are on his lap. So, he has to get closer. Wait, closer than this? The smell from that night threatens his senses and memory. Before the realization fully hits his brain, his hand moves in your direction but you stop him. Did you do something wrong? Both hands are now aligned with his. You notice how your hands are different from his. His fingers are rough and raw. Yours are at least, well-maintained. You slowly interlace his fingers with yours folding his hands at the back. He could easily swat you away but he is not doing that. You lean into his face and he does not move away so you take that as a yes to lick from his collarbones up to his chin and immediately pull away. 

Narumi’s eyes are closed, head still tilted. Without giving him a moment of reprieve you let your lips graze on his, just barely, and pull away just a little, wet yours and thereby skimming at his bottom lip in the process. He opens his eyes, slowly looks at you, and then your lips. He is breathing like a tired puppy. He inclines, perhaps for a kiss but you sway your head giving him access to the side of your neck. As you graze your cheek against his jaw, his hands that are still at the back are held by you but it is slowly getting lithe as you feel his lips on your shoulders, hot tongue on your skin, and then a sharp graze of his fang from your shoulder up to the back of your ear. You tip your head down for a moment feeling goosebumps arise on your skin barely allowing him any moments of reprieve, only permitting a rare moment to breathe. You watch Narumi intently, unafraid to make things awkward, but Narumi is too distracted by his inner crisis to notice the amused stare mere centimeters from his face; studying him.

The tip of your tongue curls slowly but forcefully, tracing the plump of your bottom lip before sliding across Gen’s own and trailing the roof of his mouth. Eyes watching intently. Controlled. Curious. Amused. But then you abruptly pull away, lips shiny and wet. Before Narumi can ask why, your lips curl in on themselves, hiding a smug smile. It looks like you can’t catch your breath — like if you do, you will erupt into laughter. But a lopsided grin finally breaks free, tugging at your lips, when your eyes flash down to Narumi’s torso and back up.

Narumi freezes, heart, hammering in his ribs.

He’s hard.

“That was fast,” You smirk — and you stand. “I’m going to shower now.” you release your grip from his hands and get off his lap.  Gen watches you go into the bathroom and looks down at his boner biting his bottom lip; a click of his tongue follows as he checks the time. It is too late to go out now.

when you come out of the shower he is not there. A part of you worries if he got into a fight or something or maybe he is with his big hot alpha friends bragging about how he turned you down. You hit the bed with a thud, exhaustion creeping up from your toe to head, slowly. You do not give a damn what he says about you to other alphas or anyone in general. A beta will always have to watch out for themselves. They can not rely upon anyone, not even their kind because most betas are dumb enough to mingle with alphas and get turned into omega with or without consent.

Look what fate landed upon your mother when she took an alpha as her mate. You let out a wry chuckle. Sleep seems like a foreign land somewhere in heaven.

[ two. ]

It has been two days since Narumi left. Some of his batchmates have started to ask you during recess and breaks between classes. You answered them the same thing every time. “I don’t know.” or “he didn’t tell me before going.” or “How should I know? I’m not his mate who can sense it. Go find his mate.” or “he didn’t take his phone. So I don’t know.” truly it had not bothered you until Professor Shinomiya showed up at your doorstep asking for his whereabouts. You politely and patiently answered him the same very thing that you have been telling anyone who asked about Narumi. For a hated unmated alpha he sure is popular.

On the third day, late at night, there is a knock on your door. You go and open without hesitation. Narumi enters wearing the same clothing he wore the last time you saw him, only a little fade. His hair is wet and it is not raining outside so he comes back after going missing for two days, freshly showered. Bloodshot eyes, hair messed up, and mayhem all over his body.

“Welcome back.” You say but Gen does not say anything but goes straight to his study desk. He has a test coming up. Professor Shinimiya said that so you would contact him if you had the means. Your day-to-day notebook is on his study table, under the stack of his books, and guess what? That is exactly what you need the most right now because without it you would not be able to work on your applications and resumes. It has all the details and info you. The moment you touch the stack of books, Narumi’s hands are over yours.

“Are you—-? Where were you ?” You ask and For the first time in your life, you feel that something inside you went missing. When did that happen?

Gen stands up but you do not scoot away as he closes the gap between him and you. That’s what he likes about you. You were never afraid of him. You never considered him as a threat like others. Now, that he is closer you can smell several mixes of strong musky aromas. It is odd. You have been close to him before, but never once knew his scent. Is he in a rut?  Or did something bad happen? Did he. . .? Was he attacked by a gang of omegas or alphas? It makes your stomach turn thinking about whatever the probable reason for such a state as his. 

“Oh? You can tell?” There is a few inches gap between his face and yours. His palm is still intact on yours. The grip is lithe yet you don’t move your hand away.

“Gen? What? OH. God.” You had to swallow since tears threatened your eyes. “Are you okay?” A trembling whisper is all it takes for him to finally say something.

“Leave.”

“What?”

“Just leave for a few days. Go to some friend’s house or something,” He is still sitting, his eyes are on the open book now but his hand is still over yours.

“Why? What did I do?” You ask trying to move away your hand but in a swift moment, he grabs your wrist and pulls you closer as he stands up. 

“I’m — in a rut. So, I need you to stay away from me.”

“But — I’m a beta. You don’t need to worry.”

That is funny. It is because of you that he is such a shipwreck now. It was your pheromones that fucked him up. It was you who calmed him with scents when he came home injured. It was you who had no control over pheromones when drunk. It was you all along and despite that, he can not bring himself to hate you. Why can’t he hate you when he wants to? He even took a whole bunch of suprresants before coming back here. Gen laughs at your naive sentiment so blaring that you take a few steps back but he yanks you back to himself, a little too forceful than he intended to be resulting in you on top of him sprawled on the cold floor.

“Ohh? Why do you think I rub my fangs against your neck? You don’t think I do that for fun, do you?” You are still trying to get away from his grip but he is strong. He is stronger than you have known all these two years. “Are you too dumb to know that if I bite and knot you enough times you will turn into an o—

Thwack!

Narumi’s head is tilted away from yours. The exposed side of his cheek is red, his ears are thrumming and he has to force himself to keep his eyes open. Fuck. You’re strong. That was one hell of a slap.

“I know that. I’ve known that all my life. You don’t need to tell me that,” you yell looking down at his t-shirt. A cry is at the brink when you see a few drops of water fall on his top.  You try your best not to fall apart in front of him but it is just too much. Hearing such a thing what your mother went through and then slowly becoming a victim of it is nothing but a slow poison. You refuse to live the life your mother led. You refuse to owe your existence to an alpha. 

Narumi’s lips form a crescent but it is quickly clouded when your body starts to shake. You cover your face as you start to crumble like Rome in front of him. 

Folding his legs he sits up. His hands rest on the floor to support himself as he whispers, “Hey, stop crying.”  His voice is calm, pupils back to normal, not red anymore. “Please” He insists. “I’d hate to use my pheromones on you, especially now” 

You slowly look up wiping off your tears with your hand.

“Tell me y/n have I ever used my pheromones on you?” 

“No. Never.” Your hands fall on his chest. “But I still hate you. Why would you say something like that?” You stifle a sob and continue. “I know. I’ve never opened up to you—-” Your voice turns up, anger laced underneath. “But never did you. You think I don’t know—- that alphas bully you? Oh please! I know better than anyone what an alpha’s beating looks like.” You inhale a long breath, “I mean I have known that my entire life. I’ve seen my mother all my life— and I can’t see someone else getting hurt because of me . . . your voice breaks into a cry again and you inhale so as not to cry anymore but what good that would do now that he has seen the core of vulnerability in you that was tucked inside carefully with layer upon layer.

“Well,” Narumi starts to speak. “Save me then. Save me from this torment.”

“What?”

“You heard me.” Narumi jocks down to meet your gaze. “Be my God and I will be your devotee.”

You try to get on your feet. Gen’s eyes follow you, each of your movements until you are standing on your own. He is still sitting on the floor in the same stance, laid back and amused.  He is sure you will say no. He has done this before. Back then you thought he was speaking out of delirium but that night when you saved his life he felt like he found a God to worship. He remembers saying, “I think I love you, Y/N L/N.” and you scoffed at him saying in no world an alpha like you would feel that about a beta like you when there is a bevy of omegas around him.

“Okay.” You murmur.

Gen’s mouth is parted. His eyes are big in surprise. “But just so you know, I’m hard to please,” you mumble with a sniff getting out of the room to make a call.

[hannieehaee]

Hehe hi luna! 🥺🫶 may i request birthday sex w chan except its his fake childrens day birthday and he finds it hilarious that you're taking it so seriously when actually you just want an excuse to spoil him for (another) day? 💕💕

18+ / mdi

content: birthday!chan, established relationship implied, lots of banter, (it's not actually his birthday!!) afab reader, smut, penetrative sex, unprotected sex, etc.

wc: 1538

a/n: im convinced this would actually happen in real life lol

masterlist

"god, you too?", chan laughed incredulously as soon as he stepped foot into your shared apartment, surprised at the sight but not really.

he should've known that the joke would make its way to you eventually.

"what? can't celebrate my boyfriend's birthday?", you pouted mockingly as you held out the small birthday cake out to him.

behind you stood a few birthday decorations you'd bought behind chan's back a few days back – dinosaur themed, of course.

looking at all the decorations clearly marketed towards children, chan chuckled again, walking up to you and staring you down as he attempted not to smile. unfortunately, the situation was too ridiculous for him to put his acting skills to use.

"you're the bane of my existence," he said once he was in front of you as you lifted up the cake in a silent gesture for him to blow out the singular candle.

"make a wish?", you ignored him.

sighing, he leaned down to follow your instruction, closing his eyes and taking a second to hum as he thought of a wish. blowing out the candle, he then straightened his back and gave you a forced smile (which barely hid the very real smile on his lips).

"happy?"

"very," you grinned, "what was your wish?", you asked as you put the cake down on the table nearby, now heading to wrap your arms around his shoulders.

instinctively, his hands glued themselves around your waist, pulling you in close, "for my girlfriend to stop bullying me."

"dude, that was a trick question! you're not supposed to tell me. everyone knows that. now your wish won't come true!", you gaped at him, mocking him with every word.

groaning, he buried his face in your neck, defiantly giving the empty skin of your shoulder a tiny bite.

you yelped, complaining at the sudden attack, "ah! i prepare you a birthday party and this is how you repay me?"

"what good do i get out of your mockery, baby?"

nudging him away from your shoulder, you gave him a suggestive look, "well, you know what comes with every birthday, right?"

"hmm", he pondered, "what might that be?"

you leaned up close, lips by his ear, "birthday sex?"

"oh ...", he breathed out, hands tightening on your waist, "is that so?"

with a bite to your lip, you nodded, separating yourself from him and walking yourself back to your bedroom, eyes glued to his own, "wanna come unwrap your present?", you asked before turning around and charging into the room.

nodding, he followed after you, catching up to you as he held you in his arms, practically tackling you. the act was followed by a heavy kiss as his hands wrapped around you once more, feeling you up through your clothes. your hands were equally needy as they ran through his hair, softly pulling in the way you knew he liked.

"you bully me a lot for someone who wants me this badly," he bantered into your lips.

"'bully'? is that how you thank your girlfriend for caring about your birthday?", you just were not letting go of the joke.

despite how silly the whole situation was, chan couldn't find it in himself to feel any type of real frustration. your dedication made him too fond (and surprisingly, a little horny), causing him to simply chuckle against your lips while his hands attempted to rid you of your clothes.

your newfound almost-nudity proved to be a bigger challenge than dealing with your teasing, as you now stood in front of chan with one of the prettiest sets of lingerie he'd ever seen.

"like your gift, baby?" you grinned at him, disconnecting from him and walking yourself back to the bed, sitting down as you presented your body to him.

any thoughts of a stupid birthday joke left his mind as he zeroed in on your body, breath now heavy at the sight.

"yeah," he went along with it, "best birthday gift ever," his words did not meet his eyes, as they showed lust that could not be portrayed through speech.

he threw off his clothing as he made his way to you, stumbling as he removed his shoes but determined nonetheless. finally reaching you, he pushed you back on the bed, crawling over you as his hands got their fill of your body.

"do i get to fuck you, baby? or are you gonna do it since it's my day?", he murmured into your neck, drinking in any pretty sigh you let out at his kisses.

"the birthday boy gets to decide," you breathed when his lips made their way to your tits, suckling at your nipples through the thin bralette you were wearing.

"mind if i rip my present, pretty?" his hands were itching to get you as naked as he was.

"you didn't like it?", you pouted mockingly, knowing that was absolutely not the case.

"i'll fuck you with it on, i don't care," he was serious too.

opting to hastily remove it instead, he went to reach for a condom from the bedside table, only to be halted by you.

"doesn't the birthday boy want to fuck me raw?", you looked up at him expectantly.

huh?

"baby?", he gulped.

"happy birthday?", you smiled at him, pulling him down for another kiss.

he practically growled against your lips, "happy birthday to me," he sighed before beginning to sloppily align himself to your cunt, refusing to disconnect your lips.

a groan vibrated into your open mouth when he finally entered you, breathing out praise as you sucked at his tongue.

he grew desperate quite quickly, falling in love with the feeling of your bare cunt within seconds. chan was sure this was the most unfiltered pleasure he had ever felt. your walls were too warm for him to process, making him entirely too lightheaded to even comprehend how good he was feeling.

the thought of your first time giving it to him raw being part of a lamely orchestrated joke crossed his mind for a mere second, but it didnt distract him from pounding into you with every ounce of desire imbedded in his body. he couldnt comprehend how good you were to him – how pretty and funny and perfect and just tailored to him you were.

making up an entire ruse of his fake birthday just to mess with him, luring him back into your room and then presenting your bare cunt to him ... yeah, he needed to marry you asap.

rocking his hips into your own, his hands held onto the back of your thighs for dear life, holding them up to get the optimal angle that allowed him to hit that spongy spot inside of you that he knew drove you crazy. the pretty whines of his name were just another reason as to why chan felt the sudden need to head to the nearest jewelry store and ransack them of the largest ring they had to offer.

"feel so fucking good ... fuck, i- pretty cunt keeps sucking me in," he moaned out into your lips.

the kiss wasn't even a kiss anymore. it was a disgusting mess of tongues sucking at each other while teeth clanked every once in a while. but it was a nastiness that chan lived for.

"channie ... fuck, need you to cum. need my pretty birthday boy to cum," you murmured as he sucked at your tongue, making it all the harder for you to let out a single sentence.

you knew his body too well. it was far too easy for you to spot his orgasm coming. luckily for him, he knew you even better, aware that yours was likely around the corner.

not wanting to risk cumming before you (which was very likely considering the gorgeous cunt warming up his cock at the moment), his hand slipped between you to flick at your clit, swallowing every pretty moan breathed out against his lips.

"where? where can i cum, pretty? hmm? need- need you to tell me where," he knew he was being obvious about his unspoken desire to cum in you, but he wanted a full-pledged confirmation that you wanted him to finish inside you – that and also a depraved need to hear you beg to be filled up.

"inside, channie ... you know- you know i want it inside. need you to fill me up," you whined, nails scratching at his back.

"gonna film you up ..." he promised, "gonna have you dripping for me, okay?"

only moments later and he found himself emptying all of him inside you as he gasped into your mouth, only to begin crying out against you when your cunt suddenly tightened with your own orgasm.

humping against you, he lost himself in the pleasure while his orgasm subsided along with yours. pretty sighs of his name filled his ears, making him murmur praise against your own.

finally falling limp against you, he lazily flipped you over so half your body would lay atop his own whilst he ran his hands softly up and down your back.

"did you like your birthday present?" you asked. he could feel your dumb smile against his chest.

chuckling, he gave up, "fucking love my birthday."