#jihoon imagines

[seungcheorry]

"oh- no, he's working. just let him be";

"woozi hyung is busy~";

"ya, don't go in there! he wanted to be alone while creating";

those are the most common things to hear from the members as a new comeback approach. woozi, as their main producer, is always so busy and so focused on creating that the members themselves tend not to mess with him, only dragging him out to eat and take a shower. he doesn't speak to anyone, he always asks to be left alone.

but that doesn't apply to you.

soonyoung has this little grin on his face as he sees you walking into woozi's studio, knowing damn well his friend could never kick you out.

and woozi doesn't kick you out. actually, he welcomes you with open arms (and tired eyes), asking how your day has been (and yawning while you talk). he's tired, he's worried about the deadlines and line distributions, but he feels at ease when you sit right beside him and place a hand on his chest.

"did you eat?", you ask.

"soonyoung just brought me some homemade meal from his mom", woozi says, staring at you.

"then you should nap".

"i don't want to", he shakes his head. "just let me be with you for a while, talk to you".

you hum, caressing his chest. he takes your hand, his lips curled into an "i'm in love" type of smile. woozi kisses your fingers before turning back to his software, telling you to check out what he has been working on.

woozi doesn't leave his studio to go home, but he's glad that you bring home to him.

[ylangelegy]

The first thing Jihoon notices when he wakes up is that his neck doesn't hurt.

Dazed, he squints up at the sunlight streaming through a nearby window. It's one of those dreamless naps where you lose all sense of time. He could've been out for minutes, hours.

It takes him another beat to realize that he's in a bed. Not the couch at the studio. Not some corner of the company. A proper bed— crisp white sheets, fluffy pillows.

He groans softly. There's only one person who could be behind all this. And sure enough, your voice reaches him through his haze. "You're awake."

Jihoon mumbles something between 'mhm' and 'sorta'. One of his hands goes to rub at his eyes, like it might somehow will the drowsiness away. He vaguely makes out your figure, seated inches away from him. He has half the mind to ask what you're doing this time. Scrolling through your phone? Reading a book?

Instead, he grouses, "I fell asleep again." His words— gruff around the edges— aren't a question. It's more a statement of a fact.

You hum your confirmation. "It was just a couple of minutes." Then, softer. "You should get some more rest."

Jihoon wants to protest; he really does. A part of him has always felt guilty about this. He already has so little time with you as is, and yet he somehow finds himself squandering it over sleep.

But then you're carding your fingers through his hair and his eyes instinctively flutter close. "Not fair," he exhales. "You don't play fair."

Your hand shakes a little as you laugh.

"Go to sleep, Jihoon-ah," you repeat. "I'll wake you up in a bit."

(You never do, Jihoon thinks. You always say you're going to wake me up and that we'll go out and do something you like, but you always let me sleep in. I'll wake up in the middle of the night with you cuddled in to me— another day that we could've been normal, wasted because I'm perpetually tired.)

"Okay." Jihoon sounds much younger than he really is in that moment. "Okay, good night."

Right before drifting off, he summons up just enough energy to reach for your hand. He thinks he also manages to say I love you.

Jihoon dreams of the view from an airplane window, when the sun is setting over the clouds; a stage during sound check, where twelve other boys make it all worth it; your hand in his, and the quiet way you say I love you back.

[xinganhao]

🌼boyfriend!jihoon x reader.

jihoon loves you and you love him. it sounds plain and simple, but the saying rings true: what is done with love is done well. ୨ৎ happy woozi day! ♡

↻ ◁ || ▷ ↺ lily of the valley by daniel. bad by wave to earth. for lovers who hesitate by jannabi. pretty boy by the neighbourhood. tell me, will we survive? by pryvt, hanuel, hnta. green by 12bh. l-o-v-e by rocco. when it snows by 1415. when you love someone by day6.

240526 #woozi 🌟 if i were to have a small greed, it’s that i will be able to see everyone for a long time. thank you for being with me. thank you for walking with us. you did well today.

[hoshifighting]

LYLAAAAAAAAA OMG ILYSM EAT ABD SKEEP AND DRINK WELL!!!

if you don't mind a req, Jihoon (or svt reaction) when he finds how good it feels to use a shower spray against the hoohaa

clit stimulation using shower spray w woozi <33

WARNINGS: situationship!woozi, bath sex, using shower head to masturbate, dirty talk, mentions of body fluids (cum)

it always started like this with jihoon—blurred lines that somehow felt crystal clear when you were with him. like, you knew what it was, but did you really? dude would pass by your place at 10 p.m. like, “you eat yet? i got chicken katsu.” then, five hours later, he’s snoring on your couch, legs tangled with yours, an arm slung over your stomach like he lived there. and yeah, maybe he didn’t outright say things, but actions...oh, he was fluent.

tonight wasn’t any different. except it was.

you were mid-rant to your group chat about some guy hitting on you at the café when jihoon’s name popped up. jihoon: "should i bring dumplings or ramen? heading over." like. no question if you wanted him over; just straight vibes of "you good? i’m on my way."

fast-forward, and somehow, you ended up here—in the shower, your body pressed up against the tiles while jihoon held your leg like he was tuning a guitar. the steam made everything feel hazy, as he rinsed the soapy bubbles from your body.

the shower spray hit your inner thigh, the pressure tracing lazy lines up to places he wasn’t even aiming for. “lift a little,” he mumbled, voice low like the water could hear him. his hand slid behind your knee, steadying you like it wasn’t a big deal, but when that stream hit right at your clit. your breath stuttered, sharp enough to make his brows knit together.

“what?” he asked, head tilting like a curious cat. the fucker.

you shook your head, mortified.

his lips twitched, like he didn’t fully buy it, but he adjusted the angle anyway, aiming higher. too high. a broken moan fell out of your mouth, and your hand flew to his shoulder, digging in like it could stop time. it didn’t.

jihoon froze, the stream still very much pressing where it shouldn’t. “wait.” his tone was careful, but the corners of his mouth betrayed him. “does that—does it feel good?”

you groaned, smacking your forehead against his collarbone. “don’t.”

“i’m not judging!” he insisted, but the joy in his voice was hella obvious. “just—wait. do you do this by yourself? like, on purpose?”

“oh my god, stop talking.” you could feel your face burning, like the steam was actively conspiring against you.

jihoon chuckled under his breath, this low, knowing sound that made your embarrassment worse. “okay, okay. no answer needed.” he adjusted the spray, the water softening into a gentler stream, but he didn’t let go of your leg. didn’t pull away either.

the shower went silent for a beat, save for the soft patter of water hitting tiles. you thought that was it—mortification over, donezo. until jihoon, of course, had to ruin it.

“so... you want me to keep going?”

your gaze flickered to him, catching the way his eyes softened regardless the sneer tugging at his lips. you bit your lip, heart pounding louder than the water. and then, quietly, like you were confessing to a crime, you mumbled, “mhmm.”

his grip on your leg tightened just a fraction, his smirk deepening. “okay,” he whispered, so gentle it made your chest ache. “just relax, yeah?”

his hand tightened around your thigh like he was steadying himself, except you knew it was for you. the spray hadn’t moved yet, still teasing the edge of your inner thigh, the warm water trailing in lazy streaks down your skin. jihoon adjusted his grip slightly, his thumb grazing the back of your knee.

“you good?” his voice was soft, almost too soft, and when you peeked up at him, his eyes weren’t mocking anymore. he looked focused. calm. it made your chest twist in ways you weren’t ready to deal with.

you nodded, swallowing hard. “yeah.”

“okay.” he glanced down, adjusting the showerhead with his free hand, the click of the spray setting sounding far too loud in the intimate quiet of the bathroom. then, like he’d done it a thousand times before, he tilted the stream closer, the water landing in a direct line that made your toes curl.

“jihoon—” your voice cracked, half his name, half a choke, and your body jolted on reflex. the spray circled over your clit, not quite a flick but not soft either, the pressure just shy of overwhelming.

he paused instantly, pulling the water back. “too much?”

“no, no,” you rushed, your hand gripping his shoulder like it was your lifeline. “just—fuck, i wasn’t ready.”

his lips curved into the faintest smirk, a tiny dimple ghosting one cheek. “should’ve said something. i could’ve warned you.”

you grumbled, heat blooming up your neck, he was already moving again, guiding the water in slow circles. it was gentle at first, the warmth rolling over you, but as he shifted his wrist, tilting the angle just slightly, the stream narrowed, honing in on that one spot.

your hips bucked forward, a strangled whine slipping from your throat, and jihoon chuckled low under his breath. “there it is,” he murmured, almost like he was talking to himself. “feels good, hmm?”

you wanted to snap at him, to tell him to stop talking like he wasn’t wrecking you in the middle of your own bathroom, but the words dissolved into a needy moan as he flicked the stream upward, the water hitting just right. your fingers dug into his arm, and you swore your knees might give out.

“careful,” he said, his tone shifting to something softer, his hand sliding to cup your hip as his forearm holds the back of your knee now, grounding you. “don’t go falling on me now.”

“easy for you to say,” you bit out, your voice trembling, but he only hummed in response.

he switched the spray again, this time narrowing it even more, and when he angled it just below your clit, letting the water ripple against you in a teasing rhythm, your head tipped back against the tile. “holy fuck,” you choked, legs trembling.

jihoon’s smirk widened, but his grip didn’t falter. “yeah?” he asked. “you like that, hmm?”

your only response was a broken whimper, and his hand flexed against your hip like he was fighting the urge to pull you closer. “relax,” he murmured, his voice steady even as his own breath hitched slightly. “just let it happen. i got you.”

you did relax, maybe too much, because the next moment, your leg wobbled, your body sliding just enough to make you panic. but jihoon moved instantly, catching you before you could even process it, his arm locking around your waist while he adjusted the spray back to that perfect rhythm.

“gotcha,” he said, and there was something in his voice—pride, maybe, or just satisfaction at the way you melted into him. “thought you were gonna make me work for it.”

you glared weakly at him, your cheeks burning, but it only made him laugh, the sound soft and familiar, grounding you even as your body threatened to unravel.

“don’t worry,” he added, his voice dipping as the spray circled again, the pressure building making your vision blur. “i’m not stopping ‘til you’re begging me to.”

jihoon adjusted the spray again, sharper now, the stream jolting directly onto your clit. it wasn’t gentle, wasn’t soft. the sound that ripped from your throat wasn’t human, and your body arched against the tile, your back curving like a bowstring pulled too tight. your neck stretched, your breasts lifting as your lungs fought for air, and he didn’t move.

he just watched. studied, really. his eyes darted between yours, flicking from one to the other, then down to your parted lips, swollen and trembling. but then, as if he couldn’t resist, his gaze fell lower, trailing the path of your shivering belly, your chest rising and falling in frantic bursts.

his grip on your waist tightened, keeping you steady as your legs buckled again. the way you shook wasn’t subtle—your entire body was trembling, your muscles pulled taut under his hands. but jihoon didn’t stop. he tilted the stream slightly, letting the water flick at just the right angle again, and the sound that escaped you was downright obscene, echoing off the walls of the bathroom.

“fuck, jihoon—” your voice cracked on his name, and the way his lips twitched into a barely-there smirk made you want to scream for an entirely different reason.

“yes?” he asked, his tone smooth, but his breath wasn’t. it was uneven, shaky, like he was feeling this just as much as you were. “i can feel it—you’re so close.”

he was right. too right. the pressure built and built, your thighs clenching around nothing as your core tightened, heat pooling low in your belly and spilling over. the water, the angle, his goddamn voice—it was all too much.

“hoon, i—fuck, i’m—” the words dissolved into a scream as your orgasm tore through you. your hips jerked forward, your body trembling uncontrollably as the spray kept hitting that same devastating spot. your moans were loud, messy, your breath hitching in sobs as your climax rolled on.

jihoon didn’t move, his hand firm on your waist, keeping you upright as your legs gave out completely. he looked mesmerized, his jaw tight, his eyes flickering between your face and your trembling pussy. “fuck,” he whispered like he didn’t mean for you to hear it.

but the spray didn’t let up. even as you sagged against him, your hands clutching his arms for dear life, the water kept its merciless rhythm, and your overstimulated nerves lit up like fireworks. “jihoon,” you whimpered. “s-stop—too much, it’s—”

he blinked out of his trance, his fingers brushing your hip in silent reassurance before he turned the showerhead aside, finally giving you mercy. the sudden absence of stimulation left you gasping.

jihoon’s gaze dropped, and when he saw it—saw the string of your cum clinging to your folds before dripping down to the tile—his breath hitched. it was wet, but wasn’t water; it couldn’t have been. it was too viscous, too familiar. the memory of your taste, sweet and unique flickered in his mind, and he swallowed hard.

[sluttywoozi]

Somewhere In The Middle | ljh x f!reader

Somewhere in the middle, I think I lied a little I said if we took it there I wasn't gonna change, But that went out the window

You and Jihoon started as roommates and naturally became best friends. After a breakup and a little too much wine, you become best friends who kiss, but there's no danger there... right?

Rating: M (18+) | WC: ~9.7k | Pairing: ljh x f!reader

Genre: romance, smut, best friends/idiots to fwb to lovers, hurt/comfort

Warnings: mention of a breakup, alcohol use, besties to besties with benies to lovers, jealous/possessive jihoon, depiction of a nightmare (lots of water involved but no drowning), appetite issues/food eating, hurt/comfort

Smut Warnings: dom!jihoon, dirty talk, manhandling, strength kink, dumbification, breast/nipple play, oral r. rec., fingerfucking, biting, multiple orgasms, piv sex, creampie, pet names (princess, good girl), allusions to f. masturbation, reader goes into subspace a lil

Reader Notes: sub, taller than Jihoon, has breasts and a vagina, gets carried by jihoon, on some form of birth control, crybaby, she’s smart i swear being around jihoon just makes her dumb 

You and Jihoon have been roommates for three years and best friends for two and a half when It happens. 

It’s nearing midnight and most of the lights are off, the glare of the TV illuminating the room though it’s been muted for the past hour. You’re drunk on the couch and for once, Jihoon is drunk with you, helping you lament the shitty boyfriend you finally ditched. 

Well, the shitty boyfriend who ditched you. 

It stings that he was the one to end things, prickles to admit that maybe you had some hand in the crashing and burning of the relationship, but you still feel valid enough in his faults to complain to Jihoon about it on this dreary Friday night. 

“We hadn’t even kissed in like… weeks. And sex? I counted myself lucky he didn’t seem interested, he was that disappointing,” you bemoan, dropping your head on his shoulder and hugging his arm to your chest. Jihoon doesn’t love physical contact, but you’ve worn him down and now, you’re the only person he allows free reign. 

You think he even likes it at this point, especially when he presses his cheek to your head and sighs, “Men are the worst.”

“You’re a man, Jihoon,” you remind him, tilting your head up to glance at him, dislodging his cheek and making him look down at you. 

“Yeah, but I don’t count, do I?” He says sardonically, knocking his forehead against yours.

“I don’t know anymore,” you mumble. “I just miss kissing, and being touched, and-,” you hiccup, though whether it’s due to tears or to drink, you don’t know. “And I miss someone loving me.” 

Your eyes are misty now, Jihoon’s face blurry even though it’s inches from yours. 

“You know I love you, right?” He asks softly, and you try to smile through the tears, appreciative of him for attempting to make you feel better. 

“Yeah, but not like that,” you remind him, your eyes fluttering shut and your lips pouting. 

“But I could kiss you like I do.” 

You peek one eye open, blinking away the saltwater in your eyes, not even flinching when he brings a hand up to wipe it away from your cheek. 

“You could?” 

“I could,” he nods, his brows drawn together and his mouth tight. “I don’t want you to suffer like this if I can fix it.” 

You think it through for a split second, consider the fact that Jihoon is your roommate, your best friend, and decide that you don’t care. 

“Okay,” you whisper, fragility clear in your voice and in the fingers suddenly clutching at his shirt. 

“Just… promise me nothing will change, that we’ll still be us after,” he murmurs, leaning closer to you until his lips are a breath from yours. 

“I promise,” you tell him, though in the back of your mind, a voice whispers that something already has changed.

Then he kisses you, and your brain goes perfectly silent. 

All you can feel is him, his palm on your face, his fingers in your hair, his soft lips sipping at yours much like the wine you downed together just an hour ago. 

The room is quiet, filled only with your breathing and his, and every sensation is heightened by the peace surrounding you. 

His hand tilts your face, changing the angle as he glides his tongue along your bottom lip, and when you gasp, it darts inside, learning, exploring. 

Jihoon is lazy, you both know this, but apparently he’s the very opposite when it comes to kissing you because before long, he’s devouring you with vigor, panting into your mouth like he can’t catch his breath, searching like you’ve stolen it. 

You’re not faring much better, your grip tight on his shirt and your cheek hot under his hand, forgetting to even breathe as he kisses you stupid. Literally, you feel dumb with it, empty headed, no thoughts occupying your mind except for Jihoon, Jihoon, Jihoon. 

You suck in air when he rips his mouth away from yours, his fingers in your hair holding you back so you can’t follow him as his chest rises and falls erratically, a blush creeping up his neck and along his ears. 

“You should get to bed,” he whispers, his eyes hooded and his voice rough. 

“Yeah, I suppose I should,” you agree, even though you want to kiss him more, want him to take you apart, if you’re being honest. But something tells you not to push him this first night, not to ask for too much. 

So you tease him instead, murmuring, “Tuck me in?” only to gape at him when he slides off the couch and takes hold of your hand, tugging you up off the sofa and to your room. 

He waits on your bed as you half ass your skincare, handing you pajamas when you ask for them and getting up when you emerge from the bathroom. You climb under the duvet, think for just a second about asking him to join you, and whisper, “Goodnight, Jihoon.” 

“Goodnight,” he whispers back, before leaning in close and pressing his lips to yours one last time, mumbling into your mouth, “One for the road.”

After he leaves, you fall into sleep slowly, and when you do, it’s deep, dotted with dreams that taste like him. 

True to your word, nothing really changes. 

Except for the fact that you just… kiss now. 

When you’re tired, when you’re stressed, when you’re sad, when you’re needy. 

All it takes is a look and a little pout and Jihoon is shaking his head and pressing his mouth to yours, his hand firm on your cheek and his tongue dancing over your bottom lip. You find yourself craving him when you’re at work or around friends or sometimes in your sleep, your dreams full of flashes of your body under his and his arms around you. 

Your kisses haven’t progressed to that yet, though you’re hoping they will soon. He usually keeps them chaste but there are times you can tell he wants to take it further, by the way he holds your chin and angles your head so he can kiss you deeper, dirtier. 

Just two weeks after that night, he’s become a habit you can’t quit. 

It’s gotten to the point where he greets you with a smooch when you come home from work, a peck when you finish making dinner together, a soft kiss before you go to sleep in separate rooms. 

Most of the time, you wish you could follow him into his bedroom, climb into his sheets and his arms and his ribcage, squish right in next to his big, juicy heart. But you promised nothing would change, that you and Jihoon would still be you and Jihoon, and you know that if you delete the spaces between you, it would change everything. 

So you content yourself with his kisses, with the little touches you steal as often as you can, with the knowledge that at the end of the day, you do have someone who loves you, even if he doesn’t love you like that. 

You’re laying on the couch with Jihoon, your legs resting on top of his thighs and his big hand warm on your ankle, when he asks you if anything interesting happened at work. 

Normally, you would have nothing to share, but today, something exciting did happen. 

“Oh! Yeah, actually, Jun from Accounting asked me out on a date,” you gush, your legs bouncing until his hand tightens into a near painful grip. 

“I didn’t know you were looking to date again,” he says pensively, his eyes suddenly on the TV and away from yours. 

“I mean, I’m not really, but he’s cute and sweet and I miss sex,” you sigh wistfully, letting your cheek rest on the back of the couch as you watch his jaw clench and unclench. 

“What did I say when I told you I could kiss you like I love you?” He asks, his gaze on you again and so much heavier than before, so much weightier and darker. You can almost feel it like a physical touch, the way it roves over you, assessing. 

“I don’t remember,” you respond honestly, your main memory of that night being the kiss. 

“I said, ‘I don’t want you to suffer like this if I can fix it,’” Jihoon reminds you, before continuing, “You don’t know if this Jun guy will be any good, and I don’t want him to disappoint you.”

Your breath stalls in your chest at what you think he’s implying, but you need him to clarify before you jump to your own conclusions, fueled by delusion and desire as they might be. 

“So… what are you saying?” You ask slowly, pushing down the hope and heat rising within you. 

“I’m saying that I’ll take care of you. You miss being touched? You miss being fucked? Let me be the one, not some rando who might not even be able to make you cum.”

Fuck. He’s so- You don’t even know what he is at this point. 

You sort of feel the need to leap to Jun’s defense, but by the fire in Jihoon’s eyes, you think that would be the wrong move to make right now. You also don’t know if you can speak, with your tongue tied by lust as it is. 

He’s still staring at you, his face unreadable but his hand hot, tight on your ankle, like if you tried to get away, he wouldn’t let you. 

That won’t be happening, not when all you want to do is crawl closer, into his lap maybe so you can feel his chest against yours and his heat between your legs, so he can pull you into him and show you just how well he can take care of you. 

“Okay,” you breathe out, because you need to respond sooner or later, and that’s the only word you can summon at this moment in time. 

“Tell Jun you won’t be going out with him,” Jihoon commands, and you bristle at his domineering tone but you also feel yourself clench, just a little. You acquiesce all the same. 

hey Jun! i have to say no to your offer, i just don’t really like to mix business with romance, I’m sorry ☹️

“Done?” He asks, waiting for your nod to swipe your phone out of your hands, put it on Do Not Disturb, and slide it between the couch cushions before yanking you toward him by the grip he has on your ankle. 

“Hey!” You exclaim, out of breath and full of indignation. “Don’t be rude.” 

“We’ve been best friends for two and a half years, you think I don’t know what you like by now?” He asks rhetorically. “You like getting manhandled, like being talked down to, and then you like being treated like the pretty little princess you are. Am I wrong?” 

God, he’s so hot. You hate him. 

“No,” you answer petulantly. “You’re not wrong,” you continue when he raises an eyebrow and loosens his touch. 

You barely even recognize Jihoon right now, he’s being so cocky and mean and sexy. The smirk he sends you makes you shiver, or maybe it’s the fingers swiftly smoothing up your leg. Curse your little pajama shorts and curse his big, warm hands. 

He’s just about to reach your panties when you whisper, “Wait!” 

“What’s wrong?” His eyes are sharp on yours, his hand frozen as he evaluates you for misgivings and anxieties. 

“Just-,” you sigh and wriggle a little bit in shyness. “Not here, I can get… messy.” 

His smirk is back and bigger than ever as he shoves your legs off his lap, stands, and leans down to haul you over his shoulder, making you gasp and cling to him for dear life. 

“Jihoon, I’m too-“

“I squat 450, babe, you’re fine,” his palm cracks down on your ass as he speaks, both his words and his touch making you whimper. 

You assume he’ll take you to your bed but he takes you to his instead, and when he roughly deposits you on his comforter and pushes your hands to rest above your head, all you can do is stare as he yanks his shirt off and tosses it to the side. 

You see him topless often enough, but in this context, it’s different. You actually get to look this time, and you let your eyes travel slowly over every inch of pale skin and muscle, feeling your center start to throb when he palms his growing cock and slides his own little pajama shorts down. 

He leaves on his boxer briefs and sets a knee on the bed, slowly climbing over you until he’s got his hands bracketing your head and his knees spreading your thighs. You’re surrounded by him, his scent overpowering in the best way now that you’re in his bed and under his body. 

This is exactly where you’ve wanted to be for weeks, but now that you’re here, you find you’re feeling a little nervous. Jihoon, obviously, can read you like a book and asks in a low voice, “Would it help if I told you what I’m going to do?” 

“Um, yes,” you answer, because of course it’ll help, in more ways than one. “You already know?” 

“I have the makings of a plan. First, I think I’ll kiss you until your head is too empty for nerves. After that, I’ll play with your tits until you’re crying for me. Then, I’ll eat you out until you cum, and fuck you with my fingers until you cum again,” his voice is low, seductive enough that you’re nodding without even realizing it, close to begging before he’s even gotten started. 

“And then you’ll fuck me?” You ask weakly, feeling small under him even though you’re taller than him in actuality. 

“Maybe. If I feel like you’ve earned it,” he teases, or at least you hope he’s teasing, because if he doesn’t give you his dick tonight, you think you might go crazy. 

“I feel better, I think,” you whisper faintly, and you actually do, now that you know how he’s going to take care of you, what he’s going to do to you. 

“Good, that’s the goal here.” 

He almost smiles, you can see his lips twitching, but he doesn’t let them stretch in a grin. Instead, he slowly lowers his body to lay over yours, dropping to his elbows and letting his legs relax so he’s pressed up against you, weighing you down to the bed. You feel safe, secure like this, and you can’t help but sigh into Jihoon’s mouth when his lips meet yours, a soft, relieved sigh born from knowing you’re in good hands. 

Good, large, warm hands, one petting your head and the other cupping your jaw to pull you into his kiss, as if you need any encouragement. He’s gentle until he’s not, his teeth nipping at your bottom lip and his mouth sucking at the sting, his tongue pushing between your lips when they open on a gasp. 

You feel more than hear his groan when you shyly glide your tongue against his, the sound rumbling through your mouth and straight down to your core. You’re already throbbing, just from this, and you can’t believe you’ll have to endure his evil, delicious mouth on your tits when he’s finally deemed you brainless enough to move on. 

It won’t be long before that happens, you already know, because your thoughts are starting to sift through your fingers like sand, too hazy to pin down and not important enough to try. A voice in the back of your mind whispers this will ruin you, but then he does something with his tongue that makes your breath catch and your pussy clench, and the voice goes silent. 

In fact, every racing thought in your mind is gone, eroded by Jihoon’s whirlwind, and you actually whine when he pulls away, your kiss-swollen lips open and attempting to chase him for more. He doesn’t let you, shifting back to sit on his knees and pulling you up with him so he can wrench off your tank top and flimsy bralette. 

He lets out a shaky sigh, his eyes caught on the rise and fall of your tits as you try to regulate your breathing, before pushing you back down with a firm hand on your shoulder. He keeps the other on your waist, preventing you from just collapsing back on the bed, and follows you with his body, his gaze heady and his lips parted. 

He doesn’t waste any time, immediately leaning down to suck a nipple into his mouth and bringing his fingers up to pluck and squeeze at the other, both of them pebbling under his attention. They’re extra sensitive today for some reason, but that might just be because it’s Jihoon touching them, wrapping his lips around them, warming them with the heat of his mouth and fingers. 

Time slips away as he works you over, his tongue plush and soft and fever hot on your tits, his fingers unrelenting, just on the right side of mean as he twists and pinches whichever nipple isn’t in his mouth. He alternates every so often, never leaving a side neglected, and eventually gets into a rhythm that has you whimpering and arching into him, begging him with your body to keep going. 

You can’t feel how wet you are with your legs spread by his body like this, but you have to be soaking by now with the way your cunt is fluttering, your walls squeezing down on nothing as he sucks and bites and worries at your breasts with his lips, his tongue, his teeth. You already want him to make you cum so bad, and you distantly remember what he said just a little bit ago. 

Until you’re crying for me. 

Well, you can certainly do that. The tears are already rising to your eyes, already burning in your throat, making your breath hitch and your chest stutter beneath him. You don’t know when you closed your eyes but they’re bleary when you open them, your lashes lined with saltwater as you look down at him. 

He’s looking at you, probably has been this whole time, and when he sees the first tear fall, he pops off your nipple and presses his smirk into your breast, his hand still firm on the other. 

“Jihoon, please,” you whisper thickly, and for a moment, you’re scared he’ll make you outline what you’re asking for. He doesn’t, thankfully, just shifts back up on his knees to admire his handiwork. You can only imagine the picture you must make, your chest covered in his teeth marks and your nipples swollen and spit-slick, your eyes half-lidded with desire and need, not a single critical thought behind them. 

He visibly collects himself, taking in a deep breath and letting it flow out as he tucks his fingertips in the waistband of your shorts and panties. You don’t have enough brain power to think of lifting your hips to help him so he pulls them up with one hand and wrenches your pajamas down with the other, dropping you back down to the bed when they’ve cleared your ass and he can tug them the rest of the way off. 

Your legs have bent in the process, your feet resting on his knees, and he takes hold of your ankles, straightening your legs out before dragging his hands up and setting them on your thighs. You expect him to push them apart, to move you like he has been, but instead he says, “Show me.”

You’re past being shy but you still feel a little vulnerable, so it takes you a few breaths to slowly spread your legs. The air clings to your arousal, cool compared to your heat, and the longer he stares, the faster your heart beats. His hands press to your inner thighs, keeping them apart so he can memorize every inch of you. 

“Fuck,” he exhales laboriously. “You weren’t kidding.”

“About what?” You ask tremulously, with not even a bit of a clue as to what he’s talking about. 

“About getting messy. You’re so fucking wet, I think I could slide in right now,” he sounds far away, like he’s imagining it, picturing himself sinking his cock into you, filling you up to the brim. 

Now you’re picturing it too, and your thighs try to squeeze together to soothe the ache between your legs but he’s still holding them open, and he’s too strong for you to even bother fighting his grip. 

“Maybe you should,” you moan enticingly, one hand leaving its place above your head to drift over your body and down to your pussy. It doesn’t get that far, not when he levels a stern, warning look at you, one that makes your clit pulse and your heart race. 

Adequately discouraged, you bring your hand back up and lace your fingers together, leaving you spread out and powerless beneath him. 

“Good girl,” he murmurs, and you can’t hide the way the words light you up inside, make you want to be even more compliant for him, make you want to be so good you become his best girl. 

He smirks at your response, a look in his eye like he’s filing every little reaction away for the future, making hope bloom in your chest that maybe there will be a future. You can admit that you don’t want this to be the only time, your first and last with him. 

(What you can’t admit yet is that this is already more than sex for you.)

Fuck, your thoughts are coming back, no longer so nebulous and murky, now too solid for you to swim through like before. You know Jihoon can see it in your gaze, and he moves so quickly, you can hardly make sense of it. 

Before you take another breath, he’s on his belly between your legs, your thighs still pushed apart by his hands as he all but dives into your dripping pussy. You don’t know what you expected but it definitely wasn’t this, his tongue pushing inside of you, reaching as far as it can go and licking your walls on its way out, his nose grazing your clit with every jerk of his chin into you. It feels like absolute heaven, his tongue so lithe and agile and smooth as it fucks in and out of you, sparks zipping through your veins with every drag of his nose over your clit. 

He refocuses his attention, his mouth shifting to suck gently at the bundle of nerves, lulling you into a dreamy state driven by soft pressure and the vibrations of his little groans around you. Your head is finally, blissfully empty again, and Jihoon seems to be able to sense the switch, because he starts sucking harder, flicking his tongue back and forth over the bud until it has its own heartbeat.

You lift your head up, tucking your chin into your chest so you can watch him, his dark hair against your thighs, his face between your legs, that smart mouth wrapped around you. 

You’ve never cum from just oral before, but you’ve also never had someone eat you out with so much dedication, so much fervor, and everything is made better by the fact that it’s not just someone, it’s Jihoon. 

Jihoon, your best friend who you sometimes miss even when he’s sitting right next to you, his thigh pressed against yours and his arm around your shoulders. 

Jihoon, your roommate who you occasionally stare at for just a bit too long when he stumbles into the kitchen wearing only his little shorts and a serious case of bedhead. 

Jihoon, your Jihoon. 

Suddenly, the wave is building, sucking you into its undertow, and you can’t keep your head up or your eyes open as pleasure grows and grows and grows until finally, the wave crests. It might have been your thoughts, it might have been the heady groan that reverberated around your clit, it might have been both. Either way, you’re lost under the surface in a sea of bliss, and when Jihoon breaks away and gets his knees under him, you assume it’s to offer you a hand, to help pull you out. 

And then you feel that hand petting over your sensitive pussy, feel the drag of his fingertips over your clit, and you realize he’s not going to pull you out, he’s going to drown you further. 

One finger slides inside of you, longer and thicker than your own, giving you something to clench down on as your walls continue to spasm with aftershocks of your orgasm. He bites out a swear, and internally you preen at his reaction to feeling you for the first time. Externally, you can only buck your hips into his touch and whine something that sounds like his name as he pulls his finger out and returns with two. 

The fullness makes you sigh, the feeling of warm flesh and bone decadent after months of silicone, and when he crooks those fingers inside of you and starts searching, you know you’re done for. 

You can’t ever find your g-spot on your own, your fingers are too short and your toys aren’t shaped right, and the second he locks in, you know he won’t stop. He’s the same when he’s writing a song - once he finds his flow, he could be lost to you for hours, days, weeks. The thought of him devoting that same focus to you sends a flash of electricity down your spine, one that ends with a squeeze of your cunt around him. 

You can feel his eyes on you and blink your own open to meet his gaze, the eye contact hypnotizing, consuming. The next curl of his fingers brushes something inside of you that makes your face crumple, makes you forget how to breathe, and his stare grows determined as he taps his fingertips in the same spot. Instantly, you feel yourself get wetter, feel it seep out around his fingers and drip down your ass to his bed, and his face grows darker somehow, his stare penetrating and possessive. 

He leaves the sensitive patch alone for a little bit, sliding his fingers in and out, getting you used to the rhythm and the sensation of being fucked with them, and then he starts grinding into it with every thrust, the muscles of his arm flexing as his pace rockets up. It sounds fucking obscene, the squelch of your soaking cunt around his fingers, especially paired with your breathy, high pitched noises, your whines and whimpers and gasps. 

You’re already getting close again, but you don’t want to cum so soon, don’t want this to be over if he decides you haven’t earned his cock. 

“Jihoon!” You squeak, squirming beneath him in pained pleasure, though you can’t get anywhere with his hand pressing your thigh down and his fingers filling you up. 

“Be a good girl and take it for me, hm?” His voice is so low and rough, you almost don’t recognize it, but you listen anyway, trying your best to be still under his siege because all you want is to be good for him, for only him. 

“There we go, that’s my girl,” he murmurs under his breath, his words like a live wire snaking around your throat, stealing your voice and leaving you to shudder beneath him as he works a third finger in and sets his thumb on your clit. 

You wonder if he’s stretching you out to fuck you, or if he just remembers you tipsily spilling to him that you prefer to cum on three instead of two. You don’t want to get your hopes up so you stop thinking, just lay there and take it, exactly like he said. His knuckles pound against the lips of your cunt as he fucks you hard with his fingers, the tips hooking into your g-spot on every stroke in and scissoring on every stroke out. 

You can feel heat spreading throughout your body, the fire starting in your lower belly and traveling through your veins to scald every limb, to raze every cell. You’re on the precipice of something great, something that will destroy you, but you need just a little more, though you don’t know what it is that you need. 

Jihoon does, of course Jihoon does, and as soon as he demands, “Cum for me, now,” you feel the dam break and the euphoria flood you, the icy bite of release sharp and cutting, dousing all of the embers burning within you, leaving you to tremble and try to breathe through every last curl of his fingers. He’s still fucking you with them, but he’s slowed down, gentled his touch, eventually leaving them inside of you with his fingertips pressed right into that sensitive spongy spot. 

You feel like you’re floating, adrift, lost, until he releases your thigh and leans down over you, pressing his lips to yours in a kiss that feels starkly different from the rest. This one has purpose, it has meaning, it has heart, and the sheer longing you feel for him has tears welling up and bubbling out of the corners of your eyes, dripping down the sides of your face into your hair. 

When he pulls away, you can’t stop them, and soon enough, you’re bawling like a baby. Usually, Jihoon seems uncomfortable with your crying, but now, he just pulls his fingers out of you with a slick pop and wipes them off on the comforter, laying down next to you and pulling you into his arms. 

He lets you cry on his chest for who knows how long, one hand rubbing comforting circles on your back and the other cupping the cheek not pressed to his pec, his thumb brushing over your cheekbone in a soothing pattern. 

“It’s okay, you’re okay,” he whispers into the air when your sobs start to taper off, replaced by soft breaths in and out as you slowly drop into sleep. 

You know you’re in a nightmare. 

You’re sprinting through the night, pouring rain pounding the street and covering the sounds of your footsteps. There’s a car ahead of you and somehow you know Jihoon is driving, and that’s what tips you off because Jihoon can’t drive. 

You’re running as fast as you can, but not fast enough, even though the car seems to be slowing down, the distance decreasing between it and you until you can maybe, maybe reach out and latch onto the bumper. You throw a hand out and your fingertips graze the fender, and then it speeds up and disappears from sight, leaving you alone in the darkness of the storm, water steadily rising until it covers your knees, your hips, your waist. You try to float but something is weighing you down, and just as the water surges above your head, you wake up. 

You blink rapidly in the dark, unfamiliar room, your heart thumping so hard in your chest that you can feel it, though you start to calm down when you take in a deep breath and all you can smell is Jihoon. You pat around the bed for him but find you’re alone in the room, dread pooling in your stomach as you start to wonder where he is. 

You won’t be able to sleep again until you see him, until you know he won’t leave you behind like he did in the nightmare, so you clumsily roll out of bed, your limbs shaky and your thighs and pussy a bit tender from the way he handled you just a few hours ago. You stumble through the door, following the sound of soft snores to the living room where Jihoon is spread out on the couch, barely covered in a blanket. 

A frown pinches his face, his brow tight with stress, and you want to smooth it out with your thumb, want to snuggle into the spaces left unoccupied, but you don’t want to wake him, and more than that, you don’t want to know if he’d push you away. 

You try to tell yourself that he just likes to sleep alone, that you were too warm for him to really rest, that him leaving has nothing to do with what happened.

Deep down, you know it has everything to do with what happened.  

You take in a shaky breath and exhale it quietly, praying he’ll stay asleep as you dig your phone out from between the couch cushions. He does, and you thank him for being such a deep sleeper before darting off to your room and checking your texts. 

There’s one from your bestie, asking for updates about the developing situation between you and Jihoon (you could keep it from anyone but her), and a text from Jun, telling you no worries at all and that he’d see you around, which only makes your heart feel heavier. 

Needing something to do, you strip Jihoon’s bed of the damp comforter and put it in the wash along with your shorts and panties, relying once again on his ability to sleep through anything. 

You numbly carry out your skincare routine before putting yourself to bed, laying awake reliving every moment in his bedroom from beginning to end, ready to admit to yourself that you’ve changed like you promised you wouldn’t.

That he’s not just a best friend to you anymore.

That you no longer want to be you and Jihoon but youandJihoon, with no spaces in between. 

That you might even be in- 

No, you’re not ready for that yet. 

You fall asleep eventually, and there are no more nightmares, but no more dreams either. 

Jihoon is pulling away, and you don’t know what to do. 

He doesn’t kiss you anymore, doesn’t cook with you anymore, doesn’t even watch TV with you anymore, even when you put on the anime you were powering through together. He just stays holed up in his room, keeps the door shut where it used to be open, coming out only to eat or go to the gym. 

You’re trying to shake it off, the grip that night still has on you, but it’s difficult when you have no idea what’s going on with Jihoon.

Does he regret it? Is it that he can’t even stand the sight of you? What if he hates you now? 

Those are the main questions that occupy your frazzled thoughts, though you fear with the way he’s behaving, you’ll never get an answer to them. 

Soon enough, you find you can barely stand to be in the apartment with the ghost of him, the reminder of his absence like a punch to the gut every single time you do something without him.

You start spending more time at your best friend’s place, her boyfriend happy to lend her to you so he can game more, though he steals her back every night before you force yourself to return home. 

When you do, you pass his closed door and tell yourself, you’re not in love with him, you’re not in love with him, you’re not in love with him, like a mantra. 

You don’t think it’s working.

Four weeks pass by in much the same fashion, and you’re on the verge of tearing your hair out and begging him on your knees to come back when he finally shows himself. 

You’re sitting in the kitchen alone, your comfort music playing on the smart speaker as you force yourself to eat even with your appetite all but gone. You hear his door open and freeze, torn between staying where you are to confront him and scurrying off to your room so you don’t have to see him. 

He appears before you can make that choice, his mouth drawn tight and his face shadowed. He hesitates in the doorway like he’s not sure if he’s allowed inside, and you’re mad at him, so fucking mad at him, but more than that, you miss him.

Miss his quiet humor and his cackle of a laugh and his sparkling eyes and his warm body. You miss having his shine on you, miss knowing that you’re his favorite, that he doesn’t treat anyone else the way he treats you, that you’re special. 

And fuck it, fuck everything, because you are in love with him. 

So with a sigh, you offer, “There’s more fried rice on the stove, if you’re hungry.”

It’s not an olive branch but a lifeline, one you frantically toss into the treacherous sea that used to be your friendship, hoping he’ll take it and let you reel him back into your arms, into your life. 

He forces a smile, one that doesn’t meet his eyes or even his cheeks, just barely curling the corners of his mouth as he lumbers over. He walks like he has the weight of the world on his shoulders, your very own Atlas, though you’ve never known his strength to falter, not until now. 

He scoops up some rice into the bowl you still habitually leave out for him and joins you at the counter, sitting heavily on the stool across from you and starting to eat. He’s slow about it, as if his appetite is as minuscule as yours. You keep your eyes on your bowl, avoiding looking at the gauntness of his cheeks and the cut of his jawline and trying to work up the courage to ask him what the fuck is going on. 

An hour passes and you’ve finally finished eating, Jihoon taking both your bowl and his to the sink, quickly washing them and the utensils as you pack up the leftovers and store them in the fridge. You finish around the same time, and the chasm between you seems to widen ever further, the ledge you’re trapped on shrinking before your very eyes. 

He takes in a deep breath and clears his throat, and somehow, you just know he’s going to say something that will cleave your fragile heart in two. Something like ‘it was a mistake,’ or ‘we can’t do that again,’ or-

“I don’t think we should live together anymore.” 

Oh.

Well, that’s infinitely worse. 

“Okay,” you say dazedly, for the third time since you started this with him, because once again, you have no other words. Also maybe because you wouldn’t be able to get anything else out with the way you’re swallowing back tears. 

“Okay?” He questions harshly, just a hint of life flowing back into him as his temper ignites. His brow furrows at you, his mouth opening and closing like he doesn’t know where to begin because there’s too much to say. “What do you mean, ‘okay’?” 

“What do you mean, what do I mean? What else do you want me to say?” You can’t help but raise your defenses, attempting to protect all the little fragments of your heart as they lay at his feet. 

“I want you to-,” he blinks rapidly, his face slowly turning red as he sputters, “Don’t you at least want to know why? We’ve lived together for three fucking years, I thought you’d care a little more.” 

“Don’t turn this around on me! Of course I fucking care,” you don’t mean to raise your voice, but you can’t believe his audacity, abandoning you for weeks on end and then expecting you to chase after him. “But I don’t know if I want to know why, because this already fucking hurts! It’s hurt for the past month. I mean, I literally cried myself to sleep on you and then woke up alone. And I’ve been alone every day since. How do you think that’s made me feel?” 

You don’t want to cry in front of him right now, not after what happened last time, but you can’t hold back the tears anymore, not when they’re burning behind your eyes and closing up your throat. 

“I was trying to protect you, I still am,” he claims desperately, softening at your words and the sight of your watering eyes. “I can’t be what you need.” 

“I don’t need you to be anything but my best friend,” you whisper brokenly, lying through your teeth in an effort to keep him here, keep him close. 

“That’s the problem.” 

He sounds like he’s pleading for you to understand, to find the hidden meaning in his words, but you’re too worked up, too on edge and hurt to make sense of anything. 

“How is that a problem? You made me promise nothing would change, that we’d still be us, and now me wanting you to be my best friend is a problem?” 

“Well, I’m sorry but I didn’t think I would fucking fall in love with you!” He all but shouts, his eyes wide and his chest heaving before he sucks in a shuddering breath and takes a step back, running a hand through his messy hair and looking away from you. 

His words ring in your ears, blending together into a jumble of sounds that you can’t parse through, until you’re not sure he even uttered them at all. 

“Say that again?” You request quietly, feeling a bit out of your body, a bit out of your mind. 

“Don’t make me, please, not when you don’t-,” he stops himself like he can’t bear to speak the words. 

So he really did say it. 

“And how do you know I don’t? Did you ever even think to ask before trying to take yourself out of my life?” You whisper with exhaustion and misery, wounded feelings warring with the hope attempting to blossom within you. 

Jihoon seems stunned at your questions, like he really, truly was certain you didn’t love him back. 

“Were you protecting me, or yourself?” You have to ask, if only to make him realize what seems so obvious to you. 

“Maybe… maybe both,” he bites his lips and looks away, crossing his arms over his chest as his shoulders tense with what you assume is regret and perhaps a little embarrassment. That’s not why you asked him those things, and you can’t bear to see him so closed off to you still, not now that you know how he feels. 

“Jihoon, I didn’t expect to fall in love with you either, but I did. Like, after the first kiss, if I’m being honest,” you laugh weakly at yourself, hoping to put him more at ease. 

“You did?” He asks cautiously, waiting for your nod to let some of the tension in his shoulders go. 

You take a step toward him and then another, and another, until you’re close enough to grip both of his arms and unfold them. 

He lets you, his gaze back on your face, something like pained wonderment in his eyes as you tuck his arms around your waist and cup his cheeks. You lean in, your lips just inches from his, and whisper, “Kiss me like you love me?” 

“Should be easy enough,” he whispers back before pressing his mouth to yours gently, reverently, his hands careful on your back as he tugs you closer. This kiss reminds you of the last one you shared, the one that made you sob yourself to sleep, but this time, there’s no longing involved, no sadness, because this time, you know he’s yours. 

He pulls away before you’re ready, but you release his cheeks and let him go, love-tinged surprise bursting in you when he holds you tighter and pulls you into a hug. He buries his face in your neck and you twine your arms around his, one hand sinking into his hair to scratch at his scalp and the other rubbing his back as he breathes you in. 

You’re always the one seeking affection, the one reaching for him, and you feel the cracks in your fractured heart start to seal back up as he whispers into your skin, “I love you, so fucking much.”

“I love you more,” you murmur, laughing freely when he pulls back and says, “Don’t even start, you know I’ll win.” 

“Yeah, because you fight dirty,” you tease, giggling until he promises, “Baby, you have no idea.” 

He claims your lips in a deep, ardent kiss, one that soon makes your knees weak and your thoughts turn to stardust in your head. One of his hands rises to the nape of your neck, holding you to him and controlling the angle so he can kiss you how he wants. The other drops to your hip, pushing you against the counter as he knocks your legs apart with a knee and fills the space in between with his body. 

You gasp into his mouth and he slips his tongue inside of yours, a rumbling groan vibrating into your lips when your fingers clench in his hair. It’s so soft and his body is so hard, the dichotomy of the sensations stealing your breath as he pushes himself against you, grinding his thickening bulge into your thinly covered core. 

You’re wearing those blasted pajama shorts again but of course it’s laundry day so they’re the only layer covering your center, and almost embarrassingly rapidly, you feel them dampening. You don’t know if Jihoon can feel it too but he’ll notice soon enough, and you can already picture the pleased smirk that’ll stretch his lips when he realizes how wet you’ve gotten for him. 

It’s not your fault though, he’s so hot and you love him so much and he still hasn’t fucked you. It’s been four weeks since he touched you, and when you weren’t battling through nightmares, you were stuck in dreams of him touching you more. You still couldn’t conjure the feeling of his cock, or even the look of it, and deep below the raincloud of loneliness that’s been following you, there was a hunger, a yearning, a desperation to finally know him in this way. 

Unable to stand it any longer, you break the kiss and summon your courage to pant, “Please fuck me, Jihoon.”

You expect him to tease you, to draw this out until you’re really begging, but he just releases you and takes your hand, dragging you behind him to his bedroom. When he pulls you through the doorway, you gasp at the sight that greets you, piles of clothes on the floor and sheet music and scrawled lyrics taped to nearly every free inch of the walls. 

He’s normally clean, meticulous, about both his music and his space, and part of you feels sad that he’s been affected this much, but another part of you feels relieved that he’s suffered just like you have. The rest of you feels ravenous, and that’s what you focus on as he rips off his shirt and reaches for yours, his eyes hot on your breasts when they’re revealed to him. 

His hands cover them immediately, cupping to test the weight of them and squeezing to feel the give, his thumbs rubbing circles around your nipples until they pucker for him. A shiver rolls through you as he ducks his head to suck one into his hot, wet mouth, groans vibrating against your skin like he loves the taste of you. He moves over to the other side, nipping at the bud and laving his tongue over it, his fingers pinching and pulling the one that’s still spit-slick. 

When he pops off and brings his eyes back to yours, they’re deep, dark, covetous, and you’re so hypnotized by his stare that you don’t even notice he’s wrapped his arms around your waist until he lifts you and drops you onto his bed. 

You land on your back, your breath exiting your lungs in a whoosh, knocked out by his rough handling, the action only making you feel hotter for him. He doesn’t give you much time to recover, his fingers tucking in the hem of your shorts and starting to pull them down. You have enough wherewithal to lift your hips for him this time, and when he tosses your shorts aside, you don’t even wait for him to tell you what to do, you just rest your hands above your head, spread your legs, and let him see the mess he’s made of you. 

“Fuck,” he gasps out, climbing onto the bed and settling on his stomach between your thighs, his head turning and his teeth latching onto the sensitive skin along the inside. It stings but you love the ache, hope you’ll bear the indentations for days after, though you know he’ll just replace them when they fade away. 

He releases you when he’s satisfied, licking over the dents to soothe the burn before pressing his hands to the backs of your thighs and lifting them onto his shoulders. His eyes meet yours just as he leans forward and drags his tongue from cunt to clit, the fire in them sparking brighter when you buck into his mouth and whine sharply. 

His thumbs come up to spread your pussy apart and then he’s on you, sucking, nibbling, biting, relearning every fold and contour of your cunt with apt attention. His tongue darts inside, tasting you at the source, and the groan that escapes him reverberates through your whole body, making your thighs squeeze around his head. 

He moves his hands, one wrapping tight around your thigh and pulling it to the side to give him more room, the other shifting down to pet at your entrance. He lets you take in a breath before he starts to sink two fingers inside of you, pushing at your walls to make space until his knuckles are flush with your cunt. 

You can feel yourself fluttering around his digits, the fullness blissful and the warmth comforting, and you almost think you have a hope of lasting more than a few minutes until his lips wrap around your clit and his fingers curl. 

How he can pinpoint your g-spot after just one encounter, you don’t know, but all you can do is hold tight to the sheets beneath your hands and try not to scream as he builds up his rhythm. It’s fast, staccato, his fingers tapping into that spongy spot over and over, your arousal so abundant it’s seeping out of you. 

He works in a third finger, and that’s when you know it’s over, the stretch of your inner muscles around him immaculate as he grinds his fingertips into your front wall, playing you like an instrument and drawing the orgasm out of you as if he’s conducting an orchestra. 

His mouth is nowhere near as graceful, the pulse of his lips around your clit erratic and hurried, his mouth opening wider every so often to gather more of your arousal on his tongue and swallow it down. 

The difference in sensations is what sends you careening over the edge, freefalling through the clouds of euphoria until Jihoon rips himself away from you and yanks you back down to earth. 

“Fuck, I have to be inside of you,” he slurs, his face red and his eyes hazy. He lowers your thighs to the bed and sits up on his knees, licking around his glossy lips to chase the taste of you as he pushes his shorts and underwear down enough to free his dick. 

Your eyes fly to it immediately, desperate to get your first look, and when it bobs in the air, a pearl of precum dripping from the head down the shaft, you almost want to cry. 

You didn’t think dicks could be pretty but Jihoon’s is fucking gorgeous; thick and long enough to make you ache tomorrow, lightly pink toned until the head where it’s red and blushed, the entire thing so hard you feel your core throb just at the thought of having it inside of you. 

“Please, please, please,” you whimper, need clear in your voice as you watch him crawl toward you. 

He doesn’t stretch himself out on top of you like you expect, instead laying on his side next to you and sliding the arm closest to you under your back, gathering your legs with his other arm so you’re bundled up against his chest. You can’t help but wrap your own arms around him, holding him to you for both stability and comfort, your eyes caught on his as he looks down at you. 

You love feeling so close to him after so many weeks apart, love being surrounded by him and held by him, love feeling his heart beating and his lungs expanding against you, evidence that he’s alive and he’s here with you. 

“Line me up, baby. I’ll do the rest,” he murmurs low in your ear, and you obey as if you’re under his spell, reaching around your legs to take hold of his perfect cock and align it with your entrance. 

“Good girl,” he whispers, just as he starts to push inside, and you know he said it then so he could feel how your pussy responds to him but you can’t find it in yourself to be embarrassed, not when his face flushes with pleasure, his brows pushing together and his mouth falling open as he carves a path inside of you that’s just for him to tread, just for him to own. He feels like magic inside of you, the way he fills you to the brim and warms you from the inside out, the way you finally feel complete, like he’s the last piece to your puzzle. 

He’s still for a few trembling seconds, and you can’t tell if he’s letting you get used to him or if he’s trying to keep from cumming, but either way, you want to torment him, just a little. 

So you squeeze your inner muscles around him, luxuriating in the tightening of his hands on you and the swear he grits out, his eyes flashing heatedly at you as he draws his hips back and shoves them forward. 

The loss of him makes you whine but the sudden fullness makes you keen, your cheeks heating at the sound of him bottoming out inside of you, the squelch that follows making him smirk. He can’t hold it for long, not when he gives you one testing thrust, then a second, then a third, and you cry out for him every single time. 

You’re responsive in bed, you knew this already, but you never thought you’d be this loud, this wet, this pliant for him. All you want to do is lay here in his arms and let him fuck you how he wants, use you how he wants, take you how he wants, letting him know with your voice and your pussy just how much you love every single second. 

You don’t want to think, or call the shots, or make decisions, not when you know you don’t need to with him, and suddenly you remember him saying, “You like being treated like the pretty little princess you are,” and fuck, he was right. 

Jihoon must see it in your eyes, how the submission has taken over, because he coos and presses his lips to your cheek, still fucking in and out of you as he says, “You are my good girl, aren’t you?” 

You manage to nod and whine, “Wanna be your best girl.” 

His face softens even as his thrusts don’t, his voice gentle as he says, “You already are, baby. You’re my best girl and my only girl, okay? So don’t worry your pretty little head with anything, I’ll take care of you.” 

That’s enough to have you tearing up again, this time in relief and rapture. He doesn’t miss a beat, kisses away the saltwater as it dots your cheeks and continues to sink into you so deeply, it’s like you can feel him in your guts. 

Pleasure starts to spool up inside of you, scorching twine coiling tighter and tighter and tighter, moans and whimpers continuously escaping your parted lips as you feel a rush of molten gold surge through your veins, your pussy fluttering and then clamping down on him. 

He shudders out a groan and fucks you through it, the friction on your rippling walls sublime, elongating your ecstasy until he finally breaks with you, filling you with a burst of warmth as his white hot cum coats the depths of you, starting to gather around your entrance when it has nowhere left to go. 

You pant, trying to catch your breath and gather what little wits remain as he tucks his legs up beneath your thighs, removing the arm bolstering them and bringing his hand up to caress your cheek.

Your tears are starting to dry up as you slowly come back to yourself, and he brushes the remnants away, whispering soothing, affectionate words to you.

He tells you how much he's missed you, how sorry he is for shutting you out, for leaving you alone. He tells you how he hasn't been able to stop thinking about you, how everything he's written for the past month has either been a love song or a breakup song, how all of them made him cry too much to record a guide so sorry, baby, but you can't listen to any yet.

Then he tells you that he loves you, that you never have to worry about being alone again, that he'll be with you for the rest of your life.

So when he carefully reclaims his arms, kisses your temple and slowly pulls out before climbing off the bed, you don’t panic, because you know that he’s not leaving leaving, that he’ll come back to you this time. 

And when he does, a warm, damp washcloth in one hand and your water bottle in the other, you feel a bone-deep love settle into you, one that you know is here to stay. 

AN: shamelessly self indulgent, reader is me i am reader

thank you for reading, i know this was a long one!

pls lmk your thoughts i am desperate to know 😩

this is the longest oneshot i've ever written but i really wanted to have a complete narrative and im so happy with it but also nervous to share it 🥹

inspired by pretty please by dua lipa but became a beast of its own

[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 s : roman! au, roman general! jihoon, husband! jihoon, father! jihoon, mother! mc, a lot of historical background and roman terms to add historical accuracy, soldiers! bss + wonwoo and chan, this is bss and friends, all of them are so annoying it's a wonder they aren't executed, seungcheol is, in a literal sense, a baby, this is a bullying chan campaign, the soldiers do NOT know how to talk to a baby, domesticity <333 mature content ↠ mentions of loss of loved ones, descriptions of war and death, dirty talk, petnames (my love, my sweet, darling, mea vita), fingering, oral sex (f. receiving), slight exhibitionism, unprotected sex (roman contraceptives are dookie), multiple orgasming, slight aftercare

t a g l i s t : @hyuckworld @gyuswhore @lexyraeworld @moonlightwonu @spooky-goose1003 @dvalitaes @cookiearmy @lllucere @syluslittlecrows @mrsjohnnysuh @fancypeacepersona @thepoopdokyeomtouched @monstacheol @xabsolutelynothingx @kyeomiis @icecream-sundaes @peachytokki @jihanniecheol @ourkivee

a u t h o r ' s n o t e : she is here!! i promised myself i would release this once i've watched gladiator II and she is back...changed woman...i guess this is a belated bday present to jihoon? thank u for inventing music king </3 enjoy reading loves !!

back to masterlist

“WHERE IN JUPITER IS HE?”

The maid whined as she focused on the crowd once more—thousands of citizens gathered across in the Capitol, the road cleared for the procession about to occur. Giddy conversations of every man, woman and child flourished for a mile, and you had to hold onto the girl accompanying you to not be trodden over.

“Careful, mistress!” Myrtia, your servant, warned as you dared take a step at the edge of the hill. “They will be here any minute now!”

You did not listen, holding onto your heavy shawl tighter as you waited in earnest of what was to happen. Rome was a city of chaos, but you did not hear the noise—despite the crowds, the instruments, the chanting, every single voice seemed irrelevant as you stood over the Capitolium. The little houses underneath you swirled around the hill, all evolving the temple behind you, the destination of the people about to be welcomed. Columned buildings made of stone and marble surrounded the crowds, speckled with garlands, its bright colours of vermillion shining in the summer sun. 

A small sigh left your lips. Today was the day he would come back home to you.

“By the gods!” Myrtia let out an excited screech, grabbing onto your arm and pointing towards the empty street, barricaded by the people. “They’re here, they’re here!”

Following her finger, you stared at the scene.

That was when the parade entered. 

Screams of elation spanned across the crowd as thousands of soldiers flooded in tight ranks, accepting the cheers with pride as they marched along, prisoners of war being dragged along by their chains. There must have been hundreds, spanning back beyond your vision, dirtied and haggard, but that was the consequence of challenging the Empire. The soldiers all adorned their red and silver uniform, smiling at the city which welcomed them.

Your eyes scanned the front of the parade, lips curving at the five men on decorated horseback. Each and every one of them had their distinguishable responses towards the people who sang praises to them, and you longed to see them ride up to the Hill where you could greet them.

When your gaze hovered to what rode in front of the men, it widened.

Four horses, adorned in the finest metals and blood-coloured clothing, led the chariot of the same colour, fully festooned in laurels. Gold swirls cemented on its front, making itself heard with its screeching wheels.

It was not the chariot you cared about.

No, it was the man who stood in it.

The man who was clothed in royal purple and gold, holding a laurel branch in one hand and a sceptre in the other. The man, whose wild black hair perfectly settled the golden crown that another beside him held. The man, whose ghost of a smile sent the crowd in absolute frenzy, beginning up a chant to his name.

“Hurrah for the Triumph!”

“Hurrah for the Triumph!”

“Hurrah for the Eagle!”

Your heart stopped to a standstill.

At last. At long last, the Eagle of Rome had come back to its nest.

“Mistress, look!” Myrtia exclaimed, pointing towards the star of the show, the lead victor in this parade. “Your husband achieved the Triumph!”

You glanced at her with unadulterated pride before focusing on the man in front, coming closer in your vision as he began the ride up the hill. The Triumph. A public celebration of a certain general who managed to lead Rome to a special, foreign victory. It meant the destruction of the enemy, complete desolation, which a mere centurion could not simply achieve. To receive the Triumph was to be respected by the highest of the Roman officials. 

You smiled at the notion. The destination for the parade was the Temple of Jupiter behind you, its columns holding up the huge, faded roof, towering over the few beloved relatives of the generals that led the soldiers. “I never doubted he would.”

The crowds grew wilder as the generals journeyed closer, halfway up the rocky hill—everyone opened their doors, leaving their houses to witness the rare spectacle. “Do you think they would let us speak to them?” your maid wondered out loud, following your steps as you turned your back, walking to the Temple. Standing right beside the steps, upstaged till they reached your height. “Gods, I forgot how big the temple is sometimes!”

“Wait here,” you said, holding onto the polished stone as you climbed up the steps. The thundering sounds of hooves on cobblestone entered your ears, and the few other relatives which accompanied you silenced, joy in their faces as the parade ascended. You turned before the show, the entire building shading you with its presence.

There he was.

With his four white horses slowing, neighing wildly at the company that arrived at the hill. With his red and golden chariot inciting excited Latin from the crowd, there he was, swiping past in front of his friends. The horses finally stopped, just before the steps, and the generals behind him followed suit, halting their own as they waited for their commander.

Their commander let go of the reins—stepped down from the chariot, purple robe flowing after the steps. The head that wore the crown turned to the Temple, laurel and sceptre still in his hands.

His calculating eyes skimmed the crowd, face exposing a little pride at the turnout.

He then faced his destination—right on you his stare settled, standing alone at the entrance.

You swore you saw his entire body still.

You were not wrong. The commander parted his mouth, eyes widening with who welcomed him past the steps. Gods, he nearly dropped the possessions in his hands, staring and staring at the woman.

No, not just a mere woman.

But you, his wife.

One of the generals, instantly noticing their leader’s change, got off his horse, same black hair glinting in the sun. He walked over, taking the objects from his hands, smiling knowingly. 

When the leader’s hands were free of the spoils, he willed his feet across the sanded street, first step atop the stairs. His gaze never wavered, unable to stray from the woman who haunted his nights. 

You, however, could not wait at all.

A choked sob escaped you as your own feet dashed forward, barely able to control themselves as you ran to him. His arms began to raise as you collided against him, wrapping your hands around his neck and crying into his purple-clad chest.

“Missed you...Jihoon…” your muffled murmurs slipped into his attire. “Missed you...so much.”

You felt strong arms envelop you, a rough-hewn face burying into your shoulder. “I thought of you everyday, mea vita.”

Mea vita. My life. A smile caught onto your tears as you hugged him tighter. “And I thought of you every night.”

He returned it, feeling his lips curve upon your skin. Placing a small kiss, he pulled away slightly, only to take your face with one of his hands and lean in closer. Enveloping your lips with yours, he kissed you with the longing of a thousand lost souls, finally returned to their other half. 

A soft groan threatened to leave your captured mouth, but then you felt your husband pull away, hands upon your waist. “I must stop here, my love, or I would not be able to stop afterwards.”

Cheeks burning, you did not let go of him. “Are you not finished?”

Shaking his head, he looked beyond you, to inside of the Temple. “I have to pay respects. It is the final part of the ceremony.” He turned to you again, aching to take you before the sacred grounds. “I cannot have you waiting for me that long.”

You were to object until the raven-haired boy behind him spoke up, waving his hand about. “We can escort her home, Jihoon,” he suggested, patting his general on the shoulder. “We do not need to go inside.”

“Are you sure, Wonwoo?” your husband asked, looking towards the other four. 

One of the centurions, with straight, cropped black locks framing his face, grinned smugly, holding onto his reins. “Oh, just let her leave with us!” he exclaimed. “We all know she missed us more than your stone-cold arse!”

You chuckled as Jihoon knifed the man with a glare. “A few hours in Rome, and Soonyoung is already a pain in my backside.”

The younger centurion beside Soonyoung scoffed, brown locks being caressed by the wind. “As if he is not a bother for us all.”

Soonyoung mocked a gasp. “Seungkwan!”

“Everyone, quiet down!” Another man declared, eyes closed and head raised in pride. “We all know our Captain’s wife wishes to ride with me.”

Soonyoung began to chortle at the claim. “_____, you might as well walk home than take Seokmin’s offer,” he mused, earning a near-death experience with a dagger thrown at him. 

Raising a brow at the bickering group, you raised a finger. “You know what? I think I shall ride with Chan.”

The said-boy perked up, eyes widening. “Me?” He asked, dumbfounded. “Well, of course, I just—”

“He would fall asleep mid-journey!” Seungkwan complained, crossing his arms. “It is already past his bedtime!”

“Hey!” Chan chimed in, but it did not help that he looked away, trying to stifle a yawn. Seungkwan pointed and laughed, proving his stupid point. 

“Enough!” Jihoon shouted, silencing them all instantly. “If _____ says she wants to go with Chan, then that is final.”

All of them began to complain, but one warning glare from their commander had them quieting like scolded children. Chan, being the one chosen, began to smile in innocent satisfaction, earning the evil wrath of Seokmin and Seungkwan. Soonyoung merely shrugged, whereas Wonwoo put a hand on his chest, heartily agreeing with his commander.

You glanced at the man in charge, looking as ever the victor in his royal robes. “Come home soon.”

Stealing another kiss from you, he squeezed your sides in comfort, smiling in reassurance. “I already am home, vita.”

THE LEGACY COMMANDERS ALWAYS KNEW HOW TO MAKE THE MOST NOISE.

Throughout the half-hour journey, the five men talked of their lives for the near-two years they were away—the battles they had won, and the siege they had laid over Alexandria, where Mark Antony and Cleopatra were finally defeated.

Chan glanced back every five minutes to check you were stable on horseback, urging you to hold tight whenever a rockier road was being taken. You patted him softly where you rested your hands upon him, showing him you were well. “Do not fret over me, dearest,” you assured him, earning an uneasy chuckle from him.

Unfortunately, the few centurions, riding right beside you two, heard your reassurance, and instantly resorted to striking fear. “Hanging onto Chan for dear life will not help you!” Seungkwan remarked loudly. “One wrong bounce of the horse and he is flying off!”

The youngest of the men, on instinct, tightened his hold on the horse, now fearing he would drive his commander’s wife to her death. Soonyoung laughed at the scene, but set his sights on the next youngest down. “Seungkwan should not be talking,” he crowed, galloping further ahead. “Pray tell us, how much denarii did you borrow off Wonwoo to heal your broken leg? You know, after you tripped over a tent rope?”

“Careful, Soon,” Seokmin exclaimed over the horses’ hooves. “Or Seungkwan will not hesitate to call up all the escorts you went bankrupt over in Egypt!”

Soonyoung immediately whirled his head to you, who eyed him incredulously. “_____, it is an exaggeration!” he deflected. “It was only one visit, merely to see what the women were like—!” 

“Is it true, Wonwoo?” you asked, who was fighting back a grimace at his friend’s endeavours. “Is our dear centurion as scandalous as he’s accused to be?”

The answer was swift. “Soonyoung’s cock is as clean as the city sewers.” 

As everyone cackled, the guilty flushing with embarrassment, he quickly switched the conversation to everyone’s adventures while on the road to Alexandria. Soonyoung did most of the storytelling, with Seokmin chipping in with great pride—Seungkwan had to tell the two of them off when they exaggerated their military prowess, while Wonwoo only laughed, narrating the truth of their adventures. Whatever they told you, though, you knew that they came out victorious.

The Legacy Legion was destined for greatness—especially if Jihoon Park commanded it.

By the time they were done, you had arrived at your villa, almost on the outskirts of Rome. The huge estate had been gifted to your husband by his superior, Octavian, who was thankful for the continuous loyalty he had seen from the Legion. Its exterior towered over the five horses, guards opening the gates to let you and your friends inside.

The estate was basked in whites and greys, roof the colour of baked bricks adding vibrancy to the faded walls. When entering, you were met with your bustling courtyard, servants hard at work with preparations for Jihoon's return. Within the four walls were different rooms which served different purposes—you could smell the different breads and meat being cooked on a slow heat, taking their time to be fully made. The boys began to salivate at the aroma, and when you felt Chan’s stomach grumble beneath your fingers you reined in a laugh, waiting for him to heave off before helping you down as well. 

“Take the horses to the stables,” you ordered one of the servants walking past you, who nodded, shouting for other men to come and help him. 

Seokmin groaned as he sniffed the air again, holding his armour-clad stomach. “I cannot take this any longer!” He whined, stomping to where the smell took him. “____, I must have cena now or so help me Ceres!”

“Stop complaining about lunch!” Seungkwan crowed. “I gave you half of my breakfast, and you pinched Chan’s bread too!” 

“Here we go again,” Wonwoo mumbled. He then heard grumbling in his abdomen, and knew he could not argue against his body. 

You watched the absolute creatures in tenderness, and waved them all over. “Come,” you began, walking inside the first door. “I wish to show you something.”

“This better be some roasted boar!” Soonyoung grumbled, earning a jab in the arm from Wonwoo.

The destination was not far, and with one further turn, you ended up in a smaller, yet spacious room, golden sunlight streaming through the windows. You ushered the boys in, taking up the entire space, and they were all about to complain when you showed them.

Every single man in the room melted at the sight.

“By the gods!”

“Tell me it is not an illusion!”

“This is a better sight than roasted boar!”

Laughing, you put a hand to your lips. “Not so loud now! Jihoon is not aware of this yet, and I wish to tell him myself.”

“Of course!” Wonwoo agreed, eyes dancing. “By Jupiter, he would be overjoyed!”

“I hope so,” you voiced out your wishes, glancing at the surprise. 

The boys were about to say more when they heard the distant sounds of thundering hooves near the villa, and everyone stilled. 

“Quick!”

“Everyone get out of here!”

“Seungkwan, move your fat arse—”

The five greatest centurions of Rome scrambled to get out of the tiny bedroom, rushing into the courtyard where Jihoon now made his entrance, crown still upon his head. He saw the rather guilty exit of his men, and raised a brow at their strange behaviour.

“What are you all—” he was about to ask, but then the boys dashed towards him, each grabbing his arm and pushing him to their last destination. “Wait, hold on—!”

“This is of extreme importance, we assure you!” Wonwoo simpered, knowing his end was near with the behaviour he and his friends upkept. 

“Even more important than lunch!” Soonyoung added.

“Even more important than roast boar!” Seokmin chimed in.

Jihoon was about to throw them off when they pushed him into the small room, waving excitedly at you. “We will be looking for food!” Seungkwan called from the door, and Chan looked at you apologetically before following after his friends. 

Watching them busy themselves, he turned to you, cocking his head. “What was all that for?” 

“They are terrible actors, but they had good intentions.” You then bit your lip, glancing beside you. “Actually, they brought you here for a reason.”

“Oh?” He took a step forward. 

Nodding your head, you put your hand upon the stone. “Jihoon, while you were gone, I had a life-changing experience.”

Furrowing his brows, he put his hands on his hips. “And that was?”

Exposing a little smile, you ushered him closer, gazing down at the said-experience.

“My love, I gave birth to our son.”

You felt Jihoon’s world still for a moment.

Within seconds after, he closed the distance to the cot, following your gaze.

There, wrapped in blankets, lay a small baby, lost in sleep.

The general did not know what to say.

He could only watch the little bundle of life as he dreamed of things which he could not understand, tiny lips brushing against his tiny thumb. The man’s heart began to race at the sight of his closed eyes, the flutter of his lashes as he stirred in slumber. 

So innocent the baby was—so vulnerable that he wondered whether people of his time even knew what innocence meant.

He thought all good had withered from the world till his eyes beheld this child. His son.

“It was he that helped me cope with your absence Jihoon,” you continued, and you did not know why it began to hurt to talk. “You see, the boy looks so much like you.”

Your husband’s eyes flickered to you, catching the melancholy in your stare. He knew—of course he knew how you felt about him hardly being here.

You could not blame him, though. With a position of such esteem came great responsibility, which he would risk his life to fulfil. It was his honour, his undeterred loyalty in what he believed in, that made you fall so deeply in love with him. Still, you admitted that life was barely liveable without his magnetic presence near you.

He propped his hands on the edge of the cot. “May I...may I hold him?” 

“Of course,” you replied, slowly pulling the boy in your arms, cooing softly so he stayed asleep. When you were sure he was peaceful, you held him out to your husband, who took a deep, shuddering breath.

With shaking hands, he raised them towards his son, feeling the soft cotton of his blanket beneath his fingertips. Staring at Jihoon, you made sure that he would not let go—satisfied, you gave him the stirring bundle.

Another hard sigh escaped him.

The child, on instinct, nuzzled further into his hold, right into his chest, and he knew his answer straight away. His heart fluttered nervously, holding his breath to not wake him. It was so bizarre that his nerves heightened with every second, fearing he would let go—his sword was heavier than this child, yet his hold on him was shaky, uncertain. 

He wondered if he could ever get used to this feeling.

There were sensations he had experienced which brought him immense joy. His victories, his commandeering of the Roman legions, the subsequent victories that were guaranteed under his leadership. His centurions, who, despite their incessant complaining, shouting, general presences, were the catalyst to his success. You, who was behind the man that he was, and became—the reason he breathed. 

A small murmur escaped the little boy, and all the love Jihoon had lost these years had come back.

He was never the one to expose such extreme emotions, but gazing at the baby brought him such…peace. In truth, he had not felt peace in a long, long time, yet the feeling washed over him, like small waves upon the shores of a beach. Each twitch of his fingers, every kick of his feet brought his soul to a standstill, then revived it once more. 

He contributed to this creation. He was half the reason for the slumbering life in his hands.

His stare did not leave his son. “What did you name him, vita?”

Your gaze was rooted to him as you answered.

“Seungcheol.”

Jihoon’s rocking froze. 

His eyes darted towards you, and the pure shock which emitted had your heart breaking. His mouth parted, only for silence to welcome his tongue. 

It was now your hands which held onto the cot.

You see, Seungcheol was not some ordinary name you thought up on the hour of the birth.

No, this name was originally held by the previous leader of the Legacy Legion.

Most importantly, the name was held by yours and Jihoon’s dearest friend.

Choi Seungcheol was a sweet, charismatic boy who had grown up in the same neighbourhood as you and Jihoon. He was the nail in your house of the trio, and the mastermind of the romance which weaved between the two of you. 

He had an incredibly bright future ahead of him. Under Octavian’s army he had achieved the title of primus pilus—the leadership of an entire legion—with all of the boys, including Jihoon, under his command. He was an advocate of justice, and had risked his friends many times for defending the rights of Rome and her citizens against tyrants.

It was these very tyrants that brought about his downfall.

Jihoon was never meant to leave your side these past two years. He was meant to stay in Rome under Octavian, but the rivalry against Mark Antony had crossed lines, and war was about to be waged. Seungcheol, forever the hero, vowed his undeterred loyalty to the former, and promised to shed Mark Antony’s blood.

That very night, the commanders of the Legacy Legion were celebrating the war when a group of assassins launched an ambush—the five of them managed to cut out and leave, but Jihoon was on the verge of death fighting. Your husband was to die that night.

That was when Seungcheol made a sacrifice. 

He hollered at the assassins to fight him, giving Jihoon the chance to escape. Your husband begged him to run, but he knew his friend would not listen. 

When Jihoon saw the dozen daggers slash into Seungcheol’s chest, he could not let the sacrifice go to waste.

It was this act that brought him the rage to accept command of the Legacy Legion. It was this dire need of vengeance that helped him cope with the months of stalemates across Egypt, when he thought Mark Antony was to escape.

It was Choi Seungcheol’s sacrifice that made Lee Jihoon the Eagle of Rome. 

Thinking of this particular past had your vision stinging.

Jihoon scoffed, stroking his baby’s brow. “Imagine how smug he would be now,” he mused, “If he knew we named our son after him.”

The thought had you rasping out a laugh. “Gods, we would never hear the end of it.”

He cracked a smile, gaze never straying from his bundle. He grew silent once again, clamping his lips together. Scared to wake him if he rocked him further, Jihoon settled the boy back into the pillowed cot, blinking back the stinging in his eyes. 

He turned to you, and seeing his change of expression had you stepping closer. “Darling?” you got out, your hands raising to touch his face. “What troubles you?”

Shaking his head, he wrapped his fingers around your wrist. Leaning into your palm, he replied, “Nothing troubles me, vita.”

Then, he pressed a small kiss upon your skin. “I have no more troubles now that I have seen him…and I have him because of you.”

His gaze settled upon you, eyes glossed with teary gratitude. “Thank you, my love, for bringing me peace.”

The words nearly made you cry.

Jihoon did not let you, though, when, with his other hand sliding around your waist, he pulled you to him. He enveloped his lips with yours, and with a whine you accepted him, closing your eyes. The kiss you shared was achingly soft, seething with months upon months of longing—he turned your head slightly, and his lips delved deeper, taking you fully with the strength of a waking beast. 

His hands dug deeper into your sides, feeling the desperation seep into his lips as he slowly pushed you back, your arms closing about his neck, needing him all over you. Sliding your hands within his locks, you revelled in its velvety softness, knowing you could live forever in him. 

The action had your husband humming into your mouth, a perfect incentive as he backed you against the wall, pressing himself fully against you, extinguishing any last atom of space between you two. You could not get enough of him, trying to make up months of his absence in this kiss alone, but you wanted more, needed more, or you would collapse in his arms.

It was fortunate for you that he understood you perfectly.

However, your dear friends did not understand at all, bursting into the nursery in utmost hurry.

Five pairs of eyes rooted to the passionate scene before them.

Chan let out a shrill scream.

You and Jihoon repelled from each other, breathless gasps emitting as both of you whirled your heads to the door. The five centurions gathered at the doorway, stunned at the show that went on before they interrupted.

Seokmin let out a groan, clutching his stomach. “I regret eating that entire boar now,” he rasped out, turning away from the panting couple. Seungkwan elbowed him harshly in the gut, making the former double over.

Soonyoung sauntered in, stepping past you two in mighty fashion. “You both are insufferable!” he yelled, bringing out baby Seungcheol and rocking him in his arms. “Carrying out such atrocities with a child nearby?”

“I apologise for the disturbance, general,” Wonwoo said, glaring at the man who now cooed comically at the baby. “We were just...um, we were to ask ____ of the plans tonight.”

“But y-you seem to be very preoccupied!” Chan added, pulling the men near him away from the door. “So we shall not disturb you again!”

“You should have thought about that before,” your husband hissed. “And what do you mean by plans?”

“For your return,” you answered, smiling a little as you regained your composure. “It has been too long since you stepped foot at home. Of course I am to celebrate.”

“And do we not exist to you?” Seungkwan demanded, armoured hands at his hips. “You include Jihoon only as if we were here in Rome partying this entire time!”

“I wished that were the case,” Soonyoung drawled, stepping beside you, swaying the baby the entire time. “I would rather the company of wine than you foul-smelling bastards anyday.”

Seokmin, recovering, scoffed, pointing a finger at his fellow centurion. “Oh, do let us know then, Soonyoung, who was calling us his dearest friends on the march to Alexandria?”

“That does not count!” he countered, waving off the claims. “I was beyond gone from wine, and everyone spews rubbish when drunk.”

“You spew rubbish anyway,” Wonwoo muttered.

“You are lucky I am holding Jihoon’s child right now, or I would have knocked you out.”

“Just Jihoon’s child?” you crossed your arms. “And what if you were holding someone else’s baby?”

There was a pause at that. “I shall not comment further.”

“Enough!” the general ordered, silencing the bickering group. “Out, the lot of you! Go back to your own homes and leave us alone!”

“But _____ said we can stay here and help with preparations!” Wonwoo voiced out, stepping forward in haste. 

“I never said that!”

“Please, Jihoon,” he continued anyway, “I have no wish to dump all responsibility on her.”

The said-man pursed his lips in thought, clearly in no hurry to keep his friends when he could be using this precious time to continue what he left off with you. Already his hands ached to linger further over your body, but if he was disturbed once again, then he would kill his subordinates without hesitance.

Seokmin stopped his train of thought. “Personally, I have no wish to do housework,” he jeered. 

Your husband then smiled, which was more a flash of teeth. “Brilliant. You can piss off back home, then.” He then directed his threatening stare towards the others. “All of you.”

Five pairs of eyes turned to you, hoping for your objection on the matter. However, you only shrugged, holding out your hands to the man beside you. “General’s orders, I fear.” When a series of groans followed at your verdict, you took Seungcheol from Soonyoung’s hands. “Do not whine like that, friends! I am giving you the chance to have more fun before tonight’s celebrations!”

“Whatever,” Seungkwan grumbled, turning his cloak as he stepped out of the room. “I am off to get more drinks! Anyone but Jihoon may join me.”

“Hey!” the commander shouted, but the men were already leaving, save for Chan, scratching the back of his head. 

Seokmin cocked his head in question at his friend’s stillness. “What are you standing here for, fool?”

“Well, um,” Chan started, his shy gaze levelling with yours. “I am not inclined to wine as of now, so I was hoping if I could...err, linger here and help around…” His eyes widened, raising his hands. “But if it is bothersome I will accompany the others!”

Your heart melted at his timidity. “What are you so nervous for? Of course you can stay. Those four idiots will only be causing trouble the entire afternoon.” 

“And we intend to continue such troubles at night as well!” Soonyoung declared, almost skipping to the entrance. “Honey wine, here I come!”

“Chan, are you sure?” Jihoon asked, gesturing towards the exiting group. “You should rest a little after months of fighting.”

“I am alright, I insist,” his soldier assured him, raising his arms. “Let me take care of the child.” When you obliged, handing him the stirring bundle, he slowed his movements, ever so careful not to disturb him. He darted his gaze over you. “You, uh,” he said, and he chuckled sheepishly, a blush rising upon his cheeks. “You both carry on with whatever you were doing before!”

Before you could say further, the man was hurrying out, forgetting to close the door as he took Seungcheol with him.

You and Jihoon watched him go, stunned at the sudden entrance of the centurions, and then the sudden exit within minutes. You could not help the huff of laughter that escaped you at their antics, catching his attention. “What is the laugh for?”

“Your commanders, darling,” you mused, wrapping an arm around your husband. “They are more bizarre than usual.”

Exhaling through his nose, he returned your embrace twice over, engulfing you within his hold. “My half-witted commanders,” he reminisced, running his fingers across your back. “They are delighted to be back.”

“I can tell,” you giggled out, leaning into him. “I missed them greatly.”

His face ghosted a little smugness. “But you missed me more.”

“You keep convincing yourself of the notion.”

Feeling his laughter reverberating off him, you felt yourself being pulled at arm’s length, looking up at him once more. Your husband leaned in then, gently pressing his forehead against yours. “No one is at home anymore, vita.”

A raise of your eyebrow. “Chan just asked me to stay here.”

“Oh, you know what I mean,” he insisted, brushing his nose with yours. “We are alone...with no one to bother us again…”

Much as you would like to follow his intentions, you feared the state of the pending party. It had been two years since the Eagle and his centurions’ return—their triumph will be celebrated without fault.

“Jihoon,” you murmured, taking great pains in retracting from his kisses. “I must go.”

His lips trailed down to your chin, making your willpower all the more weak. “Can you not spare me even an hour?”

If you could spare him half that hour, you would have gladly indulged him, but the party arrangements awaited. The soldiers, and your general, deserved the best of welcomes.

So you made yourself separate from his tempting hold, taking a few steps away from him. “I cannot offer even a second, my love.”

The man pretended to be beyond upset at your resistance. He waited till your feet landed on the entryway when he spoke.

“Perhaps it was better you did not give me a mere hour, vita.”

You looked back. Leaning against the stone cot, he let his lips curl upwards. “It simply would not suffice.”

The curiosity in your eyes had him further smirking. “I need an entire day to make up for the two years of absence from you.”

It was sheer luck you were holding onto the doorframe. 

“Careful, love,” he cooed, which only had you stumbling further out of the door in shock. His laughter followed you faintly as you left the room, blood rushing to your cheeks in drastic speed.

You hoped ardently, without shame, that he would carry out his intentions.

Then, you aggressively shook your head, heading straight to the kitchens. Not these thoughts at the moment, _____.

You have a party to prepare for.

THE NIGHT OF THE WELCOMING ARRIVED AS QUICKLY AS YOU HAD HOPED.

The guests began to enter your estate as soon as the sun descended on the empire, bringing words of praise and gifts to your husband and his soldiers. Your pride swelled exceedingly at hearing the positive messages, encouraging everyone to drink to their health. The smiles did not cease, widening further when the men and women fawned over your child. They wished for your baby to grow up just like the man he was named after, and you smiled, scared that one word from you would have your tears gushing.

You had everyone lay on their seated beds, surrounding tables filled with nourishment. Orders spilled from your lips to never stop the plates of beef and veal and fish and infinite other meats—tonight, your guests would feast like emperors. 

Eventually, the stars of the legion arrived, howling in celebration at seeing you adorned in indigo-coloured finery. You reckoned that they had drunk a fountain’s worth before showing up here, but you only hauled them inside, showing them to their place—cushioned couches all set up around low, circular tables, food nearly toppling off the edges. 

Seokmin drooled at the sight. “Out of the way, bastards!” He declared, running straight for the bedding in the middle part of the cushioned arc, settling himself nicely before digging in instantly. “Tell your slave Chan to bring us some wine!”

As if on cue, the soldier came rushing in with huge jugs of the featured drink, looking at you. “Is this alright?”

“Of course, Chan,” you said, taking the jugs from him. “Now you lay beside your friends! You have helped me enough.”

“Where is that man of yours, my lady?” Soonyoung drawled, snatching a cup of honey wine from the servants. “He did not accompany us this afternoon.”

“He had to go meet Octavian,” you answered, the rest of the centurions lodging themselves on the cushions. “There were honours he had to receive from him before he could officially celebrate here.”

“As long as he gets drunk with us, I do not mind,” Wonwoo voiced, raising his cup in toast. 

Seokmin, seeing Chan looking around in embarrassment, poured a cup full of alcohol and pushed it in his hand. “Drink up, boy! I am not having you shy away from your victories!”

The latter seemed much inclined to throw away the wine, but his friends began to groan. “Fine, fine, but only a sip!”

Seungkwan downed his cup, sighing into it. “He will never grow up.”

Wonwoo eyed you with concern as he plucked a grape from its pack. “Will you not have a rest with us?”

“You men have your fun,” you insisted. “I will settle when Jihoon comes home.”

Fortunately, that did not take more than ten minutes, you catching the sound of hooves outside the estate. Footsteps sounded from the entrance, and you whirled to see your new arrival.

The primus pilus of the Legacy Legion looked every bit his title—regal, powerful, magical in his purple robes, hemmed with gold as it draped over his loose white shirt, exposed on his right arm. His locks, longer than his hair months ago, curled slightly along his neck, roughening his usual soldierly demeanour.

Squealing, you rushed to him, greeting him with a kiss. “Come, come!” You exclaimed, ushering him inside.

“The general’s arrived!” Seokmin before you with the others following, albeit with more difficulty.

Jihoon directed a soft smile at you before sneering at his friends. “At least finish chewing on your food, you babies.”

“Care about your own baby before calling us such, you prick!”

“You are very lucky you are drunk, Wonwoo!” 

“Sit with them,” you said, tugging him to a free space between subordinates. 

As your husband obliged, he let his curiosity wander. “And where are you off to?”

Your gaze went beyond the dining hall, into the leeways that brought you to the kitchens. “I am a host, dear, and that means making sure all my guests are accommodated for.”

His grip on you was strong. “When will you come back?” He asked, thumb brushing over your hand.

You let your lips slip into a small smile. “Soon.”

And you were off, letting Jihoon’s eyes brush over you instead of his touch.

A few hours into the party and the chaos began.

You knew it was bound to happen eventually, with the amount of wine being consumed—your friends alone downed half the deposits, the consequences of such reckless drinking being exposed by their behaviour.

The centurions’ area was by far the loudest: Seokmin drank to the point he pissed in the jug that stored his wine, Seungkwan then threatening to topple that very jug atop his head. Soonyoung resorted to self-praise in his stupor, with Wonwoo shaking his head, yet laughing uncontrollably at every unfunny quip the former slipped out. Chan giggled as he sipped his alcohol, Jihoon watching all his friends with a full cup in his own hand. 

It was around midnight when you heard the voice of your beloved calling for you. 

“Vita!”

Excusing yourself from your tipsy guests, you walked to your dear men, who were creating a ruckus in your home. You felt soft fingers caress your shin within your dress, and you looked down to see your general smiling at you.

“Sit, my love,” he said, tugging you down to him. “You have made me wait a while.”

“Fine!” You exclaimed with mock exasperation, laying down next to him. 

He wrapped his arm around you, pulling you to him, your entire back pressed against his front. “There,” he whispered, and the proximity of his breath had chills running down your spine.

You hoped he could feel the warmth radiating off you.

“_____!” Seokmin exclaimed, pointing his cup at you in accusation, wine sloshing out and spilling. “I have a bone to pick with you!”

“Oh, gods,” Jihoon cursed quietly.

“So I found out from our esteemed general that you named your son Seungcheol.” The man scoffed. “How could you commit such an action?”

When you raised your eyebrows, he smirked in disbelief, gesturing towards himself. “My lady, I am offended you did not name him after me.”

Wonwoo spit out his drink, unable to control his laughter. Seungkwan poured himself some more, clicking his tongue in amusement. “Gods forbid we have another Seokmin in our circle.”

“Now what is that supposed to mean?” the man demanded, bunching his robes from his arms. 

“I know you are not that stupid,” was his sly answer. 

“Boys,” Jihoon seethed, glaring at the two about to send the estate down with their fists. “Lay off the anger or lay off the wine.”

Grumbling as they broke off their spat, you looked up at the mediator, swirling his cup. “You know you do not have to be a general here.”

Your husband hummed absent-mindedly, lazily running his hand along you. “I know, vita. Can I ever rest, though, when I have such rowdy dogs barking around me all the time?”

Chuckling, you leaned into him, his honey-like scent engulfing you. “Have you drank?”

“Only a little.” You felt a lilt to his voice as he continued. “Sober enough to see clearly how divine you look. Especially in this dress.”

You stilled as his hands began to wander downwards. 

Your voice barely came out as you said, “Jihoon, what…what are you doing?” 

He did not respond, instead adorning a small smile on his face as his fingers ghosted down your body, to your stomach. On instinct you stopped his trail with your own hand, gripping his wrist. “Jihoon!” you hissed. “There are people right beside us!”

“People who do not know what is going on around them,” he added, gesturing to his friends. Sure enough, each and every one of the centurions were out of their minds, save for Chan, who was too preoccupied trying to take away their drinks. 

Jihoon turned to you once more, eyes inviting. “I mean, I will stop if you wish.” His movements turned slower, your hand still on his. “If you have other…pressing matters.”

Your mind could only think of damning whatever ‘pressing matters’ there well to the underworld. Perhaps he could see it too. “If roaming eyes are what you fear,” he whispered, “Then let me solve that problem.”

In a flash, he brought one long slit of his toga, resting the huge sheet of fabric upon you so your entire body was cloaked, along with his wandering fingers. So casually he began his journey once more, widening your eyes with each finger spiralling downwards.

When he reached the spot, shielded only with your silk, his head rested softly against your neck. “There we go.”

He barely grazed the slit, but the very sensation had you squeezing your own hand upon his. “Easy, darling,” he whispered, as if he was not the reason for your change. “I haven’t even done anything and yet you falter.”

“Not my fault you went away for two years,” you hissed. It was a terrible thing to say, really, but your desire was bubbling. Your rationality, in turn, simply had to depart.

The comment only made your husband chuckle. “I was saving the Empire, vita.” His other hand, completely free, occupied itself, his solitary finger ghosting along your skin. “Would you rather I damn the world to the gods and serve at your feet instead?”

“As if you do not already,” you murmured, your hand loosening on his wrist. 

Earning another soft laugh from him, his new freedom had him sliding down further. “And where did this…newfound confidence come from?” he asked, one finger delving into your slit and eliciting a shuddered breath. “I’d only hear gasps from you before.”

His slow endeavours found your clit beneath the silk, and the seething gasp that tore from your mouth had the bastard sighing in satisfaction. “Ah, see?” He continued, his hand upon your shoulder now sliding beneath his cloak. It found refuge upon your breasts, perked from the sheer desire burning inside. “Fuck, I missed, I–” His fingers circled your clit, and you closed your eyes, heart beating rapidly underneath his other hand. 

Your breathing turned harsh, eyes darting to the members of your husband’s legion—completely unaware of the shuddering mess of nerves you had become. “Look at you,” Jihoon sighed out, fastening his fingers. “Acting out with our loved ones under this roof.” Your soft whines were music to his ears. “Whatever shall I do with you?”

“Maybe you should—fuck,” you cut off, your legs tensing, a dull, delicious ache growing at the small of your back. “Jihoon, I—”

Your line of speech was interrupted by another voice. You had hoped it would be your husband, taunting you further into oblivion, but it was a voice of pure concern.

“By the gods, _____, are you alright?”

You blinked back to see Chan, holding two glasses of wine, shaking off Soonyoung’s hands. Your eyes then widened, acutely aware of Jihoon’s fingers slowing, your release fading. 

Sly as an asp, your husband retracted his hands, still under his cloak. “What is the matter, dear friend?”

The centurion had his gaze fixed on you, confused at your state. “Is _____ okay, general? Her breathing, she…it sounds uneven. Even her eyes are dazed.”

Soonyoung, taking the lucky chance of his friend’s engrossment, snatched the wine from his hand, downing the bowl. “She is drunk, you fool!” he exclaimed, loud enough for Wonwoo to double over, cursing his rowdy mouth. “And you should be as well, instead of ruining our fun!”

“My lady, allow me to indulge you with wine,” Wonwoo sang out, trying to catch a jug of alcohol from thin air. 

Seungkwan snorted at his attempts, successfully stealing Seokmin’s drinks and chugging the lot. “Oi, you prick!” The latter yelled, nearly bringing the estate down. His friend merely laughed, calling him names and finishing the rest of the wine.

Chan, glancing for a moment away, focused on you once more. “Jihoon, I fear for _____.”

You feared for yourself too, but not in the manner the soldier spoke of—more your sanity at the pulsing, the near undoing now far from being reached. 

Jihoon pressed a kiss to your temple, smiling at Chan’s words, despite differing intentions. “You worry too much, Chan,” he said, beginning to get up from his cushions, taking you gently into his arms. “It is as Soonyoung says. Mea Vita here has had a drink too much.”

The centurion seemed a little unconvinced, but his trust for his commander outgrew any suspicions. Seokmin scoffed at the couple attempting to leave, shaking his bowl at you both. “And where are the lovebirds off to?” he demanded.

“Lady _____ is tired from the honey wine,” Chan explained. “Jihoon is helping her sleep.”

“Ha!” was the boy’s reply. 

“Are you really that dim-witted?” Seungkwan asked, laughing darkly at the youngest’s naivety. 

“Huh?” Chan glanced at his general.

The general declared to his guests, “I will be retiring with my wife, but enjoy until dawn, friends!”

Cheers arose from every corner of the estate, no doubt eager to live up to his request. Jihoon then rested his eyes on his soldier, who looked up at him with great bewilderment.

He only offered a sly wink before slipping into the hallways. 

Chan’s confusion only deepened. 

Soonyoung spluttered into laughter. “You poor fool!” 

Seungkwan’s smirk was prevalent as, taking the bowl filled with fresh honey wine from the tables, he sat beside Chan, offering him his first drink. “Let us educate you, dear man, on what exactly is about to happen between our general and his wife.”

IT TOOK APPROXIMATELY TEN SECONDS BEFORE YOUR PATIENCE SNAPPED IN YOUR DARKENED HALLWAYS. 

You slapped your hands against Jihoon’s purple-clad chest, and tried to push him back into the stone wall. Of course, when one had the strongest general in the Roman Empire as a husband, physically overtaking them is an impossible action.

Which was why he began to laugh at your efforts before casually taking your wrists, whirling you about.  Suddenly your back was against the wall, with his face near inches from you. 

“Cannot control yourself for even a minute?” He purred, bringing your hands above your head. “Has the journey to our bedroom become too difficult?”

“Stop fucking about with me” you got out, aching to have your hands freed, touch his face, his lips, but he was too strong. 

The man leaned further. “No, vita…it has been too long.” 

He brushed his nose along with yours. “Don’t think I’ll be satisfied with simply fucking you against the wall.”

His words alone had your heart beating faster, eager to see how he would play the night out. It had been far too long since you had felt such promise of pleasure in these years.

“I won’t be either, general,” you mused, and the fire that sparked in Jihoon’s eyes could have very well brought you your undoing then. 

That was enough for him to swoop in, damning all sweetness to the underworld as he collided his lips with yours. 

You swore you could never tire of Jihoon’s lips as he moved hungrily, grip on your wrists tightening. A small noise lodged in the back of your throat, aching to be released but to no avail. His mouth refused to pull away, miss even a moment of how you felt against him. 

The years away made you realise how much you missed his touch—lips in sync, bodies snuffing out any distance left—you had no choice but to whine into his mouth, opening yourself up fully to him. You wanted him all, without a single drop of hesitation.

Feeling the exact same, he happily delved further, an eon-old kernel of fire singeing his lips and searing you with his desire. His tongue, catching onto his lust, slithered past your teeth, swirling your tongue with his and increased the volume of your moans. 

Gods, your moans, your little voices of passion were like victory trumpets to his ears, every single ah! or fuck! riling him further into a frenzy. He had not forgotten these glorious sounds when he was thousands of miles away, but it had been so fucking long since he had heard them in person, and not just his dreams.

So he relished in your moans. Completely engulfed himself in your bubble of desire as his one hand strayed from your wrists, skirting downwards along your body. Grabbing hold of your skirts, he raised them to your hips. He caught sight of your cunt, and he swore his mouth watered. 

“Stop it…stop stalling, Jihoon,” you seethed, soul almost withering in wait for your husband to ruin you already.

Fortunately for you, he was the most accommodating man.

His hand freeing yours, it journeyed downwards to the real treasure. Your eyes widened at his finger sliding inside you, and the pure, ethereal sensation of his touch finally attaining your cunt had you dazing off completely. Your mouth forgot all words, as if forgetting how to speak the languages which Jihoon whispered now on your skin.

With your hands gaining newfound freedom, they carded through his hair, finding refuge in the soft, growing locks, tidied for the party. You would have done more had Jihoon not circled your clit, and the delirious sensation was back—your legs nearly gave way, and you let out a whimper as you held onto him tightly, lest you fell at his feet. 

His sharp eyes caught onto your weakening state, slowing his ministrations. “How about I take this somewhere else?” He rasped in your ear. 

Not waiting for your answer, he slid his hands underneath your thighs and picked you up, you instinctively wrapping your legs around him. He did not cease his kisses, his tongue dancing inside your mouth while finding the door to the bedroom. 

He did not waste a single moment—kicking the door open with his foot, he settled you on the table right beside, throwing the objects to the floor. Giving you a small peck, he journeyed downwards, slowly kneeling before you while opening your legs.

His husky chuckling rang in your ears. “Gods, after so long…” he could not even finish, pressing airlight kisses upon your inner thigh, each phantom touch nearing the kernel of arousal. “So…fucking long…”

The minute he reached his destination his tongue slipped free of his mouth. Holding onto your thighs, he let himself take the last step.

His tongue sliding along your cunt had you melting on the table. 

You were certain the table had crumbled beneath you, the ground fading as your husband explored you, lapping up the arousal dripping since the moment he graced you with his touch. A satisfied noise left his occupied mouth, you tasting like the honey wine you poured for him not an hour ago.

This. This made fighting relentlessly for two years worth it. This made every single drop of blood, buckets of sweat and floods of tears worth it. Life was hard, torturous even away from Rome, from you, but all that dark anguish in the time lost between you two was worth it if this was his reward.

And Jihoon would make sure this, too, would be worth it for you.

His tongue found your clit, and if you were not a mess before, the tendrils of pleasure that came with reduced you to cinders. He circled the bud like a slow march, growing faster with each passing beat. You moaned his name, a mantra on your lips which only rang louder. 

“J-Jihoon,” you kept whimpering, and his tongue would circle faster. You begin to thrash against him, unable to sit still while he brought you such unadulterated thrill. You would have happily grinded against his face had his hands on your thighs not tightened, indicating to stop fidgeting.

In honesty you tried—you endeavoured to be composed, but the bastard made the task impossible. The writhing continued, and would have kept going had Jihoon not halted his actions.

You let out an agitated yelp. 

“I’m sorry, vita, but you have to stay still,” he replied, fingers running along your thighs. “Do you not want to enjoy this?”

His lips glistened as he spoke, courtesy of your cunt. With his head in between your thighs, he was a feast for your eyes. “Fuck, Jihoon, I…I already am.” 

Maybe he agreed that he was a fine feast, for he curved his shining mouth in a dark smirk, eyes not leaving yours as he slowly slung a leg over his shoulder. “Well then,” he began, repeating with the other leg, fingers skimming the naked skin. “Let me add to your pleasure.”

This time, when he dove in, he was relentless.

You gripped onto the edge of the table, fingers digging into the wood as he quickened the rhythm of his tongue, working on your bundle of nerves so deliciously you wondered how your soul still survived inside your body. 

The wondering stopped, your questions answered when his finger joined in on the ravishing, sliding inside you and knocking the breath out of you. He was so undeniably good, knowing you liked the insertion slow, almost testing the waters before completely undoing you.

And gods bless him, for that is all he intended to do. The Eagle of Rome only knelt for the gods, but you, your whines, your writhing pleasure he drank like a man parched…

You had become a deity in his eyes; and a celestial figure deserved the best of service — hours upon hours of honing your desire because he was the only one who was capable of ruining you.

Another finger found itself inside you, and your cunt began to pulsate at the fullness it achieved, inching along the growing tension bubbling deep within your gut. Beads of sweat dripped down, your willpower to not thrash against his face about to snap, and when he fastened his pace an obscenely loud moan ripped through your mouth. 

You were much too close to the final high.

“Fuck, Jihoon—!” you nearly cried, hands unable to stray from his hair, his wonderful, lustrous hair. “Jihoon, please, I’m so clo—”

His free hand on your thigh squeezed you ever so slightly, as if aware of your near absolution. He only sped up his work, his fingers gliding in and out so quickly you could not keep up. If that was not enough, his mouth sucking on your clit was ready to bring the sky down on your head.

But Jihoon was ready to risk the destruction of all the world. Ready to face the gods in his last hour as he swirled your swollen bud with his tongue one last time.

That was enough to come undone.

Your release came crashing, curls of pleasure riding all through your body as your mind misted into fog, no thought or idea save for the slow assistance of your husband, easing your throbbing. A lust-struck sigh came out of you, hand falling from his hair onto his tensed shoulder. Sensing your high washing over, he slowed his tongue, fingers withdrawn from your cunt.

He caught your gaze in his, two slick fingers hanging between you two. He dared you to look away as he brought them to his lips, slipping them inside and tasting the residue.

That sight alone could have made you come for the second time. 

The bastard knew it too, for a ghost of a smirk exposed itself on his face, once his fingers were clean of your arousal. “Could not let it go to waste,” he murmured, as if your wetness was liquid gold. 

Hands back on your thighs once more, he lifted himself up gently, toga in disarray over his service. With you sat upon the table, his fingers found home upon your chin, lifting your line of sight on him.

Pure hunger lay dormant in his eyes. 

Not just his eyes, but his mouth still, when he leaned in and kissed you. You returned it without question, desire coiling around your soul as if it had not been released mere minutes ago.

You did not care. Not when you had waited so fucking long.

The man smiled between the burning kisses, humming at your lusted agony as he slid an arm around your waist. “My love—” a kiss upon the corner of your mouth —”What more shall I do—” another kiss, to the other corner—”For you?”

If he kept at it like this, you were going to forget your mother tongue. “Inside me…” you mustered between his lips on you, on your skin. A pathetic attempt, but your mind was still recovering from your release.

He paused, a malicious grin curving. “Pray, mea vita, my sweet, was I not just inside you?” Tugging you off the table, he held on tight as your knees buckled. “See? Even your body speaks for me.”

Your leg brushed against the weakness of his argument, almost tenting his toga. “Does yours?” you managed to remark, catching the defeated furrow of his brow. 

His stare had you silent once again, butterflies forming in your stomach. Leaning in, his lips brushed against the shell of your ear. 

“I’ll have your body screaming for me when I’m done, vita.”

Your body, in his response, shuddered against him.

Jihoon did not wait for more as he slotted his mouth along yours, igniting the flame again, unable to have enough of you as he whirled you around, eliciting the same little whines he adored so ardently.

He swooped you up in his arms, knowing your legs could not take the walk to the bed. Never stopping his kisses, he knew where to go by memory, hands skirting along your skin as he neared the final haven of tonight. Despite his words, he laid you gently upon the bed, continuing his trail upon your cheeks, your jaw, anywhere where you would allow him. 

Your heart sang at what was to come. Memories flooded you, passionate nights of years ago reminding you of what had been, and what distance had snatched from you. You had never forgotten the last time you both had made love, the very last night you both had been offered before he was to sail away to satiate his need for vengeance. He had asked nothing from you, not a single request, even though he knew you would have given it to him in a heartbeat. 

No, that night, he had explored every inch, every crevice of your body—burned his presence onto your skin till the entirety of Rome knew that Lee Jihoon had left a piece of himself in you. That piece morphed into the child you bore, but Jihoon had never really left your soul, despite the thousands of miles stretching between you two.

“Never again,” you let yourself whisper as he broke away, your hands fisting themselves in his toga, tugging off the fabric which was another form of distance. You needed him once again. Yes, you had withstood miles upon miles away from him. But now, you could not handle even inches apart.

He understood. He always understood, slipping off the clothing till it reached his hips. Climbing over you, his abdomen exposed, you could not believe your cheeks burned at the sight of him half-naked before you. A small chuckle escaped him, and he stole a quick kiss before burying himself into your neck.

His fingers reached for the loose straps of your dress, barely of use. “Take these off for me, darling,” he whispered, and the order vibrated along your skin, ready to be followed. While you desperately tried to pry your dress off, he pressed open-mouthed kisses along the base of your throat, making your simple task an impossible mission.

One strap fell, and Jihoon’s teeth slowly sank into your skin, sucking at the spot with such passion a soft groan trambles out of you, unsure whether you could get the other half of your dress off. Thankfully, with someone as accommodating as him, he pressed an unironically chaste kiss before finding the last straps himself. 

The pure smugness in his eyes had you in near tears. “One little kiss, and you’ve ceased working,” he drawled breathily. “Must I do all the work, my sweet?”

You would have cursed his ancestors had he not brought your dress down, tossing the clothing to the side and drinking in your bare figure. 

A breath shuddered out of him, certain that you could inhale the pure lust oozing from him. “I can’t…I cannot believe I went two years without…without this—”

The words were left unfinished as he wasted no time, indulging your mouth for moments before pouncing downwards, taking your left breast in his mouth and skimming his teeth softly against the nipple. The man was riling you up now, you taking his hair in your hands, certain you were trying to tear his locks out with the way you held onto him. Jihoon did not seem to mind, too occupied with your breasts to pay heed to your damage.

“Jihoon, please, I need you to—fuck!” cut off with his tongue encircling your breasts, you nearly had had enough. Your cunt ached for the final descent, your patience growing thin. “Please, I-I need you inside me!”

His answer was allowing one last lick to your right nipple, cold striking your breasts as he looked down at you, eyes glossed over with carnal delight. With his hand he ripped away the toga pooling at his hips, and his cock was freed, almost enraged to be cloaked away in silk. 

You looked like a fool staring at it, but you could not help it—you did not remember it being so huge, even though it has been inside you countless times. Another piece of evidence that he had been away from you long enough.

“Ogled enough, darling?” his voice snapped you back, and you were almost embarrassed at the shit-eating grin that lit up his face. 

“Shut up,” you mumbled, but you could not say more, you being silenced with his searing kiss. 

Pulling away, his forehead rested against yours, black locks tickling your cheeks as he held your one side in one hand, and his cock in another.

Nudging your legs apart, the tip brushed against your folds, and your soul nearly departed from the ghost of a touch. “Careful,” he warned, thumb stroking your hip, and he stole a glance at you.

“I love you, vita,” he whispered.

And began the final descent.

His cock slid inside, slowly, ever so slowly, but with every inch you felt each layer of your spirit stop to a standstill. Jihoon never stopped watching—catching your parted mouth, the shallow, uneven breaths you took, the knitted brows, your fingers holding onto him for dear life. He could not help it, see—these few seconds, these few, transitory moments, where both souls are on the edge of the world, and none know whether they’d hang on, or fall to their doom.

This moment encompassed such an image within the features of your face.

And he relished it. Captured the image, and used it as fuel to his carnal fire as he buried himself into you, releasing a breath he kept inside the entire time. Maybe it was after so long, but the two of you stayed still, your husband fearing you might snap. A frivolous thought, of course, but one can believe anything when one is so vulnerable.

One look from you, though, had his doubts disappearing in an instant. You let a small smile escape, and it was all he needed before he slowly withdrew, the mere action so gratifying you wondered whether it was another one of your dreams, a vision granted by the mercy of the gods.

Maybe the gods were extra pleased, for Jihoon was no dream—only a very pleasing reality, waiting for your whimpers to fill the room before thrusting back into you again. The rhythm was beginning to strike, and you were its follower; the shy hesitations started to fade, and you could feel his desire burning with every slide out, and every slide in of his cock into you, holding onto your hips to keep you steady. 

With each thrust you felt the stakes of your pleasure reach higher and higher. Tendrils of delight rippled through you with his movements, quickening yet keeping his fluidity, like an elegant dancer in a warfield, somehow managing to emerge victorious with his body alone. Of course, you could never doubt your husband. He was the favourite of the Empire for a reason.

“By the gods, you—” he plunged into you once more, and he grazed a certain spot inside you that had you seeing the universes. “You’re so fucking good to me, you—”

Never finishing his sentences, never even finishing his line of thought, the sole thing in his mind being your delicious fucking folds, your cunt which felt so perfect around his cock. He leaned in further, teething sweet love bites onto your neck, revelling in your pleasured groaning, growing louder and louder with each quickened thrust. “Yes, vita, just like that!” he exclaimed, never stopping. “For all of Rome to hear!”

He did not care a bit if the world heard them now. All that mattered to him was you, you and only you.

More so when that familiar, growing ache of nerves was back, warning you of your impending release. Jihoon was ruthless to you, relentless with his cock, unforgiving with his tongue and teeth which managed to devour your every inch. There was no escaping it—the ache was like a tightened knot, with his actions well on its way to unravel it.

“I-I’m close, Jihoon,” you breathed out, pressing your lips on his chest, his shoulder, anything you could grasp. “Please, love, I need to—”

“I know, vita,” he guttered, as if he, too, was close. He did not care much for that, though, when all he could focus on was you, all broken words and teary gazes beneath him. “I know.”

To add even more to your doom, he brought back an older prospect, fingers circling your clit and heightening the delight swirling within your gut ten times over. The nerves were pumping, faster and faster, and you were deathly aware that it was now or never.

Your eyes, seeing stars throughout, found your husband within the mist of desire. “J-Jihoon…”

Everything was forgotten. Not a word remembered in the fog of your mind but your vita’s name, your lover’s name, bright as the summer sun, as bold as the royal colours he adorned in his triumph.

As true as the love never lost between the two of you.

It was enough for the Eagle of Rome to capture your lips, holding you in a heart-wrenching kiss.

It was enough for you to completely ruin yourself.

Your cries drowned onto his mouth as release came crashing, legs shaking as you died and resurrected all at once, came undone within his hold. The world slipped away in that moment, with him as your anchor, saving you from being eternally lost.

While you lay breathless, Jihoon slipped himself out of you, breaking away from your kiss to cry out himself, spilling himself onto you and the sheets. A haggard fuck escaped him, arcing over you before throwing himself beside you. 

Silence welcomed you after that.

The din of the party remained, and both of you gasping, but a silence followed, like a warm winter blanket. Both of you stared at the ceiling, the moonlit parts of the surfaces, trying to catch your breaths after what you both just experienced.

Turning your head, you caught Jihoon already stealing glances. They were heavy-lidded, unsurprisingly, yet you found it endearing, despite the circumstances.

“What?” you got out, cocking your head at his soft staring.

He shook his head, smiling tiredly. He stretched his arm out towards you, murmuring, “Come here.”

Obliging, you followed under his arm, resting your head against his chest. Despite the granite-hardness of his body, no other surface would suffice. Your head rose and fell along to his uneven breathing, a small comfort. 

As the general gazed down at you, the softness returned; his thumb stroked along your cheeks. “I…” he began, voice huskier than usual, you humming in satisfaction. 

“Yes?” you got out, hanging onto his every word. 

Glancing away for a second, he looked to the window, and the view it offered of the world beyond.

He then glanced back at you, a better world he had found of his own.

“I am…so happy…” he whispered. Whispered because he had to tell his world what he felt. “So happy to come back to you.”

Your heart but into a thousand butterflies.

A smile as wide as you could muster was your response.

And as he continued stroking your hair, and you leaning into his hold, you too, knew that you felt the exact same.

For the Eagle of Rome had returned to you at last.

CENTURION LEE CHAN HAD WITNESSED HORRORS.

He had seen thousands of dead men, scattered across the sands of Egypt. He had seen ships sink before his very eyes—by the gods, he had even seen the beginnings of death, when he nearly drowned at the final naval battle that secured Legacy Legion its victory.

None of these events, however, made him more queasy as realising that you, while you were laid beside your husband, were not experiencing intoxication from honey wine. It was an exhilaration of a completely unusual kind, a feeling that had the tips of his ears reddening. 

His fellow men’s reactions only made it worse. “What did you think they were going to do?” Seungkwan only demanded. “Sleep it off on their first night together?”

“Well, how was I to know?” the youngest visibly shivered. “I do not know how married people work.”

“Poor soul,” Soonyoung tutted out, no plans for pausing his drink. “I fear for when he is to wed.”

“I still do not understand,” Seokmin voiced out. “They have a whole child together. How did you not…”

“My apologies for not pondering over our general’s intimate life,” Chan grumbled. “How idiotic of me.”

“Do not mind these deviants,” Wonwoo assured him, handing him a fresh cup of wine. “You just drink their awful comments away.”

He spared a fearful glance at the cup, filled with honey wine. “I should not,” he meant to declare in a confident stance. His voice, already weakened from a previous revelation of his commander’s, had rendered his declaration as a childish mumble. “The baby would need my attention sooner or later.”

“Fuck the baby!” was Seokmin’s great exclamation, clicking his tongue. “He is already the star guest of this damned celebration. We—!” he patted his chest repeatedly—”We were supposed to be the ones our people fawn over!”

“Your need for attention never fails to astound me,” Wonwoo remarked, circling his drink. “The boy was named after our murdered friend.”

“It happens to men like Seokmin,” Seungkwan drawled, slinging an arm around him, “To those men who received no attention at home.”

“Fuck off!” Seokmin jeered, rasped out from the alcohol buzzing in his system. “At least our Roman women fawned over me this afternoon. Where were your girls?”

“My, my, our dear Seokmin’s imagination runs so wild!” The second-youngest cooed condescendingly, grabbing Wonwoo’s cup, which had the latter furrowing his brows. “He dreams of female attention when we have seen no evidence of it!”

Soonyoung wished to join in on the bullying, chiming in, “And now he envies a child that cannot control its own piss!”

As everyone laughed at the poor, drunk soul, who genuinely looked as if he might cry, Wonwoo waved his large hands around, as if attempting to calm everyone down. “No more harassing the unloved virgin.”

“We were not talking about Chan though,” Soonyoung instantly piped up, his next said-target narrowing his eyes. 

“Just because I choose to save myself for someone I love,” he grumbled, which had chuckling resonating around the group.

“Gods help her when she turns up, then,” Seungkwan sighed out, drinking Wonwoo’s wine. 

Perhaps Chan might have said something in retort—might have even garnered the strength to punch the honey wine out of his friend’s insides when one of the servants came hurrying. 

He identified her as Myrtia, your personal maid, who looked incredibly distressed. “Centurion Lee,” she immediately began, “Seungcheol keeps crying!”

“Oh, gods,” Soonyoung crowed, “Wet-nurse first, soldier second, is it?”

“At least he is not a whore first, Soonyoung,” Seokmin muttered.

“Both of you, shut up!” Chan finally snapped, turning to Myrtia once more. “Where is he right now? Will _____ not tend to him?”

“Our dear _____ is a little occupied being tended to herself, remember?” Seungkwan reminded him, his smirk malicious. 

The youngest flushed scarlet, shaking his head. “Right, of course…” He heaved himself off the cushions, to much of his friends’ agitation. “I will see what to do.”

“What?” Soonyoung sat up, but the alcoholic daze had him swaying slightly. “Wait, wait, wait, don’t just leave!” 

“Take me to Cheol,” Chan said to Myrtia, but before she could even agree, four rounds of disapproving voices hurled towards the poor boy.

“No!” Seungkwan exclaimed first, taking great pains to hoist himself off the long tables. “No, no, you cannot go on your own!”

“Exactly!” Seokmin joined in, using Seungkwan’s toga to try hauling himself up. “You will die in there!” 

Wonwoo clicked his tongue, even though he, too, was beginning to follow after his friends. “Chan is not going to die with a mere child.”

Chan watched his superiors rise carelessly from their furnishings, already feeling a little frantic. “What are you all doing?”

“Why, coming with you, of course!” 

“Myrtia, my sweet,” Soonyoung purred, patting a hand on her shoulder, “You lead us straight to the baby!” 

Hurriedly nodding, she turned and headed towards the destination, five centurions hot on her heels as they were led down the familiar hallways. Chan muttered to himself, but did not have time to self-ponder when he was constantly being distracted.

“How much longer is this going to take?” Seokmin whined, holding onto the walls for support. “And since when did the lamps on _____’s walls start shaking?”

“It has not been a minute and you’re complaining!” Seungkwan snarked out. “It’s a wonder you managed to walk forty miles everyday, lazy git.” 

“Not lazy enough to slice your mouth right off!” 

“Just this door here,” Myrtia said, turning into the empty doorway, dipping her head in respect as she stepped out of the way, allowing Chan to enter first, the rest stumbling behind him. 

Sure enough, the first noise heard in everyone’s ears was the wailing—a screechy, whiny sound which reverberated off the stone walls, striking discomfort, irritation, turmoil in the hearts of whoever heard them. The man who felt it the most dashed to the cot, brows joining together in agitation over the sight of the baby. 

“You would think Chan was the father,” Seungkwan retorted. “Do something about this crying, boy!” 

“You really are heartless,” Wonwoo scolded, following after the youngest. Observing the crying child, he pursed his mouth into a thin line. “How does one…stop a baby from crying?”

“Only a mother can take care of her child,” Seokmin voiced out, as if he thought of a ground-breaking notion akin to Plato’s wisdom. 

“We are not disturbing _____,” Seungkwan rebuked, shaking his head vigorously. “Those two have waited nearly two years to fuck each other again.”

“Let them have their fun!” Soonyoung roared, which had the baby crying louder. “Gods, Chan, you are the youngest after Cheol. Handle this sobbing mess!”

“I have seen twenty summers,” Chan muttered.

“Yes, so a baby in my eyes!” 

“Of course you are going to consider Chan as a baby, you geriatric. It’s a wonder you did not collapse on the battlefield.” 

I will kill you in the next war, Seungkwan.”

As the rest started grumbling amongst themselves, the youngest gently picked up the bundle, slowly rocking him in hopes to calm the crying. Seungcheol’s face was reddened with the constant sorrow, and it broke Chan’s heart a little, hoping that he would gain some newfound power and solve whatever problem ailed him. 

A sigh escaping him, he began to mumble sweet nothings to him, morphing those whispers in a quaint song he heard from his own childhood. His melody was like honey wine, words so soft, his voice so sweet, that the men that accompanied him began to quieten, turning their heads to the origin.

Wonwoo watched the scene, smiling lop-sidedly. “You are a natural!”

“It is quite embarrassing,” Seokmin admitted, scratching the back of his head, “That the youngest of us is the only one able to calm a child.”

“None of us claimed to be good with children,” Seungkwan thought out loud, observing the younger soldier tend to the sobbing, which had quietened to mere whimpers. 

Soonyoung tried to raise a brow—strong on tried, but he was too drunk to carry out such a simple action. “You always boasted of your relationships with your nieces and nephews.”

“That is different. I could care less about random urchins.”

“Seungkwan!” Seokmin exclaimed. “Seungcheol is no urchin.”

“He was though, was he not?” The man scoffed, albeit a bit tenderly as he began to reminisce. “Gods, did you forget how insufferable he was?”

“Always on our arses, too,” Soonyoung agreed, snickering. “Do you remember when he got us in shit with Octavian?”

“Talking back to Caesar’s successor during our first military session.” Wonwoo visibly shivered. “The punishment still haunts me.”

But the distant memory only made the rest chuckle, as if the centurions had not received verbal lashings from the leader of Rome at that time. Silence bathed the room, only Seungcheol’s voice sputtering through the surface of calm. It had only been a meagre two-and-half years since the inspiration behind his name had passed, but with the hardships of the Alexandria campaign, it had felt like decades. Even Chan felt the age of this campaign, although he was young when he suffered the loss. 

He sensed the loss a little more that night as, walking away from the cot, he leaned against the wall. As if unable to stand, he let his legs buckle a little, sliding down and settling on the floor, feet spreading out before him. “I sometimes see him in my dreams,” he admitted. 

There was a heavy pause. 

Then, “He visited me more a year back.”

Everyone focused on Soonyoung. Travelling to where his youngest friend sat, he copied his position, continuing, “I told Jihoon about it, actually, right before Actium…I deemed it a sign of the gods.” A small laugh huffed out of him. “He then corrected me, saying it was all Cheol.”

“Typical,” Seungkwan said, smiling. “Take all the might of the gods and reward himself for it.”

“I cannot blame him, though,” Wonwoo countered, wandering over to the seated duo, looking down at their general’s son. “A loss of faith can come with a loss of a loved one.”

“Yes, but look at us now!” Seokmin reasoned, gesturing to them all. “Victors of the coming generation!” 

“But these so-called ‘Victors’ cannot stop a baby from crying,” Wonwoo murmured, sitting beside Chan. “I doubt we deserve that title.”

“Hey, at least Chan deserves it.” Seokmin hurried to sit beside the former, watching tenderly over at the baby. “Look, he is silent now!” 

“No way!” Seungkwan exclaimed, sauntering to the group and settling beside Soonyoung, reaching over to inspect the claim.

Sure enough—at the centre of the most powerful soldiers in Rome, almost slumbering in complete peace, was a silent Seungcheol, happy Seungcheol as he stirred only if Chan moved his hand, or shifted his legs. It was not as if they had not seen a mere child before, but, once again, this bundle, so full of life, was different. This was their commander’s legacy. Their leader’s soul extended from his own life-force, his evidence that he loved. 

This Seungcheol that the five men stared at was the new beginning. 

It was a long time before anyone spoke. “Do you think he looks more like one over the other?” Wonwoo asked.

“All babies look the same to me,” Seokmin offered his opinion. 

By Seungkwan’s incredulous glance, it seemed it was not appreciated. “No one let this idiot have a child of his own.”

The accused frowned, genuinely hurt. “Hey! I should like to have a family one day. Give you all opportunity to become uncles again.”

“I would recognise your baby anywhere,” Soonyoung crowed, “Because it shall be the ugliest out of ours.”

The gasp that escaped Seokmin had Chan choking out a laugh. Seungcheol stirred at the action, which had the latter immediately stilling. “You guys need to insult each other’s future children a little quieter,” he whispered. 

The former had other plans, though. “Wait, can I hold him?” 

Chan shot a concerned glance. “Fine, but be careful!” he insisted, slowly handing over the bundle to Wonwoo, who, after smiling at him, passed him over at the end. 

Seokmin began rocking the child, who glanced up at him, languidly blinking up at the soldier. He was ecstatic, softly touching the tiny nose, and feeling his mouth widen into a grin. “See? He likes me already!”

“Yeah, after Chan has done all the hard labour,” Wonwoo commented, beaming at the baby’s expression. 

“I want Cheol after you,” Soonyoung demanded, crossing his arms, “So he can see what a real man is like.”

“Real jester, more like,” Seungkwan muttered, earning himself a hard elbow in the side. 

What Seokmin wanted to do was tell the eldest to wait his turn. He did not have the opportunity when he smelt the air around him, and found it most foul.

Chan noticed it immediately as well, and within the next few seconds, the others caught on. Five pairs of eyes whirled to the baby, who had the audacity to giggle.

Seokmin let out a scream. 

“BY THE FUCKING GODS—!”

Everyone scrambled to their feat, the rest struggling to hold back their amusement. “Not so loud!” Chan hissed, though he was restraining a laugh, only successful by the finger on his lips. 

“Stupid damned baby!” Seokmin screeched, holding the bundle at arms length. 

Wonwoo could not help his laugh, which spluttered out of him. “You cannot blame a baby for acting like one! It is like scolding a dog for running after a bone.”

The comparison had Soonyoung bellowing out, holding his stomach. “I always knew Seungcheol was annoying, but shitting on us is another low!”

Seokmin visibly shivered, patience running thin. “I hope he is rotting in the underworld,” he cursed, completely merciless. 

“I hope he is laughing at you,” Seungkwan prayed instead, wiping a few tears from his eyes. 

Chan only shook his head, walking to the doorway and stretching his head out. “Myrtia!” he called out, catching her tending to the guests in the dining areas. 

Quickly she arrived at the scene, understanding immediately what had occurred, judging by the men’s reactions. “Hand him over, Centurion,” she ordered, he obliging her instantly. 

“Sorry?” Seokmin offered, as if he was the one who soiled his toga. That had the others laughing even more, which had him furrowing his brows. “You men are the worst!”

“After ruining Chan’s night with all our complaints, it is only fair that we turn to you!” Soonyong explained, as if that was perfectly reasonable. 

Seungkwan cackled darkly. “We really are each other’s worst enemy.”

Wonwoo somehow found that incredibly sentimental. “I would not have it any other way,” he said, slinging his arm around Chan, ushering the other three to join in. “After all, who knows us better?”

“You make a stellar point!” The eldest clasped onto Chan’s free side, poking him in the cheek. “I would not wish to befriend any other wretched bastard.”

“You do not possess the ability to make friends, Soonyoung,” Seungkwan pointed out. 

“Then what are we?” Seokmin demanded, offended, the last to join the group. 

“Comrades?”

“Colleagues?”

“People who have seen me naked?”

But it was Chan, who was quiet all this time, observing his older—usually irritating, sometimes diabolical, yet always beloved—superiors, there formed an answer which had been settled in his heart the moment he had found their company nearly a decade back.

“Brothers.”

The men surrounding him stilled, gawking at the centre of their group—the centre that was always the core of their brotherhood. Although there was ample opportunity to poke fun at the situation, they found no ground for such humiliation. They only watched as, in an almost comical image, four pairs of eyes softened at the boy who had grown right in front of them. 

Wonwoo ruffled the youngest’s mop of waves. “And you are the dearest out of us all.”

“And do not forget it,” Seungkwan said. “Even if we make you seem otherwise.”

Chan smiled at them all, face flushing at the amount of attention received. A comfortable silence fell over them, everyone pondering over different notions, reminiscing of their times together. 

Soonyoung, however, possibly still a little intoxicated, thought of a completely different opportunity—thoughts of the very near future. 

“Men,” he began, “I have a proposition.”

The soldiers perked up, about to brace themselves for a revolutionary idea.

“Who wants to spy on Jihoon and _____?”

There was a momentary pause. Chan, visibly horrified, whirled his head left and right, praying to the gods that his fellow brothers felt the same. 

“Go on, then.” 

And as the four eldest centurions shuffled to the nursery’s entrance, Chan scrambled for a solution, because he would have rather been Mark Antony’s prisoner than listen to his commander and his wife…solidify their reunion.

He sucked in a sharp breath. 

“Wait!” 

The men paused, looking over their shoulders. “What is it?”

That intake of breath was released in complete devastation. So much for calling these utter shits brothers. 

“How about we all drink? I shall…” A hard gulp. “I shall join you properly all this time.”

They could not believe it at first. Chan, however, trudged over to them, grabbing onto whatever shoulder was nearest. “I mean it.”

He swore his brothers seemed happier in that moment than they had been cradling Jihoon’s child. 

“Well, what are we waiting for?!” Soonyoung roared, already leaving the entrance. “Let us empty the coffers!” 

And as the five most powerful men in Rome ran to be utterly gone with alcohol, Chan could not help but huff out a laugh, and hoped he had done his primus pilus a favour. 

YOU HAD ALWAYS ADORED THE WAY YOUR HUSBAND SLEPT.

As one of the most esteemed, strongest generals ever walked on Roman soil, Lee Jihoon looked as vulnerable as your baby son as he lay next to you. His body rose and fell with every breath, his arm a strong comfort around you. 

You could not help the smile that slipped past your mouth, watching him rest so peacefully after two years. You loved every single inch of your husband, but these little pieces of him, offered to you on rare occasions—with the sun bleeding through the bedroom windows, cool air drifting inside, kissing your skin—were a treasure rarer than all the wealths of the empire. 

You dared not wake him, lest the moment ended, only allowing your fingers to stretch a little forward. Your fingertips caressed the small cuts, scars on his skin, wishing you could fill every crevice of his battle-worn face with your liquid love. 

How beautiful he was, with or without what his experiences added onto him. 

Perhaps he could feel the adoration radiating off of you, for he began to stir faintly, humming to your caresses. His arm around you pulled you closer, and you were mere inches from face. 

What fortune to be so close to him, because you witnessed his eyes flutter open. Dark, chocolate irises welcomed you, and you wished with your heart that you could dive into them, and be forever lost in their haze.

“Morning,” you uttered, smiling.

He offered a lazy one in return. “Morning, my love.”

You almost beamed. “I love it when you say that.” 

His brow raised absentmindedly. “What? Morning?”

You tutted. “I think you need to sleep some more.”

“Hmmm…” he nuzzled into your neck, closing his eyes. “I will if you sleep with me.”

“But I already am.”

He craned his head back, nestled in your chest. “I think you know what I mean, vita.”

Involuntarily, you caught your lower lip between your teeth, and by the look on Jihoon’s face, he had half a mind to copy your actions.

Perhaps you would have let him too, if you did not hear a suspicious sound.

You perked up, head turning towards the door, where the origins of the voice—voices, as you listened in—lay. Your husband, catching onto your change of countenance, stretched himself before sitting up straighter, eyes squinting at the door.

Grabbing onto your clothes, which lay unceremoniously on the floor, you half-dressed yourselves before you reached just before the entrance of the room. The voices were much louder, a sense of agitation filling each one.

The loudest of the noise, amongst all the bickering, was a soft wail.

“—you stupid prick, I told you not to feed it that!”

“Well how was I supposed to know what it likes?”

“I hope you and Seokmin never have children—”

“Gods, Jihoon is going to be raging mad—!”

“What it deserves for being called Cheol—!”

You did not get to hear the end of the discussion, for Jihoon grabbed onto the doorknob and burst open the door.

Shrieks were heard on the entrance, five centurions stumbling into your bedroom, one with a special, wailing package in his hand.

“By the gods!” your husband exclaimed, shaking his head at his subordinates, scrambling to stand straight. “What are you all doing, muttering about behind our door?”

“Uhh…general!” Wonwoo declared, earning a sharp hiss from his friends. “We actually…uhhh…” He looked at the others, confused. “What were we here for?”

Soonyoung, rubbing his temples, seethed, “Seungcheol, you idiot!”

“Ah, yes!” Wonwoo straightened, deepening his voice to pretend sobriety. “Seungcheol!” 

Seokmin’s eyes widened. “But Seungcheol died years ago!”

Seungkwan then smacked him around the head. “Not that Seungcheol, you fucking idiot!”

You are the fucking idiot, you ugly bastard!”

You glanced at Chan, whose focus only lay on the crying child. The one who held him looked as if he might burst into tears too, but you spoke up before you had any more crying children in the house. “Here, let me tend to him.”

The boy handed you your son, but you noticed he dared not look you in the eye. “Is something the matter?” you asked him softly.

Soonyoung scoffed at your question. “Silly little virgin has been shitting his toga ever since he heard you two fucking like rabid dogs.”

“Watch your filthy mouth,” your husband guttered, which had the scolded-man shrinking back behind Wonwoo.

Seokmin snickered, Seungkwan smirking as you glanced at the youngest. “Chan…” you trailed off, not really sure on what to say.

Thankfully, your husband seemed to have a solution. “Chan, please grow up,” he remarked, crossing his arms over his tousled clothing. “You were holding my child mere seconds ago.”

“He just needs to stick his cock into someone,” Seungkwan said, a bit too matter-of-factly.

“Or something,” added Seokmin, the honey wine clearly still talking.

You saw Chan physically recoil from the statement. “What did you even have in mind?” Wonwoo asked, nose scrunching in distaste. “Actually, I do not want to know.” 

“Sober up, the lot of you,” you said, unable to stay serious, despite the death glares Jihoon offered them. “I need you all to help me clean the place up today.”

Everyone unanimously groaned, causing the latter to get irritated. “If I hear a sound from you pathetic drunkards, then it’s 40 miles around the city.”

Soonyoung turned his head to you, clearly exasperated. “_____, did you bite his cock or something?”

“Soonyoung!” You gasped. 

“I need to lie down,” Wonwoo groaned, turning towards the door. “I shall be dunking myself in a well nearby.”

“Take Seokmin with you,” Seungkwan drawled, fixing his hair. “Maybe this time he will actually drown.”

“If I drown little man, I’m taking you with me,” the man snapped. 

“Chan, dear, please sort them out,” you requested, hearing him sigh.

“I shall try my best, my lady,” he mumbled, knowing that his best efforts will be in vain. 

As he began to leave, you called out his name. He looked back, and you smiled as you rocked Seungcheol in your arms. “You are his favourite, Chan.”

The revelation had his frown morphing into a small smile, bowing his head ever so slightly before turning to his centurions. “Let us give our general some privacy.”

Seokmin grumbled underneath his breath, following after Chan. “As if they had not had enough privacy…could have made another baby for all we know…”

Jihoon focused his gaze on Soonyoung and Seungkwan. “Remember. No fucking about or it’s 40 miles.”

The latter waved his hand, opening the door. “Yes, yes, we are aware.”

Soonyoung mocked a salute, adorning a most dramatic drawl. “Of course, your excellency, no doubt at all, your royal highness, please, do give us further idiotic orders to taunt us with, your magnanimous majesty!”

Jihoon’s glare did not waver. “Get out.”

“…right on, general.”

And so the last of the centurions were out, you standing at the door as they made to leave. Before they exited, though, they all simultaneously waved at you, some a bit too enthusiastically, others a soft gesture. 

“Ave, _____! Ave, general!”

And they left, laughing already with plans to bring more merriment into their lives.

Your husband joined you, leaning against the opposite door frame. “I have a feeling they’re going to drag poor Chan into some brothel.”

“I think the boy would pass out before that would take place,” you said, chuckling as you glanced down at your child. “At least he takes care of Cheol well.”

“Does he?“

“…better than the average soldier, then.”

“At least they had fun yesterday.” Jihoon took a step closer, observing his son giggling at his mother’s entertainment. “Though they test my patience everyday, they deserve all the reward.”

“Do not exclude yourself, my love,” you reminded him. “You did not enslave yourself to your armies to disregard yourself like that.”

“I do not exclude myself.” His hand reached out, holding Seungcheol’s little head. How strange, that his entire head could fit in his palm. “I am simply happy with what I have right now.”

He offered you a smile. “I am more than happy with you and my son beside me. I ask for nothing more.”

You returned his smile, heart bursting at the seams as he leaned in, enveloping your lips with his in a sweet kiss.

And as the two of you played with your son in the morning light of the Roman sun, you snuck glances at your husband, the light of the Empire. The Eagle of Rome.

Finally, your home was now complete.

[wheeboo]

shirt(less) | lee jihoon

SYNOPSIS. in which jihoon should really learn to wear a shirt whenever someone is at his place... unless you don't want him to. PAIRING. lee jihoon x gn!reader GENRE. fluff, established relationship WARNINGS. shirtless jihoon (yes, this is the MAIN warning), just reader (you guys 🫵 checking him out), a lil lil suggestive, kissing, terms of endearment, mild cursing WORD COUNT. 1.3k

notes: just a silly thought i had thanks to nana tour blessing us with shirtless clips 😚

Jihoon really isn't used to people sleeping over at his place.

It's not like he doesn't want for people to sleep over (some of his members have involuntarily slept over many, many times at some point), he's fine with people sleeping over as long as he has his own little space to decompress. His place is his safe haven, his personal castle, his own little pocket of Jihoon-ness where he could exist without the need to put on a show. Here, he could simply be Lee Jihoon.

That is, until his life started to intertwine with you.

It was a simple invitation𑁋you decided to stop by with dinner and ended up staying longer than usual, and Jihoon had offered for you to stay the night. He remembers seeing the hesitant look to your face at first, but then you agreed with a warm smile. And despite some of the nerves and shaking off the anxious thoughts realising he had just offered you to stay at his place for the first time in your early relationship, Jihoon found comfort in the fact that it was you. And that's okay.

However, he probably should've been more mindful with you staying here. When he's alone and doesn't have anyone staying over (which again, he isn't exactly used to), he's used to settling down for the night at his own pace, with his own routine, so he probably should've told you beforehand that he... doesn't sleep with a shirt on most of the time.

And no, he didn't forget that you were sleeping over; it's just that the thought simply slipped his mind and hit him the moment he had opened the door to his bedroom.

"Hoonie, do you think tomorrow we can𑁋oh my god!"

The loud shriek makes Jihoon shoot his eyes to where you stood next to his bed, noticing the blush that had quickly spread across your face as your eyes widen in surprise. He lifts a brow, before looking down at himself, and he feels the embarrassment heat up at the tips of his ears.

Oh, he's shirtless.

You find yourself standing frozen like a deer caught in headlights, mind going blank, unable to tear your eyes away from your boyfriend's chest in full display in front of you. Your cheeks are definitely burning hotter than the kimchi stew you shared for dinner earlier.

Jihoon's heart stutters in his chest. He feels a blush of his own creeping up his neck, mirroring the one painting your cheeks like a delicate rose. Shit, he wants to melt into the floorboards, disappear into the fabric of his nonexistent shirt. But instead, he stands there, frozen in the awkward form of his bedroom doorway.

"I, uh..." he stammers, voice barely above a whisper. "I usually don't sleep with a shirt on."

He knows it sounds lame, like something a teenager caught in his underwear might say. But it's the truth, the only defense he has against the heat rising in his cheeks and the sudden, unwelcome flutter in his stomach.

Your eyes might as well bulge out of your skull at this point, darting between his bare torso𑁋taking in the clean lines of his abs and the gentle curve of his shoulder blades𑁋and the open door behind him, contemplating a quick escape route that wouldn't involve jumping out of the window. A nervous laugh escapes your lips, before you snap your gaze away.

You have seen Jihoon on stage, in music videos, in photoshoots𑁋you know he has a good build, sure. But seeing him shirtless in his own private space, bathed in the soft glow of the bedside lamp, it all felt impossibly intimate. And you can't help but ogle.

"I... I didn't know," You finally let out nervously, eyes flitting back to his chest for a fleeting moment before darting away again.

His eyes meet yours, and you see a flicker of vulnerability in them. He's nervous too, You realise.

"Sorry," he mumbles in slight embarrassment. "I should've warned you."

Warned you? You almost want to laugh at that. How could anyone warn you for the sight of your boyfriend, shirtless and disheveled, standing in his bedroom doorway?

"It's okay," You assure, gathering your wits. "It's just... unexpected."

Then Jihoon lets out a chuckle. "You're acting as if you haven't seen me shirtless before. I send you gym pictu𑁋"

"Okay, b-but this is in person, so it's different!" You exclaim quickly, cutting his words off.

"So do... you want me to put on a shirt? If it makes you uncomfortable𑁋"

"No! It-it's fine, really. I mean, it's your place, and you're comfortable, right?" You interject, your words a bit too rushed. "I'll just... get used to it. It's okay. Besides, you... look really good."

Jihoon's cheeks flush even deeper. He sees the way your eyes keep flicking back to his torso, then quickly looking away, and it makes his heart race in a different way this time. It's not the nervous thump of embarrassment anymore, but something else. He steps closer to you, and you nearly stub your toe on the footboard of his bed.

“You think so?" he questions, a pinch of tease to his words.

You nod, heart still throbbing in your chest. "Yeah, I-I mean I know you work hard at the gym and that you're always practicing so I𑁋"

Jihoon cuts you off with his lips melting onto yours. It's a kiss that tastes like surprise, like nervous laughter held back, like the sweet, lingering warmth of the kimchi stew from earlier. Your hands find their way to his arms, tentatively tracing the line of his biceps, before wrapping around him and pulling him closer, your palms meeting the smooth contours of his back. The warmth of his skin against yours sends shivers down your spine, and you feel yourself melt into him, the awkwardness of the situation forgotten.

When he pulls away, his eyes are soft and locked on yours, searching for your reaction. A playful smile dances on his lips, and you can't help but return it with a breathless giggle of your own, before a yawn leaves you. You stifle it with the back of your hand, feeling your eyelids getting heavy despite the surge of electricity that coursed through you just moments ago.

"Tired?" Jihoon asks you.

"Yeah, a bit." You sit down on his bed, toying at his soft sheets with your fingers. "Lay down with me?"

The smile on his face widens just slightly, and that's enough of an answer that you need. You crawl into the bed, slipping under the covers as he climbs in beside you, pulling the covers over both of you. The bed smells like him, a comforting mix of laundry detergent and his natural scent, and you snuggle closer into his pillow, letting your exhaustion melt away.

You feel Jihoon shift right behind you, hearing a yawn of his own leave his mouth. You flip yourself around to face him, your eyes meeting his sleepy ones in the soft moonlight filtering through the window.

"Is it okay if... if we cuddle?" You whisper, a hint of shyness in your voice.

A curve of Jihoon's lips bloom like a flower opening to the morning sun.

"More than okay," he replies softly.

Then he wraps his strong arms around you, pulling you close, his bare chest warm against yours. It's more intimate than you ever imagined your first sleepover at his place would be, yet it feels incredibly right. You let out a contented sigh as you adjust yourself in his hold, your head resting on his chest and your legs intertwined together under the sheets.

"Comfortable?" he murmurs, voice a low rumble in the quiet room.

"Mhm," You hum in response, nuzzling closer to him.

Some silence passes, and you take the time to listen to Jihoon's heartbeat against your ears, with a finger lightly tracing the outline of his shoulder, his skin smooth and warm under your fingertips. His breath quietly hitches from your touch.

"Mmh, babe?" You call out to him. "Can I tell you something?"

Jihoon's eyes flutter open. "Hmm?"

A tiny smirk crosses over your face, and you move yourself up in his hold to be able to whisper in his ear, your breath tickling against his skin.

"You're so pretty."

taglist (open) ʚɞ @enhazen @haowrld @icyminghao @slytherinshua @jeonride @lockburn-castle @vrnism @weird-bookworm @mhlsymlysn @ryuwonieebae @yeonjuns-redhair @wonwooz1 @woohaeyo @mark-geolli @caramyisabitchforsvtandbts @aaniag @wootify @carlesscat-thinklogic23 @phenomenalgirl9 @rozisisme @rubywonu

[hannieehaee]

Idk if you're taking requests but I would give it a short and it would mean so much if you actually wrote smthg bout it.

An angsty fic/drabble where woozi and reader are in a long term established relationship and the reader gets their absolute dream job opportunity but it's far from Korea and she tells it to woozi but they get conflicted since woozi cannot transfer between his work and seventeen and reader does not want to give up this once in a life time opportunity. At the same time they are sceptical about a long distance relationship since reader had already been fed up of how less they get to see and stay with woozi with him travelling and working constantly.

You don't have to write it if it's too complex but I'd love to see cuz I really like the way you write!

content: idol!woozi x nonidol!reader, established relationship, light angst, fluff, long distance relationship, etc.

wc: 716

a/n: thank u so much!! im so sorry for how long i took to get this out!!

masterlist

it'd been a week since you told jihoon about your new work opportunity. a week since the air in your apartment became just a little bit colder and the future slightly more grim.

jihoon had been supportive immediately, congratulating you and insisting on you accepting the position. he'd been as supportive a boyfriend as he'd been in the past two years of your relationship. it filled you with warmth and hope for the future of your relationship.

it wasn't until you'd let him know of the location of said job that things became more sad than hopeful.

although he still maintained his supportiveness, there was now a clear air of worry in his voice any time it'd get brought up.

you'd tried to ignore it, pushing it aside until you found the courage in you to actually accept the position. it was your dream job. a once in a lifetime opportunity. except it was an entire country away from the love of your life. and you only had three more days to accept the offer letter they'd sent to you.

the thought of doing long distance would have been fine had you been anyone else. but you barely got to see your boyfriend as it was. living with him was really the only way for you to spend time together. his busy idol schedule had him going all over the world, and when he was at home he was usually ever at the company or in your shared apartment.

if you left, you'd give up on ever getting to see him.

"babe."

the voice took you away from your train of thought. the same train of thought distracting you for the past week.

you looked away from the tv that had been playing in front of you. you hadn't even been watching it, but the background noise helped.

jihoon was at the entrance of the living room, two mugs in hand as he walked over to you and took his usual seat, silently handing you your mug with a tight smile.

not even a single sip from your drink was taken before the subject filled the room once more.

"you need to take this job."

"jihoon ..."

"no, listen," he turned his body to face you, "you and i, we're a forever thing, okay? i don't care if we have to be away for a while. i'm already living my dream, it's unfair that you don't get to do the same," he argued with conviction in his eyes.

"but, jihoon ... it won't be like when you're touring. we'll never be in the same country at the same time, i-"

his hands went to take your mug, placing it on the coffee table before taking your hands into his own.

"i don't care!", his voice raised without meaning to, "so we'll have a year or two in which we can't be as close as we've always been, so what? it won't matter in the grand scheme of things. we'll be together for forty- no fifty years. a few years of uncertainty won't matter a few years from now. babe, please."

his voice pleaded at you.

he was afraid you'd end it all instead of at least trying.

what made it worse that he refused to consider a possibility in which you didn't go and follow your dream. it was a done deal to him. he loved you that much.

that was all you needed to make a decision.

"i'll take the job," you said decisively.

jihoon released a sigh of relief right away, hand squeezing your own in encouragement.

"i-i'll rent a place big enough for the two of us over there. i'll ask for a week off every six months. i'll have it written into my contract so i can go visit you. and- and we'll keep this place here for any time you have time off. we'll call every night, no matter what. even if it's just for two minutes, we'll- we'll make it work."

all you could do was smile at him.

how could you ever worry about change when he was willing to work so hard to move along with it all?

you kissed him then, shutting him up with no words.

and he understood, kissing you back with just as much unspoken love.

[quokkareactions]

Seventeen's favorite place to kiss you

Seungcheol: Temple

~when you're laying in bed, ready to go to sleep? Kiss on your temple

~when you run to hug him as soon as he steps into your apartment after a particularly long tour? Kiss on your temple

~when there are too many people around you at a party and you start feeling anxious? Kiss on your temple

~it's his universal solution to everything

Jeonghan: Behind your ears

~he's simply obsessed with hugging you from the back and talking to you like that

~and like always your hair is in your face

~so as the helpful boyfriend he is he pushes it behind your ears

~this action inevitably resulting in a peck right behind your ear as well

~he's obsessed with the way your cheeks heat up every time he does this, too

Joshua: Collarbone

~no actual reason except for the fact that your collarbone is one of his favourite things about you

~so if you're wearing an off-shoulder top or a dress with low cleavage, the minute you get out of public eye he'll start kissing your collarbone

~and you can bet he's not gonna stop there

Jun: Cheek

~basic? maybe, but your insanely loving and caring boyfriend is a sucker for kissing your cheek

~it's just enough to not overstep any boundary in public, but still show everyone how in love he is with you

~a peck on your cheek is just perfect to any and every occasion

Hoshi: Jaw

~while cuddling your jawline is just perfectly accessible to him

~it's an easy, instinctive place to kiss while whispering sweet nothings into your neck

~kissing your jaw is also a way to tease and heighten the romantic tension

~so are we even surprised Hoshi enjoys it?

Wonwoo: Forehead

~it's just the easiest part of you for him to reach

~you're smol compared to him and he uses this as an excuse

~he also just loves how intimate forehead kisses can feel

~he's not a fan of pda but he pours all his love into the forehead kisses you recieve and that's more than enough for you

Woozi: Palm

~or the back of your hand if you're holding hands

~it's a discreet way of showing affection that conveys tenderness and intimacy

~if you ask him for the reason he'll say that historically this has been a gesture of respect, admiration and chivalry

~but for real he's just a sucker for that shine in your eyes that kissing your hand causes

Seokmin: Corner of the mouth

~as your boyfriend teasing you is his most important job and he takes it very seriously

~he really will make you believe he's gonna kiss you just to leave a quick peck on the corner of your mouth

~and then on the other side

~but at the end a kiss WILL in fact end up on your lips as well, just let him have his fun before that

Mingyu: Neck

~and that's a well known fact for everyone around you

~being in public will not stop him from kissing your neck

~not to mention the hickeys that adorn your neck all the time

~i'm sorry, but you have to live with that (not that you have a problem with it, though)

Minghao: Shoulder

~and it still surprises you every time he does it

~he loves how it brings a smile to your face

~it's a way to share an intimate moment without the need for words

~you can't blame him for adoring how these kisses are affecting you and your relationship at the same time

Seungkwan: Top of the head

~good night kisses on the top of your head is a must have in your relationship

~period.

~it's his way of providing a sense of comfort and reassurance

~these kisses are always sweet and gentle and have a calming effect on you

Vernon: Belly

~you two just lying in bed with his head on your belly while you're caressing his hair

~he moves and it pulls up your top a little exposing a small part of your lower tummy

~which results in the most innocent and gentle little kiss right there

Chan: Nose

~he's just obsessed with your cute nose, that's it, that's the reason

~it's too small and adorable for him not to be

~especially when it's cold outside and it has a reddish hue

[cherryredcheol]

little guy shelf

tldr: what the hell is a 'little guy'? an: i literally do not know where this came from.

when jihoon hears you huff for the fourth time in just as many minutes, he knows something must be wrong. after pausing the music coming out of his speakers and minimizing the tabs of production software on his monitor, he turns his chair to face you and is not surprised to hear you huff again. 

“bee,” he waits for you to look up at him before he asks, “what's the problem?” 

you huff again, but quickly pull yourself together and explain to him, very calmly, “there’s too many little guys on my shelf.”

jihoon blinks, sure he misheard you he asks again, “what is the problem?” 

you’re starting to get exacerbated, he can see it in the way you take a deep breath before explaining yourself, “my shelf, where i keep my little guys, there’s too many of them and now i can’t fit this one but this one is perfect! it has to go on my shelf.”

“i’m sorry, bee. i’m still confused. what is a ‘little guy’? and why does he have a designated shelf?” you two were still on opposite sides of the universe factory, and although the room was not big, he could not see the self in question from where he was, leaving him even more confused. 

“just come over here and look at my shelf, zi. you’ll get it if you can see it.” you could see the hesitation in his eyes at the thought of taking a break from production, but you were not above guilt-tripping. “come help me, zi. i need you,” you hoped your puppy-dog eyes still worked on him. 

turns out, they do. he got up and shuffled over to where you had squat down next to the second-to-bottom shelf on his wall. he’d never noticed before but the little shelf he’s offhandedly told you could be yours many, many months ago had been filled with little trinkets, or ‘guys’ he guessed. he wasn’t sure why you were so upset about this, though. 

“bee, i’m still confused. what exactly is the problem with your…guys?” he gestured vaguely to your plastic army.

“they’re all you! little tiny versions of you. and i’ve been collecting them but this one,” you lifted your hand to jihoon’s face. a tiny green man, bent over a barbell was staring back at him, his eyes were almost crossed trying to look at it. “this one will not fit! they all keep tipping over and then i stand them back up and then they tip over again! but he belongs here with these other little guys, zi. he belongs.” 

he gently pushed your hand out of his face, “yeah, bee. he totally belongs.” jihoon was still confused, but a little less so and terribly fond, “who else is there? who else represents me?” 

you lit up, clearly excited to explain your thought process to him. you turned, hand gently reaching into the molded infantry and remerging with a…grumpy penguin? 

jihoon was still confused but was ready to listen intently to your enthusiastic explanation, “tell me everything, bee.” he was doing this mostly to humor you, but he was intrigued.  

holding the little penguin out in front of you, you said, “this is badtz-maru. he is a penguin. he’s perpetually stuck in the first grade and wants to be the big boss of everything when he grows up.”

jihoon plucked the little plastic toy from your hand, turning it over to inspect it, “that's nice. but why is he me?” 

“well, he has black spiky hair, like you do,” you paused, looking at his long black hair, “sometimes.” you smiled sheepishly before continuing, “and penguins give rocks to their partners to show love. and you wrote ‘ruby’ and a ruby is technically a rock so…” you trailed off, embarrassed about your ramblings. 

jihoon had never thought you cuter. he reached the hand not holding his penguin self onto the shelf and pulled out a pokémon. “why flareon?” 

“oh! other than the sheer cuteness?” you were really on a tangent now, “‘flareon tends to isolate. and it’s in their nature to be lonely, so–”

jihoon interjected, “i am not lonely. nor do i isolate.” 

“well, that’s not true. you do isolate, don’t lie. and maybe not lonely per se, more of a loner. which again, you kind of are. plus, this little guy is spitting fire, which again, you do, so yeah. flareon, obviously.” 

“obviously.” jihoon was thoroughly amused. he had no idea any of this was in his studio. you’ve been hoarding toys here. toys that reminded you of him, “show me one more, bee.”

you pulled out, “a little baby, with a vegetable hat?” 

“no, zi. this is not any baby with a vegetable hat. this is the cabbage sonny angel. technically it’s the wrong kind of cabbage to make kimchi with but i’m choosing to let it slide because it’s little face looks just like yours!” 

you were very passionate about these so-called ‘little guys’ and although jihoon didn’t really get it, he loved you. and he loved that you thought about him so much that you would collect these little toys in his honor. 

“here,” he grabs the green weightlifting one off the discard pile on the floor and stands up. he rounds the corner to his desk and, “it can live here. since it’s ‘me’ and all.” he places it right next to his monitor, right in his line of vision, but not blocking anything important. 

you got up from the pile, leaving your little guys on the floor to see where this little guy had been placed. 

coming up behind jihoon you siaid, “zi! he looks perfect there!” you leaned over and placed a soft kiss on his cheek. 

he blushed but still said, “you don’t have to keep the little guys just on that one shelf. use the whole wall, bee. my space is your space.”

[wifeyoozi]

lee jihoon ✶ 𓂃   hotboxed sweet chick

w.c : 1.2 k ┊ synopsis : you and jihoon ride jihoon after getting stoned in your car. that's it, that's the fic.┊ content warning : smut , no implied relationship, , unprotected sex (wrap the willy guys), coming untouched (f), slight oral (m), use of substance (weed), hotboxing car, stoned sex a/n : mdni !! i have never touched weed so thnx to @junkissed and @yoonguurt for describing some of it to me so I can write it more accurately hehe.

The night had started innocently enough. You and Jihoon had been at a party with friends, celebrating someone’s promotion. The energy was high, the music loud, and everyone was having a great time. But as the night wore on, you found yourselves gravitating towards each other, your conversations growing more intimate, your glances more lingering. Eventually, you both decided to step away from the crowd for a bit of quiet and privacy.

“Want to go chill in the car for a while?” Jihoon had asked, his voice barely audible over the music.

You’d nodded eagerly, a playful smile on your lips. “Sounds perfect.”

You had slipped away together, finding your car parked a little way from the party. The inside of the car was cool and dark, a welcome contrast to the chaos of the party. Jihoon had pulled out a joint he’d been saving for a moment like this. The two of you settled into the backseat, the music from the party a distant thrum as you lit up, the smoke curling lazily around you.

As the weed took effect, the atmosphere in the car shifted. The scent of marijuana filled the air, mixing with the faint, sweet aroma of your body spray. The haze of the smoke made everything feel dreamlike and intimate. Jihoon’s eyes were half-lidded, his usually sharp gaze softened by the high. His hand slid slowly over your thigh, his touch light but electrifying.

You took a drag from the joint, holding it in your mouth for a moment before leaning over and blowing the smoke into Jihoon’s face. He inhaled deeply, a satisfied sigh escaping his lips. “This is nice,” he murmured, his voice thick with the effects of both the drug and the arousal simmering between you.

“You know what would make it better?” you asked, your voice low and sultry as you placed the joint in the ashtray and shifted closer to him.

Jihoon raised an eyebrow, his interest clearly piqued. “What’s that?”

You slid your hand down to his lap, feeling the hardness of his cock pressing against his jeans. A mischievous smile played on your lips as you started to unbutton his pants. “A little private celebration.”

Jihoon’s breath caught as you freed his cock from the confines of his jeans. It sprang free, already hard and throbbing, the sight of it making your own arousal intensify. You reached for his cock, wrapping your hand around it and giving it a slow, teasing stroke. Jihoon’s eyes closed, a groan escaping him as he leaned back against the seat, his hands gripping the edges of the seat.

“Fuck, that feels good,” he groaned, his voice rough with desire.

You grinned, your eyes sparkling with mischief. “Glad you think so.” his hands reached to grab ahold of your hair as you leaned down to lick a strip of his cock, tasting the already leaking precum.

With a playful glint in your eye, you took another drag from the joint, then leaned forward into his lap, your short skirt pooling up at your hips as you blowed the smoke into Jihoon’s mouth. He inhaled deeply, his eyes locking onto yours as he took in the hazy cloud. The act was intensely intimate, a connection that was both playful and deeply arousing. You pulled your panties to the side, hovering above him as he teased your clit from the head of his dick, making you make gutterial sounds.

“Ready?” you asked, your voice a sultry whisper.

Jihoon’s eyes fluttered closed as you lined him up with your entrance. You could feel the heat of his arousal, the promise of pleasure making your pulse quicken. Slowly, you sank down onto him, feeling the stretch as he filled you, his protruding veins slowly disappearing in your cunt. The sensation of him inside you was almost overwhelming, and you gasped, your breath catching in your throat.

Jihoon’s hands gripped your hips tightly. His fingers slid under the hem of your dress and beneath the seams of your panties, digging into the flesh of your ass as he tried to steady himself. “Fuck, you’re so tight,” he groaned, his voice barely more than a rasp.

You began to move, your hips rolling slowly as you adjusted to the fullness of him. The friction was delicious, each movement sending waves of pleasure through both of you. The car rocked slightly with your movements, the fog of the smoke making everything feel even more surreal. You placed your hands on Jihoon’s shoulders for support, riding him with increasing urgency.

Jihoon’s eyes were dark with lust, his gaze never leaving your face as you rode him. His hands guided your movements, helping you find a rhythm that made both of you moan. The joint lay forgotten in the ashtray as the heat between you became too intense for anything else to matter. His one hand reached up to pull your strapless dress down along with your bra, freeing your tits to his eyes. He groped the meat of your boobs as he hungrily lapped over your nipples.

“Fuck, Jihoon,” you moaned, your voice breaking as you felt him thrust up to meet your movements. “This feels so fucking good.”

“Yeah? You like riding my cock?” he growled, his voice rough with desire. “You look so fucking hot like this.”

You responded by riding him harder, the sound of skin slapping against skin filling the car. The weed made every sensation more intense, amplifying the pleasure to a level that was almost unbearable. You could feel the knot of desire tightening in your core, the impending climax making you gasp and moan.

“I’m gonna come,” you cried out, your movements becoming erratic as you chased your release.

“Untouched too?,” Jihoon chuckled, his grip on your hips tightening as he thrust up into you harder, faster. “Go on, come for me baby. I want to feel you come all over my cock.”

His words were the final push you needed. Your orgasm hit you with a force that left you trembling, your body convulsing as you cried out. The sensation of you coming around him pushed Jihoon to his own climax, his groans mingling with yours as he spilled inside you, his grip on your hips almost bruising.

You both stayed like that for a moment, catching your breath as the car filled with the combined scents of sex and weed. The fog in the car was even thicker now, making it feel like you were in your own little world. Finally, you pulled away, settling beside him in the cramped backseat, a string of sticky semen from your cunt still connected to his cock.

Jihoon looked over at you, a lazy grin spreading across his face as he caught his breath. “That was fucking amazing,” he said, his voice still rough with satisfaction.

You smiled, feeling a warm glow of contentment. “Yeah, it was,” you agreed, reaching for the joint to take another hit. “We should definitely do this more often.”

Jihoon chuckled, taking the joint from you and taking a long drag. “Absolutely,” he said, blowing the smoke out in a long, slow exhale. “Absolutely.”

[seungcheorry]

cherrytober ❤️🍒: day 07 - lee jihoon

woozi + charging your phone at night;

when jihoon comes to the bedroom, he's met with the view of your sleeping figure. he softly smiles to himself, catching the way you're still holding your phone, where there's a tiktok playing - was that person teaching how to cook the one recipe he told you he wanted to eat?

jihoon takes your phone, closing the app and checking if your alarm for the morning is set.

"6am? you should have slept earlier", he says, as if you could hear him in your unconscious state.

he plugs your phone into the charger on your bedside, caressing your face before walking around the bed to lay beside you.

as his weight makes the bed shift, jihoon quietly chuckles when you turn around to cuddle him, still sleepy.

"thought you were gonna sleep in the shower", you mumble.

"you didn't even wait for me, you punk."

"i was... i was watchi-", you try to say, mind fogged with sleepiness. "wait, where is my phone?"

"charging", jihoon pulls you closer. "low battery, 16%."

you hum, pressing your face to his naked chest. you press a kiss to his skin, as you're too tired to say 'thank you' - jihoon knows that, though.

[ylangelegy]

jihoon has always been good with his words. he would have to be, considering his line of work. that was why he didn't really struggle telling you he likes you and wants to get to know you better. this, after all, is the man who once said "if i was flirting, i promise you would know."

jihoon, however, fails to put in to consideration what it's like to start dating when there are twelve other boys constantly around. he's always been the steadfast type, but now he finds himself bearing the brunt of their teasing. and that's only the tip of the iceberg.

jihoon, who learns pretty early on, that songwriting ≠ being good at communicating. he can be blunt, bordering inconsiderate, and yet he still can't express himself the way he wants to. it should be simple, telling you these things. why can't he?

jihoon thinks it's over for him until you casually teach him something. "hey," you say, and you squeeze his hand three times. he stares at you blankly until you laughingly telling him, "it means 'i love you'." if it's meant to be something cheesy, meant to be a joke of some sorts— well, he takes it very differently.

jihoon starts squeezing your hand thrice at every chance that he can get. when you sit next to him at dinner with the members. i love you. when you stop by his studio with takeout. i love you. when he's in the wings, waiting to go on stage. i love you.

jihoon, whose 'vocabulary' starts to expand. when he taps thrice at the small of your back, over your shirt? it means he likes your outfit. when he raps his knuckles against your knee underneath the table? it means he wants to go home, or that he wants to take you home.

jihoon knows this isn't enough. he knows. he still says the words, still doles them out when he can manage, but when you're out somewhere where he can't, when there's other people? when you've just fought and there's still a lump in both your throats? when you're both too sleepy to say the words?

jihoon squeezes your hand three times.

[xinganhao]

🎱 svt gets jealous ft. producer!reader.

anon → "I always had this idea in my head: seventeen when a fellow female idol under their company is a producer too and is helping to produce their new album, and they start falling for them but get jealous seeing another member and her interacting closely, laughing together etc."

⌗ ┆hyung line ( + a special jihoon chapter! ) ★ ₊ ˚ maknae line.

‧₊˚✩彡 includes: idol/producer!reader, jealousy, svt confesses to reader, svt asks reader out, friends to lovers (implied), [light] angst, fluff -ish, headcanons under the cut. still open to requests!

🎱 headcanons .ᐟ

of course seungcheol is the jealous type. 95z tease him about how visibly pouty he gets when your attention is elsewhere. as petulant as he is, seungcheol has an image to maintain— and, besides, he's always been a bit of a go-getter. he's straightforward enough about his intentions without outwardly exposing his envy. he bides his time, because he's unlikely to initiate anything while you're still producing with the group. but once that passes? you can anticipate a proper invitation to go out on a date.

jeonghan deals with his jealousy by teasing you with the other members, almost even pushing you in their direction. in some way, he's testing you, gauging your reaction. the other half of him really just wants to get a rise out of you. he'll let you know about how he feels in the most casual and cool way, too, like he's just telling you about the weather. afterwards, it's a lot more light teasing— this time, in the form of him poking fun at his own feelings. "yah, you're so lucky to have caught my eye," he'll joke. "what is it with you that has all of us falling over our feet, hm?"

try as he might, joshua can't be chill about the fact that he's feeling something akin to jealousy. he'd be the type to try and evade it, but not in an obvious way. maybe he keeps his distance. maybe he gets a little quiet around you. he's not the pouty type, not the one who will throw a fit; instead, he relegates himself to the sidelines. he'd tell you of his feelings a little later down the line, and only so he can completely get over it.

junhui pins the blame on you. he'll kid around about you cozying up to the other boys in a bid to hide how upset he is that it's not him you're cozying up to. still, there's a smug air to him whenever he confirms that you don't think of them that way. he can be confusing— is he flirting with you? is he just being friendly?— until he finally asks you out. "don't act like you didn't know i liked you," he'll huff, completely oblivious to his mixed signals.

on the flipside of the coin, soonyoung is the complete opposite. he wears his heart on his sleeve, after all. why should this be an exception? he'll whine about not having your attention. he'll fawn over your work until the others are begging him to tone it down. and he'll make it very, very clear that while you're not his (yet), he does not appreciate the other members interacting so closely with you. when it comes to soonyoung, it's really just a matter of when you'll give in to his painfully obvious advances.

this whole situation— falling for someone he's not supposed to, getting jealous of his own members— activates wonwoo's fight or flight response like crazy. it's one thing to accept the fact that, okay, maybe he has a crush on you. but when he has to deal with the fact that he's feeling negatively towards the boys who are as good as his brothers? yeah, wonwoo doesn't like that. in short: he chooses flight. he might freeze you out, might suddenly go from friendly to just cordial enough that it's not mean. the moment he realizes what's happening, wonwoo doesn't hesitate to put his walls up. + a wonwoo drabble!

🎱 the jihoon 'chapter' .ᐟ

author's note: anon, u had no way of knowing this, but i have a brewing jihoon story with a very similar plot as ur request— i absolutely could not resist a quick special (featuring my half-baked thoughts/wip which will hopefully come to life some day lol)

jihoon isn't entirely sure what to make of having a new producer on board, even if it is a temporary arrangement. perhaps it had been his pride. a part of him was happy having BUMZU and PRISMFILTER around, but anything beyond that felt like a challenge. and to have to do this with a fellow idol-producer? it definitely felt like a test of some sorts.

jihoon's hesitance morphs from begrudging respect, to genuine appreciation, to something akin to admiration. he likes your work and your ethic. he sees why you produce for your group; can recognize some of that scrappy, hungry qualities you bring to the studio.

because you run such parallel lines as idols, jihoon ends up exposing to you a habit of his that he tends to only ever show off to his co-producers. he video calls. often.

never mind if it's something that can be resolved over text or audio message. jihoon will video call instead of text because he usually talks in streams of consciousness, because he needs to see your real-time reaction to a lyric or a tune. that's just the type of person that he is, and you quickly get used to it in the months you work together.

honestly, the thoughts of jealousy are secondary to jihoon. if anything, what he's forced to reckon with is a much more foreign feeling. the flutter of his chest when you walk in to his studio. the stutter in his pulse as your fingers lightly brush over his DAW. the hitch of his breath when your head falls, ever so slightly, on to his shoulder, the longer the evening drags on.

jihoon is a man in his late twenties. as he tries to stay absolutely still to keep you from waking, there's only one thing on his mind: wasn't he too old to have a crush?

(when your shared project ends, jihoon goes back and forth before deciding— fuck it. he had nothing to lose and everything to gain.)

(and so he 'confesses' in the most jihoon way he knows: with a song.)

[icyminghao]

the world of fiction

pairing: jihoon x gn!reader genre: fluff, crack, established relationship, drabble warning(s): mentions of death (of fictional characters) word count: 0.7k

summary: jihoon comes home to the sound of you crying, and he’s utterly confused as to why.

Coming home to the sound of you crying was not what Jihoon expected to be greeted with.

But he’s here now, in this very moment, feet rooted to the floor as he faintly hears your muffled sobs from the bedroom.

Jihoon freezes, racking his brain for anything that could have happened in the past twenty-four hours that could have upset you.

Did he do something wrong? Not that he’s aware of. Did you have a bad day at work? You took the day off, citing a self-care day. Are you mad that he wasn’t here to accompany you? You specifically told him not to waste his breaks despite his insistence, reassuring him that you were probably just going to sleep in and finish the manga you were hooked on recently.

Right, Jihoon’s eyes widen, you said you were going to finish the manga.

In all his years of knowing and loving you, Jihoon will never get used to the way you tend to get emotionally attached to whatever you read or watch.

To him, the ending of a story just means that he can move on to another, but to you, the ending of a story is like the end of a world you’ve grown much too fond of. The reality of having to part with the characters and the story always puts you in a depressed state for a few days at the least.

It’s why Jihoon tends to gift you books or recommend you shows that are part of a long series, so you can stay in their world for longer.

Quickly removing his shoes, Jihoon practically bolts to your shared bedroom upon recalling your plan for the day, and sure enough, you’re curled up on your side of the bed, one hand clutching the last volume of the manga Jihoon had recommended a while back and sobbing into your pillow.

You lock eyes with Jihoon’s worried ones as he stands by the bedroom door, and you start sobbing even harder.

“y/n…” Jihoon carefully walks closer towards you, slowly sitting beside you as he reaches for your free hand.

“Ji…” you whine in between sobs, “I finished the manga.”

Jihoon resists the urge to smile at how cute you’re being right now. “I know, baby. How was it?”

“It’s so… sad!” you sniffle, moving to bury your head in Jihoon’s lap as you wrap your arms around his torso. “Too many people died. But they were all reincarnated and happy at the end, so I am, too…”

Jihoon smiles, very evidently endeared by your rambling. He looks down at your tear-stricken face, wiping away your stray tears with his thumbs. “It’s a happy ending, baby, don’t cry.”

“I’m just sad that it’s over, Ji,” you pout, and Jihoon cups your face with both hands. “Thank you for recommending the manga to me.”

Jihoon hums. “It’s not over yet, you know.”

Upon processing the words that left your boyfriend’s mouth, you sit up, eyes widening in anticipation. “There’s more?”

Jihoon chuckles.

While he was picking out what to recommend to you, the deciding factor came down to its length (provided that the story was good, of course). Jihoon knew you would devour books or mangas in record speed, so he came prepared.

And what better than a manga series and an anime series?

“They adapted the manga series into an anime,” Jihoon explains, watching as your eyes light up, “It’s not complete yet, but the last arc is coming soon in the form of three movies.”

You squeal, practically pouncing on your boyfriend as you engulf him in a bear hug. Jihoon falls backwards onto the bed from the impact, laughing.

“It’s not over!” You exclaim, “Where can I watch the anime? Have you watched it yet?”

Jihoon rolls over so the both of you are now lying on your sides, looking into each other’s eyes. He shakes his head.

“I haven’t. I was waiting for you so we could watch it together.”

“I love you.” you declare immediately, and Jihoon blushes furiously before letting out the softest, most endeared laugh.

“I love you too, baby.”

Jihoon may never get used to the way you tend to get emotionally attached to whatever you read or watch, but he sure as hell will do anything to let you enjoy the various worlds you end up in for as long as possible.

a/n: i have been. like. word vomiting in my wips and i feel like everything i write is so bad it is absolutely unpublishable but i just finished demon slayer and i got so sad so i decided to write this. very self-indulgent i love demon slayer the last arc broke me and i’m so excited for the movies. need somebody to match my freak like jihoon does for reader here

taglist (send an ask to be added!): @slytherinshua @viscade @pepperonidk @belladaises @tastymintchocolate @kwantaro-deactivated20240614 @chanceonceli @hrts4hanniehae @leehanascent @nonononranghaee

masterlist

[mingtinys]

" you always come first "

pairing : lee jihoon x gn!reader

"13 ways to say "i love you" with seventeen"

warnings : none

word count : 0.4 k

a/n : producer !! woozi !! that's it (:

Jihoon is exactly where you expect to find him when you get home from work. Hunched over in his chair, eyes boring into a computer screen, and pen in hand furiously scribbling away at a notepad. You knock three times to alert him of your presence. He turns to you with a wide smile and tired eyes.

"Hi," He breathes out, ushering you in with his hand. You oblige, though you don't plan to stay for long. It's been a long day and you're tired. But on top of that, you know Jihoon enough to notice when he's gotten into a rhythm and doesn't want to be disturbed.

"How was your day?" He humors. His hand settles back on the mouse and he begins clicking around the program he uses. "Fine," you shrug, stopping just behind his chair, a little curious as to what he's doing. "Tiring, but not the worst it could've been."

Your replies are rather lackluster and you can tell Jihoon notices by the way he quirks up an eyebrow at your last sentence.

You rake your fingers through his hair, smoothing back the pieces that have fallen out of place before letting your hand rest on his shoulder. He hums in satisfaction when you press a kiss to the top of his head. "I'll let you get back to work."

Jihoon cranes his neck to peer back with a confused frown on his lips. "Aren't you going to tell me about your day?"

Your brain short circuits for a moment and you just stare at him, dumbfounded. Of course, Jihoon always takes time out of his schedule to hear about your day. However, he usually prefers to finish up whatever he's working on first so he doesn't lose focus. "You look busy, I don't want to interrupt. This looks important." You wave your hand vaguely at his screen.

He just tsks, then swiftly saves his project and cuts the power to his monitor. "You're important. You always come first, now tell me what's wrong." He's spun around in his chair, already standing up to take you in his arms, and trails his fingers up and down your spine.

He smells nice and his warmth is comforting, inviting. A long sigh escapes your lips and you allow yourself to relish in the feeling Jihoon brings. Tucking your face into his shoulder and melding into his hold.

"Just feeling a little worn out, but it's better now."

taglist: @matchahyuck @dontwannaexsist @minnieminshi @myfavoritedelusion