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missadangel · 3 days ago

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The Heart of Rome (Marcus Acacius x OC)

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XXIII. Farewell (Smut!18+!MDNI)

“Prope quaere amicum, propius hostem”

Seek your friend near, your enemy closer.

When you arrived at Palatine Hill with Marcus, you noticed that Geta's imperial carriage had already arrived. As soon as you stepped into the courtyard, Commander Darius recognized you and approached. He informed Marcus that Julia and Geta were already in the great hall, clearly aware of the plan as well.

As you made your way toward the hall, Marcus and you heard voices coming from inside. He muttered, “Your Aunt Antonia must be here already.” He then quickened his pace.

“Why would she come here?” you asked.

Marcus glanced at you as the guards opened the door. “You'll find out soon enough, my lady. Don’t tire yourself; I’ll handle the talking,” he said, stepping in ahead of you.

As you entered, everyone turned to look at you. It was clear that Geta and his mother were in the middle of an argument. Your aunt was standing on the right side of the hall, with two members of the Senate. After exchanging a glance with Marcus, she looked at you and smiled, but you couldn't smile back; the tension in the hall was palpable, making it impossible not to feel it.

“You!” Julia pointed her finger at Marcus, her anger palpable. “You all played a game against me! How dare you!” Then she turned to you, her body trembling with rage. “It’s all your fault!” She screamed at the top of her lungs. In a swift motion, she grabbed the sword from the waist of one of the guards beside her. The guard was taken by surprise; perhaps it was Julia’s authority as empress that caused him to hesitate for that brief moment. But by then, it was too late for him to realize he had made a mistake.

Yes, it was a mistake that he allowed her to easily draw his sword from his belt while she attempted to attack you with it. However, this action was absurd and futile, especially considering that Marcus was standing right next to you. Before you could even react to Julia’s clumsy attack, Marcus quickly grabbed your wrist, pulled you behind him, and stood in front of you as a shield. Meanwhile, Geta firmly grabbed her mother by the arm and shook her until she dropped the sword.

“What do you think you’re doing? How far are you going to go? Are you really my mother? Look at you! I can’t even recognize you! You’ve lost it!” Geta roared.

“Can’t you see they set me up? And all because of this girl!” She pointed a finger at you, and you reacted by rolling your eyes.

“Enough!” Geta shouted, enraged.

Your aunt Antonia looked at you and Marcus, then breathed a sigh of relief before turning to Julia. "You speak as if we were holding you responsible for something you didn't do, Lady Domna. Did you think you wouldn't be held accountable for your actions? Your day of judgement has come; you can no longer escape justice. You will pay for what you have done. All of Rome will know what you have done to my sister, and your reputation will be ruined.”

For some reason, you found a strange satisfaction in the desperation in Julia’s gaze as she glanced at the council members beside her. After all, she deserved it.

Antonia continued, addressing the council members. “Your Majesty, the consuls, who are close friends of your father, are here to testify about your mother’s involvement in the death of my sister, Empress Marciana.”

"Tell me everything; I want to know it all,” Geta said, casting you an evasive look. It was clear that he was very upset about the terrible actions his mother had taken. One by one, the consuls recounted what Julia had done. Hearing the details again made your chest tighten, and your legs trembled. If Marcus hadn't been holding your hand, you might have collapsed. After absorbing what had happened, Geta looked at his mother with a disgusted expression and declared her crimes, pronouncing judgment on her. As a result, Julia was sentenced to exile. You witnessed your aunt’s face as Julia was forced out of the hall by the guards, despite her protests and shouts, and you realized that she was enjoying it. Yes, Julia certainly deserved the punishment, but you couldn't bring yourself to smile with joy at her plight; it felt wrong, especially when Geta appeared so sad.

As Antonia and the council members left the hall, Marcus approached Geta.

“Emperor Geta, I know this might not seem like the perfect moment, but there’s a crucial matter we must discuss—something you need to know.”

Geta frowned as he handed him the message from Elagabalus.

“I’ll be outside,” you said, glancing at the two of them.

“You don’t have to leave, sister. You can stay-”

“With your permission, Your Majesty, I need to speak to my aunt alone.”

He nodded with a smile and began reading the message. You exchanged a look with Marcus, then turned and left the hall, leaving the two of them alone.

Your aunt was outside, talking to two Senate members, and she looked quite pleased. You approached them, “Could you please leave us alone?” You fixed your gaze on them, feeling increasingly uncomfortable with everyone who knew the truth about your mother’s death and had kept it hidden from you all this time.

"Aurelia, my beautiful niece," Antonia said, smiling at you. "I told you we would get rid of Julia, and now we have as I promised. That whore finally got what she deserved.”

"I wish you had told me about the plan; maybe I could have helped." You said, you were curious about her response, but you had a feeling you already knew what she would say. Her answer confirmed your guess.

"You might be right, but your husband, General Acacius, wanted to keep you out of it. He is very protective of you, dear."

"He is indeed.” You nodded. “But I don't think he was pleased when you told him about your plan."

"You're right; he didn't like it, but he also wanted to get rid of Julia. After all, she posed a threat to his own son—and to you, my dear.”

“It’s not hard to imagine how you convinced him. But what if the plan hadn’t worked? What if Geta was someone who didn’t trust Acacius? Have you ever considered what could have happened to my husband then?”

She swallowed and took a deep breath. “I understand your concern, but he values and respects Acacius. Besides, I’m sure he would never do anything to upset you.”

You sighed. “That’s the real reason, isn’t it? You wanted me involved in the plan because you wanted to use his feelings for me to your advantage.”

A confident expression appeared on her face. “If you had gone to Geta and told him everything, he would have believed you, and everything would have been easier. But I knew you wouldn’t do that because I can see that you care about him too. That left me with no choice but to make this plan.”

“You don’t care, do you? Not about Geta’s disappointment, his sadness, or even the danger Acacius has put himself in. All you wanted was Julia.”

“That’s true, and I won’t deny it. Aurelia, all I care about is you and Marcius. Your brother is not someone I will concern myself with, and your husband is a good soldier; he can take care of himself.”

“But he’s the only one I truly care about. Look, you’re my aunt, and I care for you like a mother, but I don’t want you to involve my husband in any dangerous plans without my knowledge again. He’s more precious to me than anyone else, and I’m just as protective of him as he is of me. Please understand that."

Antonia nodded, but her expression was not very pleased.

You soon noticed Nerissa approaching you, accompanied by several slaves. One of them was cradling her son in her arms. You looked at him and smiled.

“My Empress,” you greeted her, and she returned your smile, though it was short-lived. “How is my little dove?”

You reached out your hands to take the baby from the slave, but she hesitated. It quickly became clear why; she was waiting for Nerissa's approval. After glancing at her, she nodded, and she handed the child to you. You cradled him in your arms and gently stroked his blonde hair. “Is Geta still insisting on not naming him yet?” you asked.

"Hopefully he will soon; it's just not the right time yet. We don't have much alone time, you know. His Majesty has been very busy lately." There was something unsettling in her tone. "By the way, could you tell me what happened to Lady Domna? I'm sure you know why the guards were taking her away, since you're here.”

You kissed your nephew on the head, noticing that he had fallen asleep in your arms. “Geta will tell you all about it; don’t worry about that.”

“I doubt he'll tell me,” she replied, holding out her hands to you. Reluctantly, you handed your nephew over to her mother, wishing you could keep him a little longer. After taking him, she returned him to the slaves and gestured for them to leave. Once she was sure it was just the two of you, she approached you, her expression more serious than you had ever seen before.

“Aurelia, don’t you think you visit him too often these days?”

What was that supposed to mean? I had only seen him once or twice since the wedding.

“I’m not sure how you mean.”

“Let me be absolutely clear. I do not want to see you here. I insist that you refrain from coming unless it is a serious or important matter. This is not good for him, and I am determined to ensure that my marriage remains intact. You understand what I mean, do you not?”

“Nerissa, why are you—”

She interrupted, rolling her eyes."Gods above, Aurelia, don't pretend you don't know how he feels about you. I'm not naive, I can see everything.""Nerissa, I..." You gave a troubled sigh. "Look, he'll realise he's making a mistake eventually. He'll notice your love. You need to be patient and—"

She shook her head. "But that's not going to happen if you're always around him. Help me. Stay away from him. Please.”

She took your hand and looked at you with pleading eyes. “Please, Aurelia.”

Although you were upset, you nodded in response. She quickly pulled her hand back at the sound of approaching footsteps. Marcus was coming toward you, accompanied by Darius. You cast a furtive glance at him, and Nerissa turned away. They both bowed to her as she walked into the great hall. You could sense Marcus's curious gaze upon you, so you took a moment to gather yourself and smiled at him.

“My lady, are you ready to leave now?” he asked.

You nodded. “Yes, General, let’s take our leave, please.”

Darius bowed his head as he departed.

Marcus leaned closer and asked, “Are you not feeling well?”

You took his arm and gently rubbed it with your hand. “It's been a long day. I want to go home and rest.”

He nodded. “Let’s leave then.”

Eight months later.

With each passing day and every fleeting month, your belly swelled and rounded. The gentle kicks and fluttering movements reminded you of the warmth of the little one nestled inside, growing, and so did your son, Marcius. At first, he learned how to sit, then he managed to crawl on the floor, then he managed to stand by holding onto the furniture around him. One day, he finally took his first step toward his father, who was sitting at his desk, smiling widely in return and cheering for him.

His first words also came out slowly during this time. When he called you "mother" for the first time, he may have spoken inaccurately since it sounded like “ma-ma” and probably not consciously, but it was enough to bring you to tears. It was the most beautiful thing you had ever heard, and you knew it was a moment you would never forget.

When Marcus was at home, he would hold his little hand and take him on fun walks around the villa. They’d often head over to the stables to check out the horses, their shiny coats glimmering in the sun. Those times together were the absolute best, filled with laughter as he soaked up every moment with his son.

The little one, who had nearly all his teeth, seemed to enjoy every bite of food and every morsel. Watching him grow was a real joy, like waking up to a new happiness each day. The villa, which had been quiet, was now full of life. It was alive with giggles and the delightful sounds of a growing child, transforming the space into a vibrant home filled with love and bliss.

As time went on, Marcus found himself extremely busy implementing extensive measures against a potential threat. His diligent efforts succeeded in persuading some of Elagabalus' allies to withdraw their support; however, the threat had not yet been fully neutralized. Consequently, Marcus decided to collaborate with his legates to devise a strategic plan aimed at permanently eliminating the threat. The possibility of war became increasingly apparent and eventually seemed inevitable. After a period of tranquility, a series of disturbing events began to unfold. Elagabalus, with the support of the Carthaginians, re-established alliances with the Gauls to strengthen his position and ultimately succeeded in seizing the southern region, targeting Numidia.

Two months later, following a rebellion in the region, news arrived of the execution of the Roman governor. The Numidians officially recognized Elagabalus as emperor. Unfortunately, this was not the worst of the news; the most troubling information came from the southern legions. All the southern legions, including Marcus' legion, were neutralized, forced into submission.

Marcus was devastated by this news, hardly eating or drinking for two days. You were very concerned for him. With your significant support, he ultimately began to feel better and regained his composure. Subsequently, he proceeded to develop a comprehensive action strategy without delay. He began to visit Palatine Hill and the Fields of Mars nearly every day, often staying until late at night. The situation was more serious than anyone had realized, and if immediate action was not taken, the consequences for Rome could be irreversible.

At that time, news came from Palatine Hill about Geta, who had been poisoned. Marcus spoke with Commander Darius about Geta's condition, recalling similar incidents in the past. They decided to collaborate on a solution before word of this reached the public. You were deeply concerned about Geta and wanted to go and see him, cure him. However, your growing belly and frequent cramps made it difficult for you to do so. Besides, Marcus did not want you to go anywhere after what happened during your last childbirth.

So, you decided to summon Hanno for his healing. Marcus agreed and took him to Palatine Hill himself, knowing that Hanno was better than all the medicii in the palace.

It soon became clear that the poisoning was caused by a fish dish that Geta had eaten, leading to a collective sigh of relief as it was confirmed that the incident was unintentional.

However, everyone involved in cooking and preparing the food was still punished.

You decided to visit Geta because you felt uneasy and were still haunted by Nerissa's recent behavior towards you. She had become a completely different person now, and trust was no longer in the equation. You wanted to believe you were mistaken—maybe you were exaggerating—but deep down, you knew you couldn’t be certain. You recognized that you had a great opportunity to pursue something you had been considering.

You visited him and spoke with Geta about Hanno and asked him to stay in the palace as a medicus. Geta agreed, especially because Hanno was the one who had healed him. However, Hanno initially resisted the idea. When you reminded him that Vicius had once served as a medicus there, he found it hard to refuse and ultimately agreed as well. This duty was perfect for Hanno, as you wanted to ensure he wouldn't be involved in anything that could endanger his life further.

Moreover, you sought to have Hanno at the palace to oversee the well-being of Geta and your nephew, as he would serve as a reliable source of information regarding any potential threats or concerns. Although Marcus was not entirely keen on the idea, he admitted that he was surprised and even looked proud as he complimented you on your intelligence.

It was also during this time that Decima and Octavius were married in a joyous ceremony held in your villa. Decima often came to the villa during the day to see you and Marcius, as her husband had been as busy as yours of late. She was happy to be married, and you were happy to see her so. After that week, the midwife came to examine you and told you that you might go into labour in a fortnight. She was almost sure it would be a girl this time. You didn't like her smug talk, but you felt like you were going to have a daughter, too.

However, it was Marcus who was the happiest about this news.

On a night when the moon hung high in the sky, casting a silver glow that illuminated everything below. You woke up in the quiet, feeling hungry. This discomfort had become a familiar companion, echoing the restless nights that had plagued you of late. Shadows danced across the walls as you blinked your eyes, unable to sleep.

Each night was filled with interruptions. Sometimes, it was the urgent call of nature that pulled you from your sleep; other times, it was the gnawing hunger in your stomach demanding attention. And then there was Marcius, whose cries served as an unmistakable reminder of his needs. Because of this, you often found yourself sleeping during the daylight hours.

You slowly opened your eyes, blinking against the dim glow of the bluish moonlight cascading through the window, filtering softly between the curtains. The light flickered blissfully on the ends of Marcus's curls, creating a halo around his sleeping form, while the shadows obscured the details of his face. You could still make out the gentle rise and fall of his chest, a reassuring rhythm in the tranquil stillness of the night. You sighed, admiring his charm. You could watch him sleeping like that forever.

A sudden heavy pressure stirred deep within your stomach, soon morphing into an overwhelming wave of hunger that washed over you like a tide. With great effort, you propped yourself up in bed, carefully pushing aside one of the pillows that Marcus had arranged under your arm for comfort. Each movement felt cumbersome, the weight of your large belly making even the simplest gestures a challenge. As a sharp cramp seized your stomach, you let out a soft moan, the sound barely escaping your lips. The sound roused Marcus, who, ever the light sleeper, opened his eyes in an instant, concern etching itself across his face.

"My love?’"

"Oh, apologies, I didn’t mean to wake you."

"Do you have to go to the latrina again?" he asked, his voice thick with sleep, eyes blinking slowly as they adjusted to the dimness.

"No, not this time, I...’"

He sat up, the sheets slipping down to his waist, and placed a warm hand on your back, his fingers brushing gently against your skin. "What’s wrong, Aurelia?"

"I can't sleep because I'm hungry," you confessed, your voice almost a whisper, tinged with shyness. It felt strange to mention, especially since it had only been a few hours since dinner.

Marcus chuckled softly. "You're saying that like you’ve committed a crime." He bent down and placed a tender kiss on the top of your head. His masculine scent gave you butterflies in your stomach, but your hunger outweighed your desire. "I’ll get something for you. What does my beautiful wife want to eat?’"

You shrugged pursing your lips. "It doesn’t matter; I just need to fill my stomach."

He grinned as he swung his legs over the side of the bed. "Alright, I’ll bring you whatever I can find."

As he approached the door, you whispered softly to avoid waking Marcius. "Marcus."

He paused, turning back to look at you.

"Can you get some figs too? I’m craving them."

His laughter rang out like music in the quiet night. "Whatever you wish, my princess.”

Not long afterwards Marcus returned to the room with a tray full of food. You reacted to him by clapping your hands gleefully. "You're the best husband; I am a very fortunate woman indeed."

He sat down beside you and kissed your cheek. "You can't be more fortunate than I am," he replied.

As you enjoyed your meal, he sat beside you, peeled the figs, and placed them in front of you for you to eat. In just a few minutes, you had nearly finished everything on the tray, while Marcus observed you with curiosity and with a smile on his face. Suddenly, you felt a wave of embarrassment. "I ate like a savage, not like a lady, didn't I?”

"And I’m sure I don’t look beautiful like this," you said, teasing him.

You expected him to laugh in response, but instead, his gaze deepened, filled with something more intense. He gently brushed the sticky honey from the corner of your lip with his thumb, an intimate gesture that sent a thrill through you. "On the contrary," he murmured, his voice low and sincere, "I find you even more beautiful like this. You possess a beauty that transcends appearances—one that enchants me in any form.”

You were captivated by his deep, dark brown eyes, and time seemed to stand still as you gazed into their depths. In that moment, the spoon slipped from your grasp, and a golden stream of honey cascaded down onto your upper sternum, gleaming in the soft light. Marcus let out a soft, playful chuckle, his voice a warm whisper that sent shivers down your spine as he leaned closer. The heat of his breath enveloped you, tantalizingly brushing against the delicate skin above your breasts. With deliberate intention, he traced his warm tongue over the honey that had dripped, the sensation igniting a rush of warmth that made your heartbeat quicken and your breathing deepen.

When he pulled away, he grinned and licked his lips. “Mmm, sweet, but nothing compares to the taste of you.” He said, pulling you closer and kissing you. When your tongues touched, you moaned as you could taste the honey on his saliva. You tossed the spoon onto the tray and wrapped your arms around his neck, fully immersing yourself in his embrace. You wondered if he was aware of his own masculine scent and the incredible taste he possessed. Kissing him was so pleasurable that it induced a state of dizzying bliss, as if time itself were slowing down while you explored the depths of his mouth. As your tongue delicately traced the contours of his, he responded with a deep, resonant growl, his hands firmly cradling your hips. Your legs were on either side of him now and you were practically astride him. Your big belly was getting in the way a bit, preventing you from wrapping him completely. But Marcus didn't mind; he wanted you naked and grinding on him straight away, in the most convenient way. He realized he should have approached the moment with more tenderness, yet the intense waves of desire washed over him, leaving him breathless and disoriented. In that instant, he made a decision about perfect position to take you. He pulled his head back, breaking the kiss, his dark brown eyes burning you to the core.

“What is it?” you gasped, your eyes dazzled, your hair a chaotic tangle, partly obscuring your face.

He took your hands, leaned back on the bed, and pulled you down on top of him.

“Lift the hem of your tunic,” he said, his tone almost commanding.

You hesitated for just a moment before you started to gather the fabric.

“Show me,” he urged, breathing heavily.

You blinked, confused. “What?”

“Bring it up here.” He licked his lips, and heat flooded your face.

"Um..."

“Come and sit on my face, Aurelia.” He sounded impatient.

“But Marcus,” You murmured, but he was past caring.

“Now,” he rumbled deep in his chest.

"Impatient, I see," you giggled. As you lifted the skirts of your tunic, leaving yourself completely exposed from the waist down, he quickly got out of his own clothes and lay back down, even more eager and impatient than before. The dull, almost painful throb of his length needed relief. He took himself in hand and groaned as you parted your knees and showed him your pretty slit.

“Perfect,” he whispered as if he saw for the first time.

Actually, the thing is he couldn't find an oppurtunity to get inside you because he had been incredibly busy for a few days. And that was the only thing he craved right now. “So beautiful.” And it was. So perfect and beautiful that he had to take a deep breath for an instant or he would have released at just the sight of you. He slid his hand up his throbbing shaft and squeezed the tip hard. He didn’t want to spend himself on the sheets, he wanted to release deep inside you, inside his wife.

“Marcus?”

“Darling wife, have mercy and give me your sweet taste,” he groaned earthily.

You whimpered as one of his hands grabbed your hip roughly to urge you over his chest. “What if you can't breathe?" you said, noticing it was a very silly thing to say as you bit your lip. “As you can see, I've gained some weight, and—oh!"

"Then I’ll die very happy," he snarled, moaning against your slippery cunt. You tasted so good. He cursed everything that prevented him from tasting you for days.

What the hell had he been thinking?

He dragged his tongue between your slick folds and over your pretty pearl, again and again, delving into your tight sheathe in a tease that had his cock twitching in anticipation. Your wetness maddened him. He held your hips tight as he licked and sucked your cunt, pushing his tongue deeper and deeper. He often whispered how much he loved the sweet, heady taste of you and your cheeks still burned as if you were hearing it for the first time. As you watched the slickness run down his cheeks and glisten on his beard, your shame turned to desire and your skin felt like it was on fire. You moaned as he thrust two fingers inside you, feeling the pressure of his signet ring. It was too much and not enough, the feeling you never wanted to end. You instinctively bent down and grabbed the roots of his hair as his tongue tormented you.

Soon, you found your release, screaming his name as you came. He still hadn’t had his fill when he heard your wail and felt your convulsing around his swirling tongue. Slick gushed from between your cunt, the sheer sensation of it taking your breath away.

He pulled his soaking fingers from you and licked them clean. "My lovely princess," Marcus murmured, his lips red and slightly swollen from his rapt attention to your cunt.

He crawled up and made you sit on his lap, making you wrap your legs around him.

He grinned at your big belly. "Will you be comfortable if I take you like this?" He asked softly, drawing kisses across your cheeks, the bridge of your nose, and your plump lips, while his fingers gripped the straps of your tunic tightly and pulled the fabric down your shoulders.

You nodded while tasting yourself as his tongue slipped between your lips, tangling with your own. He held you close as he rolled onto his back and positioned you above him. You were wet enough to straddle him, rubbing yourself against his length, making him groan. You had to stifle your own scream, remembering you were not alone in the room as you pressed yourself against him. You liked to ride him a lot, enjoying how his hands supported your hips and how deep his cock felt inside your walls.

He was too, enjoying a lot as he rocked his hips against yours, feeling as if he was much younger than he was. There were almost two decades between you, his hair showing silver streaks that marked his age as just over forty, while you were only two years past girlhood. He was so eager and strong in making love to you that his age was no obstacle to him. That was something that would never tire him out, not ever. Yet, he often found himself wishing that he had crossed paths with you during his younger years. For him, every single day without your presence, even those from the past, was nothing but wasted.

Even now, when you were on top of him and he was thrusting himself deeper and deeper into you, kneading your breasts possessively, you could see it in his movements. There was no need for words; his brown eyes revealed his thoughts and emotions with every glance, which only you could truly understand. It wasn’t surprising that his feelings mirrored your own. You were both aware that this could be the last time you shared such intimacy, especially considering the imminent arrival of your second child. As you came together, your pleasure intertwined, and soon you found yourself savouring the last traces of your pleasure when, suddenly, your womb convulsed, and Marcus caught you with a firm grip, preventing you from slumping onto the bed. He sighed as he placed his palm on your chest, feeling the rapid beat of your heart beneath his hand. Gently, he laid you down on the bed and adjusted the pillow under your neck for your comfort. As he spread the sheet over you, he noticed soft movement on your belly, a tender reminder of the life within. He placed his warm hand above your tummy, his touch soothing as he began to speak softly to the little one growing inside you. Gradually, you felt a wave of fatigue wash over you, and with each soothing word of his, you surrendered to the gentle pull of sleep, lulled by the serenity of his presence and the rhythm of his voice.

The next day, Cato arrived at the villa early to deliver news, and Marcus left without even having breakfast. Marcius reacted to his father's departure by crying, so you took him to the stables to calm him down. He had been behaving this way lately; he loved spending time with his father and seemed so happy when they were together. However, whenever his father left the house, he would start to cry. You kept telling him that one day, when he was older, he could go outside with his dad, but he was too young to understand that yet. When his father returned home in the evening, holding him in his arms, Marcius was the happiest he could be. It was heartwarming to see them together like that.

In the afternoon, you sent someone to Palatine Hill to fetch Hanno. You needed to speak with him to find out how Geta was doing. With the birth approaching, you didn't want to leave the house, especially since Nerissa preferred you to stay inside. You had only seen Geta a few times after Julia's funeral, and the last time you spoke with him about Hanno was almost a month ago. He hadn't looked well during that conversation, and you often found yourself worrying about him.

As you were feeding Marcius some fruit, you heard a horse neighing outside, and soon after, Hanno appeared in the courtyard. He smiled as he looked at you and Marcius.

“Hanno, or should I call you Lucius now?” you asked.

He grinned. “I still can't get used to that name.”

You pointed to the lectus and gestured for him to sit. “You’re a Roman citizen now; you should get used to it.”

He took his bag off his shoulder, sat down across from you, and sighed. “It still feels like a joke,” he said, waving his hand at Marcius.

“You've grown a lot since I've seen you, little man,” you replied.

Marcius mumbled something and handed Hanno a grape. Lucius smiled at him as he put the grape in his mouth and chewed it. Marcius clapped, and you joined in the laughter.

“He likes you,” you said.

Lucius reached out, picked him up, and sat him on his lap. “I like him too.” He then looked at your belly. “How do you feel?”

“I'm fine; I'm just having trouble sleeping.”

“What does the midwife say? Is everything going well?”

‘Nothing to worry about. “We’re just waiting now; let’s hope Marcius’ brother or sister arrives soon.”

Lucius opened his bag and took out a wooden carved toy horse, giving it to Marcius. “Here, little friend. I made this for you.”

Marcius seemed happy as he held the wooden toy.

You smiled at him. “That’s very nice, Lucius. Thank you.” You turned Marcius, softly rubbing his head. “Did you like it, my beautiful boy?”He showed the toy, murmured something, and repeatedly bumped it against the floor while playing in his own way.

Lucius reached back into his bag. “Your brother Geta wanted me to give this to you. He said it’s for Marcius.” He held out something wrapped in cloth, and as he handed it to you, a soft tinkling sound emerged from within. You unwrapped the cloth and discovered a pair of gold bracelets along with a note.

“These bracelets were the first gifts my father, Septimius Severus, bestowed upon me. I am passing them on to my nephew, so he can wear them as he grows into a remarkable young man.”

You took a moment to reflect as you examined the bracelets. They exhibited a level of elegance and were embellished with meticulous craftsmanship that is typically reserved for members of royalty, particularly a prince.

Lucius leaned toward you.

“Are you alright?”

You didn’t realize you were crying until he asked. You nodded as you wiped away your tears. “I just realized I miss Geta; it’s been a long time. Is he doing well?”

He looked away.

“Has something happened to him?” You suddenly noticed you were short of breath, which had been happening a lot lately.

"Calm down, Aurelia. He is well. He has been getting tired recently, and there have been a lot of consuls coming and going from the palace. I saw them arguing with the empress the other day."

"Why were they arguing?"

"I'm not certain, but there are a lot of rumors about them. Slaves love gossip."

"What rumors?"

“Nonsense, don't worry about it right now.”

“Please, tell me.”

He huffed in response. “They claim they don’t sleep in the same room, you know. It’s probably a lie—just stupid gossip.”

You wondered why Nerissa would treat Geta that way.

“What about my nephew?”

“He's fine, don’t worry. He seems to be getting ready to take his first step, but he’s not as eager as Marcius,” he said, stroking her head.

“I miss him so much,” you said, pursing your lips.

“Please be patient a little longer. Do not attempt to go anywhere in this situation.”

“That’s why I sent for you,” you replied, laughing at him.

He rolled his eyes. “I’m not sure if I’m a fighter, a medicus, or your informant anymore.”

You squinted at him. “Or, are you unhappy serving your princess?”

He grinned. “Not at all, your highness. But now that I’m free, I say I...”

“What is it?”

"I want to return to Alexandria," he said in a low tone.

You felt a tightness in your chest. "What? But why? Aren't you happy here?"

"I am, but they say the whole southern region is about to erupt in chaos soon, and there’s someone I need to see. I have to show her that I’m still alive."

You raised an eyebrow. "Her? Someone special, I suppose?"

He rubbed the bridge of his nose, breaking into a shy laugh. "You could say that."

"I see. It's your decision, after all. You're a free man now."You smiled at him faintly, even though your heart felt heavy.

But then, an unexpected sharp pain sliced through your lower abdomen. A contraction gripped you, and your breath caught in your throat.

"Aurelia?" Concern laced his voice.

"Just a contraction," you managed to say between gasps, your breaths coming quicker as you closed your eyes tightly, willing the pain to pass. Yet, to your dismay, a sharper wave of agony crashed over you.

Norell saw you from a distance and rushed toward you. “Domina! My lady!”

It didn't take long for you to realize what was happening as the contractions became stronger and closer together, now even intensified. "The baby's coming," you said with a troubled grin.

Lucius took your other hand. "Are you certain?"

You nodded. "I'm absolutely certain, Lucius!" you shouted, gripping his hand tightly as another contraction struck, sending incredible pain through you. You looked at him with urgency.

"Get the midwife in here!"

The other slaves exchanged worried glances, but then they hurried off towards the quarters where the midwife was staying.

“Can you make it up the stairs, my lady?” one of them asked, eyes wide with concern. You groaned loudly, the sound reverberating through the room as you steadied yourself to stand. “I think I can,” you replied through gritted teeth, summoning every ounce of strength within you. In a swift and decisive movement, Lucius scooped you into his arms, lifting you and carrying you up the stairs.

“You stay with Marcius here!” you shouted to Norell, who nodded in response. You forced a warm smile at Marcius who gazed at you with curious wide eyes, his little brow furrowed with concern.

When Lucius entered the room, he laid you on the bed and propped up several pillows behind you. Moments later, two slaves entered alongside the midwife, their expressions a mix of determination and concern. Then Tullia rushed in, her breath coming in quick, anxious bursts. “My lady!”

“Tullia! I need you to summon my husband immediately!” you commanded.

“I will tell them now, my lady,” Tullia replied, her voice tinged with uncertainty. “But it may take some time before the general arrives; he mentioned he would be at the barracks.”

“I'll go and fetch him,” Lucius said, his demeanor reassuring. “You don’t need to concern yourself with anything else, alright?”

You reached for his hand, held it tightly. “Thank you, Lucius.”

He smiled at you before leaving room.

The midwife bent down to examine you and asked for permission before lifting your skirts.

“Labour has begun, my lady. We must get ready at once.” She looked at the slaves. “Prepare hot water and clean cloths immediately!”

The slaves scurried from the room, their footsteps echoing as they hurried to fulfill her commands, the tension in the air thickening with each passing second.

“I can’t do this without my husband,” you whimpered. “I need him to be by my side.”

“But I’m afraid the baby can’t wait much longer,” the midwife replied gently, her voice like a soft balm against your fraying nerves. You nodded, swallowing your worry as you desperately wished for Lucius to bring Marcus with him soon.

The soldiers on guard at the imposing entrance gate of the barracks stood alert as they caught sight of a horse and its rider approaching. One of them raised his spear high, the metal glinting in the sun, and shouted, “Halt! Stop right there!”

Lucius expertly pulled on the reins, and the horse reared up, its legs striking the air as he steadied himself. The soldiers scrutinized him intently, their eyes narrowing as they took in his dusty cloak and determined expression.

“No civilians allowed here! Turn back now!” one soldier barked, his voice harsh and commanding.

Lucius met their gazes defiantly, his eyes ablaze with urgency. “I need to see General Acacius! This is important!”

“Are you deaf?” the first soldier snapped back, annoyance creeping into his tone.

The second soldier, sensing the tension, placed a hand on his friend's shoulder to calm him. “Tell us what you need to say; we’ll deliver the message to the general,” he suggested, his voice slightly softer but still firm.

Lucius shifted his mount, turning slightly towards the sturdy wooden doors of the barracks. He refused to dismount, his resolve unwavering despite the soldiers’ barriers. Every second felt precious.

“It’s urgent!” he declared, frustration lacing his words. “What part of that don’t you understand?”

At that moment, a commanding voice echoed from inside the barracks, issuing the order to swing open the heavy iron gate. The soldiers, clad in shining armor that reflected the afternoon sun, moved purposefully toward the entrance. Centurion Verus and a man who Lucius didn't recognise came outside. They were deeply engrossed in hushed whispers, so preoccupied with their conversation that they failed to notice Lucius standing nearby.

“Make sure Acacius doesn’t find out,” Verus murmured, his brow furrowed with concern. "That man is exceptionally clever, which makes me uneasy."

“Don’t worry, sir; everything is going as we discussed,” the other man assured him.

Suddenly, Verus's sharp gaze locked onto Lucius, his body tensing. “What are you looking at?” he snapped, his voice laced with an edge of hostility.

Lucius turned his eyes away; he didn't care about their conversation at all. All he wanted was to reach Acacius, no matter what. Other soldiers brought their horses forward, and Verus and his companion glanced at Lucius before spurring their horses into a rush, dust swirling around their departing figures.

"General Acacius!" Lucius' booming voice through the gate enraged the soldiers.

"How dare you shout like that?"

"I'll cut out that tongue of yours!"

It wasn't the general himself, but someone whom Lucius recognized with relief.

“What is going on here? What is this disgrace?” Octavius barked, a mix of surprise and annoyance crossing his face as he recognized Lucius. “What brings you here?”

“Sir, he insists that he must see the general—”

“Octavius, this is urgent! The general needs to come with me to the villa immediately!”

The soldiers exchanged bewildered glances, their expressions shifting from curiosity to shock as Lucius addressed the general's right-hand man by name. They were further taken aback when Octavius, instead of erupting in anger, maintained an air of smug indifference.

“General Acacius is quite busy at the moment. Just tell me what it is,” Octavius replied, dismissively waving a hand.

Lucius, frustration etched across his face, could no longer contain himself. With a low curse, he dismounted his horse and strode purposefully toward Octavius.

“Aurelia. Lady Aurelia is in labor and has sent for her husband,” he said, lowering his voice and raising his eyebrows for emphasis.

Octavius's entire demeanor shifted at that moment; he went from appearing brave to displaying a sense of urgency as he turned on his heel and rushed back to find Acacius.

The sun was setting as Marcus, Octavius, and Lucius arrived at the villa. While another day came to an end in the city, a new life was about to begin in the villa.

Marcus dismounted from his horse with a rush of excitement, his feet pounding against the cobblestone courtyard as he hurried forward. The urgency of his steps left Octavius and Lucius struggling to keep pace, their expressions a mix of curiosity and concern.

Entering the villa, Marcus was immediately met with the startling sound of your anguished cries emanating from upstairs. His heart seized with apprehension, compelling him to dash towards the stairs. Just then, a shrill, yet joyous, baby cry echoed through the corridors, freezing him in his tracks. A broad smile broke across his face as he turned to share this precious moment with Octavius and Lucius, who mirrored his elation.

Without a moment’s hesitation, Marcus raced up the stairs. Bursting into the room, his eyes were drawn to a vision of beauty: a delicate infant cradled in Norell's arms. The soft glow of the dim light highlighted her velvety pink skin and wisps of golden hair that fluttered gently around her tiny head, leaving him utterly mesmerized.

“It’s a girl, General,” Norell announced with a note of triumph in her voice.

A wave of emotion washed over Marcus as he contemplated her words. “A girl,” he thought, his gaze locked on the enchanting child. “A very beautiful girl, just like her mother...” He felt warmth fill his heart, knowing their family was blossoming once more.

Her mother...

He longed to see you before cradling the newborn, but his heart nearly seized as he caught sight of your closed eyes and the deep concern appeared on the midwife's face. “What’s happening? Why are her eyes closed?” he demanded, a frown shadowing his brow as he noticed the blood-soaked cloths clinging to your body while he hurried towards you.

“General, it was a very difficult labor,” the midwife replied, her voice trembling as she fought to maintain her composure. “She lost a lot of blood and must be utterly exhausted.” As Marcus pushed the damp hair from your forehead, the beads of sweat cascading down your face, he called your name softly. But when you remained unresponsive, his concern transformed into palpable desperation.

“She’s not herself! Do something!” His voice erupted, a roar of anguish that reverberated through the room. The midwife touched your cheek with tentative fingers, her heart racing as she swallowed hard.

“My lady!”

Suddenly, the joyful atmosphere in the room shifted to one of concern. Upon hearing the sounds, Lucius hurried upstairs and appeared in the doorway. Marcus looked at him urgently, “Do something, please!”

Lucius quickly approached, opening his bag to retrieve several vials and some cloth. The midwife and the others watched him anxiously, including Norell, who appeared at the door, cradling Marcius in her arms.

Marcus sank onto the edge of the bed beside you, gripping your hand with a fierce intensity that reflected the crushing weight of his helplessness. The world around him blurred, leaving only your still form in focus, and his heart felt as if it were being wrenched apart. “No... Aurelia, please... my love... please...” he whispered, his voice thick with despair; your motionless figure was like a dagger to his soul.

Lucius was taken aback by Marcus's sorrow. In his past as a medic, he had witnessed men shed tears over the woman he loved, but this was unlike anything he had ever seen before. What could make such a strong, sturdy man so miserable if not pure love itself? A love so profound and great that it cast doubt on Lucius's very own affections for the woman he cherished. Fortunately, there was no loss yet. He probed the vein in your neck and was relieved to find a sign that you were alive. He sighed deeply. “She has a pulse, but it’s weak,” he murmured.

“What do you mean? Tell me she's alright!"

Ignoring the urgency in Marcus's tone, Lucius uncorked one of the vials, releasing a pungent aroma that hung in the air. He carefully soaked a rag with the strange liquid and brought it close to your face. At that moment, Marcius looked up and said, “Ma-ma.” The room fell silent; everyone turned to him, tears brimming in their eyes, including Marcus, as hope flickered faintly amidst their despair.

You came to your senses, jolted by a pungent and unpleasant odor that clawed at your nostrils. The sharp scent stirred something deep inside you, and as a medicus, you instantly recognized its purpose.

When you finally opened your eyes, your surroundings came into focus, revealing Marcus' concerned face hovering closely above you. Your heart twisted painfully in your chest as you spotted a single tear glistening on his cheek, cascading down the rugged line of his scar like a painful memory trying to escape.

“Marcus! Why are you...?" you began to ask, but the words faded as vivid images of your last moments rushed back. Panic surged through you, and you gasped. “Has something happened to my baby?”

He gently pressed his hands against your shoulders, stopping your attempt to sit up. His warm embrace wrapped around you like a shield, and he exhaled a shaky breath, burying his face in your hair as he planted plenty of soft kisses on the top of your head.

“The child is fine, my lady. Please don’t worry,” the midwife replied.

Everyone seemed unusual; something had definitely happened. However, once you saw that the baby was well, you didn’t care what it was. You felt incredibly tired to care though.

“Just concentrate on being well yourself,” Lucius said.

You smiled weakly; he was right. He then stood up—being a medicus, he knew what the midwife had to do next. Everyone left the room except for Marcus and midwife. As the midwife carefully wiped the remnants of your labor away with warm, clean water and soft cloths, the slaves rushed to spread fresh, crisp sheets on the bed with deft hands.Through it all, Marcus kept his arms wrapped around you, his grip unyielding and protective. When the time came to dress you in fresh clothes, it was he who gently assisted, his fingers brushing your skin with the tenderness of a feather.

After nursing the baby for the first time, he helped you ease onto the soft bed, then settled in beside you. “You frightened me so much, Aurelia. For a moment, I thought I had lost you,” he whispered, his voice trembling. His fingers danced through your hair, caressing it softly as if he were untangling not just the strands but also the worries that clung to you. Snuggling closer, you nestled your head against his warm collarbone, finding solace within his embrace.

"The baby's neck was wrapped around the cord, and the midwife and I fought desperately to free her. I felt such relief when I finally heard her cry, but exhaustion washed over me, and I must have lost consciousness. Please, don’t worry; we’re both fine now.”

“Thank the gods, my love,” he murmured. “They have spared your life and our daughter’s. I’ve traveled through hell and back to heaven in a single day.”

You kissed his cheek, then turned your head to check Marcius, who was mumbling sweet nothings in his sleep, and then at your daughter— wrapped snugly in her swaddle beside you, her small chest rising and falling with each breath.

"There are four of us in this room now, General. What do you think about that?" you teased, your voice a playful whisper.

His lips curved into a warm smile, the kind that lit up his entire face. “It would be difficult to capture my feelings in mere words. All I can say is that I am the most fortunate man on earth.” You turned your head, locking eyes with him, feeling a rush of warmth. “Marcus, I feel the same. I’m truly the most fortunate woman to have you as my husband, and our children are too since they have a father like you.”

As you stifled a yawn, fatigue tugged at your eyelids, heavy with the weight of the day. He leaned in, planting a soft, tender kiss on your forehead. “You need to sleep now,” he murmured, his voice a soothing melody that wrapped around you.

“Rest well, my love.”

That week was dedicated to your recovery. You spent most of your time lying in bed. Being a mother of two children was even more beautiful and challenging than you had imagined, but the feelings you experienced were so wonderful that you couldn't have been happier. Your aunt and cousin Paulina came to visit you, and you noticed that her daughter had grown up too. You wished that one day you could see her and your daughter running around and playing together, you hoped to live long enough to witness those days.

The villa must have had one of its busiest weeks. Geta was among those who came to visit you and the children. He seemed to be doing better, but you could still sense that he wasn't truly happy, which concerned you. Decima, who couldn't be with you on the day you gave birth, came to see you and the baby the very next day. She spent all day at the villa helping you, only returning home in the evening. She also shared the wonderful news with you that she was expecting a child. Although you told her you didn't want to tire her out any further, she insisted on staying to help.

Everything was going well and blissfully; there was joy in your home, and everyone was happy. However, outside the villa, the real world still existed in all its cruelty. On the last day of the week, there was a council meeting, and the decision you dreaded was made: war was on the horizon once again.

The threat posed by Elagabalus in the south was no longer something to take lightly; it had to be eliminated as soon as possible. Preparations had begun, and the Roman army was on the verge of entering a significant battle it had not faced in a long time.

Marcus was busier than ever, dedicating countless hours to training soldiers and developing effective strategies. You could see the slight tension in his expression, even as he smiled at you. When your little girl woke you up crying in the middle of one night, you found Marcus asleep at his desk, and your heart tightened. You weren't sure what troubled you more: the impending goodbye that would come too soon, the anxiety of waiting for his return without knowing when it would be, or the fact that he had been so exhausted lately while preparing for war.

One morning, he was up early again, sitting at his desk and studying the map spread out in front of him. You softly got out of bed and walked over to him.

"What keeps my husband so busy every morning and evening?" you asked.

He looked up and met your gaze. "My sun, I ask for your forgiveness for waking before you have risen.” He opened his arms, inviting you into his embrace, and you accepted his invitation, sitting on his lap. He gently touched your cheek and scrutinized your face. "Forgive me for not giving you much time these days, my love."

"I'll forgive you if we have breakfast in the meadow," you said.

"Your wish is my command," he replied, smiling.

You smiled back, wrapped your arms around his neck, and kissed him.

The meadow was a breathtaking tapestry of color and life on that enchanting spring morning. It felt like a slice of heaven, where vibrant flowers unfurled their petals to the warm sun, and the trees were adorned with delicate, budding branches that danced gently in the breeze. The air was filled with the cheerful melodies of birds, harmonizing their joyful spring songs as they flitted through the branches.

You had brought Marcius here for the very first time, and the pure joy on his face was radiant. He delighted in chasing after butterflies, their wings painted in brilliant hues, while he reached out to touch the colorful blooms swaying around him. With his newfound ability to walk, he took unsteady steps, often toppling over in his excitement, but his spirit remained unbroken.

Still, his little body could only take so much. After a delightful day of exploration and play with his father, he finally succumbed to sleep, his eyelids fluttering as he nestled into Marcus's arms. Marcus sat beside you in the lush meadow, holding him close, a serene smile gracing his lips as the peaceful ambiance of nature wrapped around you like a soothing touch.

“Aurelia… There’s something I need to tell you.”

Your heart quickened, a mix of curiosity and intuition stirring within you; the tension etched on his face revealed the truth before he even spoke. “I must leave Rome soon. After months of preparation, the moment has finally arrived. Our southern lands are under dire threat, and the peril grows more menacing with each passing day. We must take decisive action to eliminate it.”

“What is the battle plan, General?” You asked, your voice steady, even as a whirlwind of emotions surged inside you.

"We have successfully assembled the largest navy ever created, and the requisite ammunition and catapults are currently being loaded onto our warships. The Carthaginians possess a numerical advantage; however, a portion of their fleet is expected to be stationed at Numidia and Alexandria by this time. It is imperative that we act swiftly to leverage this situation and secure the city of Carthage. Given the absence of their commanders and a majority of their military forces, the city is currently vulnerable."

It was easy for him to explain his battle plan, but it was very difficult for you to listen and imagine him fighting there. He touched your cheek. "Aurelia, my love, this war is unlike the others. We must be prepared for anything. That's why I will leave Cato and Felix here; they will be in charge of protecting you."

You felt a lump arise in your throat. "Marcus, what are you saying?"

"If we are defeated and I..." He paused, exhaling deeply. "If I am unable to return..."

"Marcus, please—"

He pressed his thumb against your lips.

If I am unable to return, it is evident that Elagabalus may advance here with the intention of eliminating Geta. While this scenario is remote, there remains a possibility that they could lay siege to the city. The Praetorians may not be able to hold out for long. Please bear in mind that if anything happens to Geta, our son will be next. Take him and our daughter to where Felix and Cato will guide you. Do you understand? Promise me that you will do this."

Suddenly, your eyes brimmed with tears. "Marcus, I couldn't bear to live if anything happened to you. And you are saying…"

"You will live, my love," he said. "For our son, for our daughter, and for me. Even if it's not in Rome, you will find a way to carry on." As he spoke, he reached out, his fingers brushing against your cheek, wiping away the tears that stained your face. "Promise me now, please."

With a trembling breath, you nodded, the words escaping your lips like a soft, mournful whisper.

"I promise.”

Days and weeks passed, and at last, that day had arrived—the day you had feared the most, the day of separation. Anxiety wrapped itself around you like a suffocating blanket, stealing your sleep and filling your mind with troubling visions. The nightmare that haunted you only deepened the sense of dread, stirring a storm of helplessness within.

As Marcus leaned in to kiss you goodbye in the sun-dappled courtyard, a wave of desperation surged through you. Every fiber of your being urged you to drop to your knees, to plead with him to stay. But you resisted, forcing yourself to stand tall, to embody the strength you hoped would comfort him. You wanted him to remember the curve of your smile, the resilience in your posture.

In those final moments, as he turned to bid farewell to Marcius and your little girl, he glanced back at you. His smile was bittersweet, his gaze lingering, as if he were trying to etch your image into his memory forever. In that shared silence, the weight of unspoken words hung between you, a testament to your love and the invisible thread that would bind your hearts despite the distance.

You accompanied him out of the courtyard and wished to join him on the travel to the port of Ostia. At first, he was resistant to the idea, but your persistent insistence wore him down, and he eventually agreed—on the condition that Felix and Cato would accompany you there and back to the villa.

When the carriage arrived at the harbor, the sun was at its zenith. Marcus pointed out the fleet preparing to sail. You were mesmerized, having never seen such a large number of ships gathered together. The soldiers recognized both of you and saluted, and you returned their greetings.

From the deck of the ship, the salty breeze carried the soldier's voice across the water, “General, the wind is at our backs! We’re ready to set sail, sir!”

Marcus nodded and turned to you. “I’m afraid the time has come, my lady.”

Suddenly, you couldn't hold back your tears. Marcus gently cupped your face in his hands and wiped the tears away.

“My love, every time we part and I see tears in your eyes, my heart feels like it stays here with you. I think of you even when I wield my sword. So please, don’t cry anymore. Our children are entrusted to you in my absence; be strong for them.”

"My brave general, I hold my head high and my heart is content. But don't you know that I am in love? I miss you, I cry, I wait, but I know how to be patient. Let my tears be your companion, and let my love be your shield. I fervently wish for you to come back, safe and sound, to my waiting arms, my love. I will not allow fate to take you from me, and as your princess, I forbid you to die.”

He smiled, took your hands in his, bringing them to his lips for a soft, lingering kiss. “I promise, my princess, I will return to you in victory,” he vowed, his voice steady yet soothing. “Let the expansive blue sky be your confidant while I am away. If you listen closely to the harsh winds that whip through the air, you will hear the whispers of my heart. The rain will fall, carrying with it my love for you.”

A wave of emotion swept over you, and you sobbed, clinging to him as if he were your anchor in a stormy sea. He wrapped his arms around you, burying his face in your hair. Time seemed to stand still as you held each other tightly, your tears soaking into the fabric of the red shawl he wore over his armor. He inhaled your familiar scent, etching the moment into his memory, feeling as if it were the last time.

Both of you sensed Octavius standing respectfully behind him, waiting for his general to board the ship. It was time for Marcus and his soldiers to leave the harbour and say goodbye to their homeland. Before stepping onto the deck of the ship, Marcus turned to you to meet your eyes one last time and, despite the heaviness in your heart, you managed to give him a smile—one that shimmered with unspoken words and memories, a final farewell that echoed the depth of your feelings.

In Marcus's absence, the days stretched endlessly, each one dragging like the weight of sorrow pressing upon your heart. The beautiful memories he left behind, along with your children, were your only sources of support. You found yourself missing him more deeply than ever before, a longing that gnawed at your soul.

As night fell and you lay in bed, Marcius curled up in the very spot where his father used to sleep, and you wanted him to sleep there until his father returned. You forbade the slaves from washing the last clothes he wore. Each night, you cradled his burgundy tunic, the soft fabric still carrying his familiar scent. As you breathed it in, it wrapped around you like a tender embrace, evoking memories that brought both comfort and a deep ache of longing as you fell asleep.

When Cato delivered a letter from him a few weeks later, you were overwhelmed with happiness. You went to the room to read the letter in solitude. Your heart raced as you sat on the bed and opened it.

"My beloved wife, my dear princess, my radiant sun. As I write this letter from the heart of the vast sea on a dark night, where the moon remains hidden, I want you to know how profoundly I feel your absence. The silence around me is overwhelming, and as I gaze out from the deck, I see only the endless waves stretching far and wide—no land in sight, just emptiness that echoes my longing for you. Then a wind stirs, and I whisper how deeply I miss you and how immeasurable my love for you is, how I wish that this breeze could carry my words to you before my return. As dawn breaks, a flock of birds appears on the horizon, gliding gracefully away from the shore. They soar towards Rome, towards you, towards home. I wish to join them and fly towards you. I wish to land on your chest and die there, only to be awakened by your sweet kiss, bringing me back to life. Then we could lie in our room, in our bed, holding each other, never wanting to wake up. Until our son and beautiful daughter call out to us…"

You lingered over the letter, reading it over and over, the soft paper cradled between your fingers. As you pressed your lips to the words he'd written, you could almost feel his warm fingers brushing against your skin. The familiarity of his handwriting wrapped around your heart like a soothing embrace. Determined to respond, you resolved to pour your heart into a letter of your own tomorrow. But for now, you knew you needed to gather your thoughts and find the right words, all while bracing yourself against the tears that threatened to spill.

It had been several days since you received Marcus's letter, and you were eager for any news from him. After nursing your little girl and ensuring she was sound asleep, you slowly descended the stairs. You heard some noises coming from outside and felt excited to see Cato—could he have brought news from Marcus? However, when you saw his expression, your excitement turned to worry and fear. You knew that something had happened, and you knew it couldn't be good.

“Cato?”

You felt a rush of concern as you noticed Decima was at his side. She dashed toward you, her body collapsing into your arms as sobs wracked her body, sending a jolt of anguish through your chest. You grasped her shoulders firmly, trying to soothe her.

“What’s wrong?”

Cato’s gaze fell to the ground, his eyes refusing to meet yours, as if too burdened by the weight of the news he carried.

“Speak, Cato! Tell me at once!” you urged, desperation creeping into your voice.

“My lady,” he began, his voice steady yet heavy with sorrow. “There was news this morning. Our navy… our fleet has come under attack by the Carthaginian navy in the Mediterranean. Many of our ships have been sunk, and we have been informed that the general and Sir Octavius's ship were among them.”

“We don't know the details yet. The legates and commanders who stayed in the city will convene with Emperor Geta today. An emergency meeting has been called.”

“Get my horse ready,” you murmured, urgency lacing your tone.

Cato blinked in surprise, hesitating. “My lady, forgive me, but now may not be the right time to go there—”

You silenced him with a fierce glare that brooked no argument.

“Now!” you commanded, your voice rising with an intensity that cut through the air like a clarion call, summoning the slaves into action.

Cato rode alongside you as you made your way up Palatine Hill. A sense of suspicion filled your mind; you were convinced that Marcus was still alive, and you believed there had to be a way to reach him. You grasped Unio's reins to bring her to a halt, she neighed loudly. You jumped down and noticed the guards looking at you in surprise, but you didn't pay them any attention. You rushed inside.

A few soldiers and guards were standing outside the great hall, and Cato ran to catch up with you as you moved toward the entrance. You walked between the soldiers and approached the door. The guards were taken aback to see you. They hesitated, unsure whether to open the door for you, as a meeting was taking place inside.

“Open the gate now!” you commanded.

“Did you not hear Lady Aurelia?” Cato snapped at them.

The guards looked at each other, but eventually, they opened the door for you.

As you entered, the first person you noticed was Commander Darius. Geta stood directly across from him. Commander Verus was also present, along with two other men. They were all engrossed in a discussion about the map spread out before them. When they heard the door open, they all turned their heads toward you.

“Oh sister, the news must have reached you too,” Geta said worriedly.

Everyone in the hall greeted you, saying, “My Lady.”

You nodded to them and went straight to Geta's side. "Any recent news?"

"We're still waiting," he replied, his voice heavy with anxiety. "Also, we cling to the hope that the fleet will return soon."

You shook your head. "It'll take days."

"Seven days at least," Verus interjected, his tone grim. "The fleet may return without the general, and we haven’t heard from him yet."

You shot him a fierce glare, refusing to entertain his words. "What do you mean? He's not dead; my husband is still alive!"

"I hope so, my lady," Verus replied, his expression grave, "But we must prepare for every possible outcome and fortify the city against an impending assault. The general took nearly 30,000 troops with him, and our defenses were weak. I warned him that his strategy was flawed, but—"

"You know very well that my husband, General Acacius, has never faltered in any of his strategies," you protested, your voice trembling with emotion that surged within you like an approaching storm. "Something is amiss. Someone must have betrayed him; could it not be?"

Verus flashed a tense grin, his discomfort palpable in the charged atmosphere. "Regardless, we have no time to engage in such discussions. We must urgently select a new commander, a general, Your Majesty, to lead the troops that protect the city."

"The Council will convene tomorrow in an emergency session," you asserted, the weight of responsibility heavy upon your shoulders. "A decision will be reached then; the most seasoned commander will be chosen. For now, head to the barracks and send word to the navy. We must ascertain the general's condition once and for all."

"Yes, Your Highness," he replied, a formal salute snapping his posture straight before he exited the hall. As the door closed behind him, an uneasy feeling settled in your gut; you couldn't shake the unsettling way he had looked at you. You might be mistaken, but you feel he is somehow involved in this situation. But how? More importantly, if he is indeed involved, what might his next action be?

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theemporium · 3 hours ago

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[6.1k] most of the league welcome a bye week as all-stars hits the season calendar. with both brothers picked and the rest of the boys on the team flying out somewhere warm for the break, luke has a decision to make. and that decision ends up being a staycation in new jersey with you—not that anyone else in his life really understand why. (smut)

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“Whoever is in charge of this schedule sounds like a sadist.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah!” You repeated with a small huff, staring down at your phone screen where—he presumed—you were looking at the Devils’ game schedule. “Surely there’s a better way than playing, like, three back to backs in such a short time span.”

“It’s hockey,” Luke shrugged, like that somehow explained everything. “It’s just how it is. How it’s always been, to be honest.”

“This makes no sense,” you grumbled, your eyes narrowed in distaste. “You literally played four games last week! Four! In the space of six days!”

Luke snorted. “Yeah, Cherry, I’m fully aware. I was at the games. Playing.”

You shot him a look before letting your brows furrowed in confusion. “I don’t get it.”

“The schedule?” Luke asked.

“No, the hockey player sex god stereotype,” you retorted. “How the hell do they find the time to even have sex? How the hell do they have the energy to even have sex?”

Luke tried—and mostly failed—to bite back his grin. “That’s your big question about hockey players?”

“Yes,” you deadpanned. “I know you are professionals and all but surely this is a bit ridiculous.”

“Hockey is hockey,” Luke answered, shrugging once again. “It’s just always how it’s been.”

“So, hockey players are sex gods and sadists,” you muttered to yourself, your focus back on your phone screen. “Good to know.”

Luke only laughed in response.

“I don’t get why they don’t just move some of the games to the first week in February,” you pointed out. “You have nothing on then.”

“Because that’s when All-Stars is,” Luke answered. “They send a bunch of guys from different teams to compete in these challenges and stuff.”

“Like the Hunger Games?”

“I—” Luke’s nose scrunched up. “Yeah, but less death and violence. People usually stay nice for it.”

“Have you been reaped?” You questioned, grinning a little.

Luke rolled his eyes. “No, I have not. They choose the best.”

You frowned. “You are the best. You’re the best hockey player I know.”

Luke shot you a look. “I’m the only hockey player you know.”

“Semantics,” you waved him off. “My point still stands.”

“No, I get something better,” he stated. “I get a week off.”

You grinned. “Big plans?”

Luke shrugged. “Honestly, I was just looking forward to a week without Jack banging on my door for morning skate.”

“So you’re going to spend the week hibernating,” you teased, lightly nudging his thigh with your foot. But before you could pull your foot back, Luke had grabbed your ankle and easily maneuvered your feet onto his lap. “God, I’ll need to find someone else to cook for me for a week then.”

And the thing is that Luke knew you were just teasing. For all his claims of being a great cook (which he was, just in the few meals he actually knew how to cook), he had grown into a comfortable habit with you. He enjoyed spending time at your place. He enjoyed unwinding after bad games or grueling practices. He just enjoyed being around you, both before and after his recent realisation of his feelings.

But now he was staring at you from across the couch, watching the way you were lounging in one of his old Michigan sweatshirts and just felt that overwhelming urge to say something stupid.

Instead, he settled on, “you should come over.”

You paused, raising your brows. “Come over where?”

“To my place,” he said, feeling his cheeks heat up. “Jack will be gone and I’ll have the place to myself. We can just—” He paused, his brain going blank at the sight of your amused expression. “Chill.”

“Chill?” You repeated, grinning.

“Chill,” he nodded, squeezing your ankle. “Just…I feel like…I’m always imposing in your space, you know? You can impose in my space too.”

“You are a weird guy, Hughes,” you commented, though Luke liked to think you sounded fond when you spoke.

“Is that a no?” He asked before he could help himself.

You beamed in response. “It’s not a no.”

He felt something quite like hope spark in his chest. “So, it’s a yes?”

“Depends,” your eyes glinted. “Are you still Team Stefan? Because if the answer is yes, I will have to decline.”

Luke groaned. “I said that after we watched, like, three episodes! Stop holding that over my head!”

…

“This sucks!”

“Yes, it sucks so much being acknowledged for your skills,” Dawson deadpanned, watching the way Jack wandered around the locker room after practice, whining and complaining about everyone else making their Bye Week plans.

“You know that’s not what I meant,” Jack huffed, narrowing his eyes at the boy before shifting his attention to Nico, eyes wide and hopeful. “Take me with you? I want to go somewhere warm. I want to go somewhere where the chances of freezing my balls off are lower than zero.”

“Dude,” Nate scrunched his nose, laughing. “We play ice hockey for a living, you can handle a bit of cold.”

“Suck it up, superstar,” Curtis called out with a huge grin. “Gotta pay up for having the Hughes name on the back of your jersey.”

“Moose lucked out,” Jack sighed. “I have Quinn and the bajillion Canucks players that are also going. I swear he rigged the thing.”

“Bajillion?” Nico repeated with a disgustingly fond expression.

“Bajillion,” Jack nodded. “There’s too many of them. No one needs that many Canucks in one place. It’s an infestation.”

“I’m surprised you even know what that word means,” Nate snorted.

Jack glared.

“You not going up to Toronto to support your brothers?” Dawson asked, turning his head to look over at Luke. However, the boy barely reacted. He repeated the question again, and one more time before finally throwing a ball of rolled up tape at the side of Luke’s head.

Luke tore his eyes away from his phone, snapping his head up to find half the locker room already staring at him. “What? What did I miss?”

“Jack complaining about All Stars,” Curtis answered.

“Oh,” Luke blinked. “So nothing new then?”

“You're not going to Toronto?” Nico asked this time, before Curtis could say whatever witty response he had ready to go.

“Uh, no,” Luke shook his head.

“Scared you’ll steal their thunder?” Nate joked, patting Luke’s shoulder as he walked past to get to his stall.

Jack snorted. “He thinks he’s too cool for Toronto. Probably following John to wherever the hell he is going.”

John’s ears perked, turning whilst he was still removing some of his gear. “What? Luke said he didn’t want to come with us.”

Jack paused, frowning a little before turning to Luke. “You’re not going away for the week?”

Luke could feel his cheeks burning up. “No?”

Jack’s eyes narrowed in suspicion.

“At least he also won’t be somewhere warm,” Nico stepped in, a hand on Jack’s shoulder providing more than enough distraction from Jack asking questions as he turned to look at Nico with the embarrassingly obvious heart eyes he has always had for the captain.

It gave Luke the short reprieve he wanted, avoiding the other curious looks he was getting as he glanced down at his phone screen for a moment, grinning at the messages before he locked it and put it back in his bag so he could finish getting changed.

cherry🍒: i hope you know that i am using this opportunity to steal as many of your hoodies as i can before the week is over

cherry🍒: consider this your one and only warning

…

It was surprisingly easy to prevent Jack from asking any more questions.

A little too easy, if Luke was being honest.

But Luke was also not an idiot so he didn’t question Jack’s silence after he mentioned a friend would be staying with Luke for the week. Jack had just stared blankly for a few moments before laughing, shaking his head and walking out the room, muttering something about needing to stop by Nico’s after he finished packing. Luke took it as the blessing it was and didn’t bring it up again.

Truthfully, it didn’t hit Luke how insane it felt to have you with him the whole week until he was running around the apartment, cleaning up whatever he could before his phone began ringing from the other room.

“Dude, you have shit timing.”

Ethan laughed on the other side of the phone. “You’ve been ignoring me! I feel abandoned. What happened to the Luke who said he missed me?”

“I never said that,” Luke retorted.

“Rude,” Ethan huffed. “Why do you sound so out of breath? Were you training or something?”

“Nah, just tidying the place up,” Luke replied absentmindedly, staring at the hoodie he picked up on the floor with a frown. If he was being honest, he didn’t know if it was his or Jack’s, and usually he didn’t care. But the image of you wearing it thinking it belonged to him when in reality it was Jack’s passed his mind and he quickly shoved it into the washing basket. That would be a problem he dealt with later.

“Ugh, don’t even,” Ethan whined on the other side of the phone. “I’m so jealous, dude. I would kill to be on a beach somewhere right now.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Luke muttered as he continued to pick up a few empty bottles of gatorade on the coffee table before pausing. “Wait, what? What the fuck are you on about? Who’s going to the beach?”

Ethan sounded just as confused on the other side. “You?”

“No, I’m not?” Luke replied, frowning. “I just told you, I’m at my place.”

“Yeah, because you are tidying up before you fly out somewhere. For Bye Week.”

“Who told you that?”

“I thought it was obvious? Why the fuck would you not be flying out somewhere?”

And honestly, Luke didn’t have much of a comeback for that one. Because to everyone else, it did seem weird. He knew that. He gathered as much from the rest of the boys’ reactions in the locker room the other day. He gathered it from Jack’s reaction and Quinn’s message (‘wtf rusty’) when he broke the news in the brothers group chat.

He knew.

But somehow trying to justify it to one of his best friends over the phone made him realise how fucking dodgy it sounded when none of them really knew about you.

“So, let me get this straight.”

Luke let out a deep sigh.

“You declined on going up to Toronto with your brothers because you didn’t want to impose, or whatever dumb shit you said, and let them enjoy All-Stars.”

“Yes.”

“And then you had the offer to go to Cabo and the Bahamas with teammates, which you also declined.”

“Mhm.”

“And then you decided to stay in New Jersey instead of even visiting us up in Michigan with your week off?”

“Yup.”

“Dude,” Ethan squawked, offended and confused and downright discombobulated. “What the fuck is wrong with you? Do you have a concussion? Is this like a mid-season breakdown? Do I need to call for help?”

Luke rolled his eyes. “You’re always so dramatic.”

“I think I am being perfectly reasonable here.”

Luke disagreed—majorly—but he valued his life so he stayed silent.

“You’re gonna get so bored staying in Jersey all week,” Ethan pointed out. “What are you even gonna do?”

Luke opened his mouth to reply just as the buzzer sounded through the apartment. If anyone asked, he would deny the way his face instantly broke out into a smile.

“Sleep my ass off. It’s hard being in the NHL,” Luke said in the snobbiest voice he could, letting Ethan cackle on the other side and try to get another word in before he spoke up again. “Look, I gotta run, I’ll call you later. Promise.”

“He plays in the big leagues and thinks he’s so much better than us.”

“I am better than you,” Luke grinned. “I remember winning beer pong.”

“That doesn’t fucking count! Mark was the one who—”

“Bye, Ethan!”

Luke couldn’t hang up and rush to open the door fast enough.

…

Deep down, he knew it was stupid for him to feel nervous about you staying over at his place for the week.

He had stayed over at yours more times than he could count on one hand. You had become an integral part of his life in New Jersey. You were one of his closest friends. He knew you. He knew you knew him. There should have been nothing that made the week weird.

But he couldn’t help but feel like it meant more. This was him inviting you to stay over for a few days, to stay at his place whilst his brother was out of town, to spend the week with him when he should be resting and drinking some overpriced cocktail on a beach somewhere warm.

You were his friend but spending his whole stay-cation with him in his apartment like the two of you were playing house was something far from platonic.

It was a bit of a mindfuck, but not as much as realising just how fucking easy it all was.

It was different from the various nights he spent at your apartment. It was different seeing you in his space, fitting into his life so easily. It was different seeing you relaxed and laid back, looking like you belonged.

It was different from the night at his birthday party, where you were one of many faces. It was just you and him, standing in his kitchen or sitting on his couch or lying in his bed. It felt so different but so fucking good.

Only a few days had passed and yet Luke forgot a time where you weren’t here, where you weren’t by his side throughout the whole day.

It was dangerous but the warning signs were easy to ignore when his attention was fully focused on you.

“Are you calling me lanky?”

“It was a compliment!” You insisted, but there was a smile on your face—not that he could see, considering your face was currently pressed against his chest as the two of you laid on the couch to watch the fastest skater skill event. “You would do well in this challenge. It would take you, like, five less strides than the rest of them.”

Luke snorted. “Geez, thanks.”

“You’ll see,” you murmured, nuzzling your head further into his chest. “You’ll do it one day and win and know that I’m right.”

“And then you’ll tell me ‘I told you so’?” Luke guessed, his eyes now on you rather than the tv screen.

“Obviously,” you replied, lifting your head so your chin was resting on the spot your cheek was squished against moments ago. “I’m always right, Hughes. The sooner you accept that fact, the easier your life will be.”

Luke raised his brows in amusement. “So when you very confidently said that you loved that movie where Andrew Garfield played Batman—”

“Shut up,” you groaned, lightly pinching his side but he quickly caught your hand. “We were watching Twilight! I was thinking about Robert Pattinson! I got confused!”

“Uh huh,” Luke beamed. “Just always so right—”

“You’re being a dick,” you huffed, even if you were smiling. “Here I was trying to give you a compliment—”

“By calling me lanky.”

“—and this is the thanks I get,” you shook your head.

Luke’s expression softened, his hand reaching up to tuck some hair behind your ear as he smiled down at you. “Thank you, Cherry. I appreciate the confidence.”

“Confidence is sexy,” you retorted, your palms warm and comforting against his sides. “Soon you won’t need me to remind you.”

“But I like when you say it,” Luke retorted.

“Professional athletes and their praise kinks,” you sighed, grinning a little when he reached down to pinch your side this time.

“I’m the only professional athlete you know,” Luke pointed out, trying to ignore the twist in his stomach at the mere idea that maybe he wasn’t. That maybe you knew more, that maybe you had experience with more, that maybe they were far more experienced than him and—

“And you have a praise kink,” you said, interrupting his spiralling thoughts. “Therefore, my theory has not been disproved. I’m right.”

Luke’s cheeks burned hot. “I do not have a praise kink.”

You snorted, grinning as you lifted a hand to playfully squeeze his cheeks. “Aw, baby, you do and it’s hot. Don’t get all shy about it.”

“Whatever,” Luke murmured, turning his focus back to the tv instead of the growing smirk on your face.

But the thought lingered in his mind even as the two of you continued to cuddle on the couch, watching whatever movie you had chosen after the All-Stars events ended. It picked at his brain, chipping away at the self-restraint he had to keep his mouth shut for the rest of the night until the two of you were getting ready for bed.

He was lingering by the doorway, watching you get your side of the bed (because apparently that was also something that came easily to the two of you) ready before you climbed into bed. And before he could stop himself, he was already blurting out the words that were on the tip of his tongue for most of the night.

“Do you really think the praise kink thing is hot?”

His cheeks were already blushy and pink and hot when you turned your head to look at him.

“How long have you been wanting to ask that?” You asked, something lighthearted and teasing in your voice that was oddly reassuring. You didn’t think he was a freak for asking. Not that he ever assumed you would judge him, you both were far from that point.

“Does it change your answer?” He asked, not sounding half as confident as he wanted to.

Your smile softened a little as you walked around the bed and towards him. You tilted your head back once you were in front of him, watching him with a look he couldn’t quite work out.

Luke swallowed a little.

“It doesn’t change my answer,” you answered honestly.

Luke could feel something in his chest tighten. “And what’s your answer?”

“I think it’s hot,” you told him, saying it so casually as though the two of you were discussing the weather. “I think everyone has a praise kink to some extent but…”

Luke could feel his heart pounding in his chest. “But?”

“But it’s different with you,” you said, your fingers lightly skimming against his stomach before curling around the hem of his shirt. “You’re so…responsive. It’s hot.”

His body twitched, like his skin was too tight for his body. “Yeah?”

“Yeah,” you confirmed, smiling a little before using the grasp on his shirt to tug him closer and close the distance between you both. Not that there was much.

Luke was almost embarrassed by the noise he made the second your lips were on his, your hands fisting the fabric of his shirt as you used the leverage against him. He ducked his head down, trying to chase your lips as you continued to tease him and tempt him. He barely realised his feet were moving until the back of your knees hit the bed and you pulled back to look at him.

“So pretty,” you murmured, close enough to hear the way his breath hitched before you moved down onto the bed, with your grasp on his shirt enough to drag him down with you.

It was far from sexy, if Luke was being honest. An awkward maneuver of too many limbs and shuffling up the bed that should have ruined the moment, but it didn’t. Because it was you and you were laughing and smiling and snorting when Luke almost decked it on top of you after he got his foot stuck. You made it feel so normal. Like it was all just a part of the charm.

Maybe it was. Maybe feeling safe enough to be human and imperfect was a part of the charm.

Because despite the uncoordinated and clumsy scrambling onto the bed, you were still looking at him like you wanted to see how pink his cheeks could turn.

Luke barely put up a fight when you pulled him back down, happily following your movements as he settled between your legs and let you wind your arms around his neck so his nose was brushing against yours before you leaned in to kiss him again.

Unlike a lot of the other makeout sessions the two of you had, there was no rush. There was no lingering adrenaline from a game he wanted to work off or some bad plays he wanted to forget. There were no teasing messages or risky phone calls that were building up to this moment. There was absolutely nothing but just the two of you lying in his bed, making out because you wanted to.

Because you wanted to kiss him and he wanted to kiss you. Because you enjoyed the weight of him on top of you and he enjoyed the way your fingers entangled themselves in his curls. Because for reasons that were beyond his understanding, you wanted this as much as he did.

“Fuck,” he muttered against your lips, his tongue lightly skimming over the area of his bottom lip you nipped with your teeth.

You smiled up at him. “See? So responsive. It’s cute.”

He swallowed. “Cute?”

“Cute, hot, sexy, whatever word you want to use, pretty boy,” you murmured, one hand sliding down to cup his face as your thumb skimmed over the apple of his cheek. “All I know is that I like the noises you make.”

Luke responded by leaning back down, kissing you because he could, because he wanted to, because he liked the way your laugh vibrated against his lips before you kissed back.

But whatever control Luke thought he had on himself when he was with you quickly dwindled as you pulled him closer, letting his body fall on top of you and let your thighs squeeze his sides until he was rocking his hips against yours, until he was practically panting between kisses.

“Mmm,” you hummed, pressing one, two, three pecks against his lips before your lips traced along his cheek and down his jaw. “That’s it, baby. I can feel how much you like this. S’cute how worked up you get just making out.”

“You’re hot,” he gasped out, like it was self-explanatory. Like it justified why he could feel his dick twitching in his sweatpants, probably already making a mess that he would pretend didn’t embarrass him as much as it did.

Your smile was softer, your hand on his face feeling more intimate as you guided his eyes to meet yours. “I think,” you started, your thumb lightly tracing down his cheek and skimming his bottom lip. “You’re hot too. And that you can come like this. Make a mess f’me.”

And fuck, he could.

It wouldn’t be the first time he did, helplessly grinding against you whilst you kissed him and praised him and made his head fucking spin before he was coming harder than he really should be able to from a simple act. He could lean down, press his lips against yours and slide his tongue against yours and feel the way you cling onto him as he comes. He could do it.

But there was a buzzing voice in the back of his head, getting louder and louder until—

“I bought condoms.”

He could see the initial surprise on your face as you processed the words he just blurted out, the eyes locked on his kiss-swollen lips shifting to look up and watch the way he squirmed under the realisation of his words. He watched the way you tucked your bottom lip between your teeth, eyes narrowing slightly like you were observing him, keeping on edge until he spoke.

“You bought condoms,” you repeated, trying and failing to keep the smile off your face. “Big plans for this week?”

“I—” Luke’s face burned. “That wasn’t… didn’t mean…I was just—”

“Luke,” you said in a softer voice, your smile faltering a little into something more sincere. “M’only teasing.”

“Okay,” he whispered, a knot twisting in his stomach with every passing second. He swore he was moments away from just exploding out of pure embarrassment or something just as humiliating.

“Breathe for me,” you murmured, smiling a little when he let out a shaky breath. “We don’t have to, if you don’t want to. Just because you bought them, doesn’t mean we have to do anything with them just yet.”

Luke swallowed, his whole body thrumming as he replied. “I…I want to.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah,” he nodded, his brows furrowing slightly. “Only if you want to, too. Because consent is sexy, you know.”

You laughed a little, both hands now cupping his face so your eyes could meet his. “I do, if you want this. If you’re ready.”

“It is,” he whispered, nodding again. “I trust you, Cherry. I want this. With you.”

“Okay,” you whispered before kissing him again, slow and sure and content.

It made him feel a little less like his skin was shrinking all over his body.

And you kept kissing him until his body didn’t feel so tense, until he didn’t feel like a wooden plank on top of you, until he was relaxed and making those little noises between kisses that let you know he wasn’t as nervous as before.

You kept kissing him as you lightly nudged him back, letting him lean back on his knees until he was straddling your body, giving him enough movement to lean over and scramble through his nightstand until he found the unopened box of condoms.

He tried to tear the plastic covering over the box off, tried to peel it away but his hands were shaking more than he liked and his heart was pounding in his chest and—

“Hey, relax,” you murmured softly, sitting up and taking the box from his hands with little fight from him.

“Sorry,” he mumbled with a sheepish smile. “Nerves, I guess.”

“It’s okay,” you promised. “You know we can stop at any time, just say the word.”

He swallowed harshly. “No, I do—”

“I know,” you smiled. “But I also want you to know that.”

“Only if you do too,” Luke responded, looking completely serious as he said it. “If you want to stop at any moment too, you have to say something too. I don’t want you to feel like you have to do this with me because it’s my…first time or whatever.”

“I promise,” you smiled before nudging him back, until he was settled with his back against the headboard and you were on his lap. “Don’t worry about the condoms right now, okay? Just focus on me.”

And Luke did.

Because, in complete honesty, it was very easy to ignore the box of condoms and the bubbling nerves and the growing realisation of what was about to happen. The voice in the back of his head saying ‘oh fuck, this is it’ was barely a whisper when his focus was on you.

It was easy to get lost in the familiarity of you. He was used to this. He was used to you sitting on his lap, straddling his thighs and kissing him senseless. He was used to you dragging your shirt over your head and throwing it to the side. He was used to you tugging his sweatpants down and letting your own follow and guiding his hand between your legs whilst you whispered filthy things against his lips.

He was used to the way you always targeted the spot just behind his ear, blowing cool air until he physically shivered. He was used to the way your eyes fluttered shut when his thumb lightly skimmed across your nipple. He was used to choking out a breathless moan whenever your thumb slid along the slit on the head of his cock. He was used to the way you tugged on his hair when you were close, letting the dull pain throb wonderfully at the base of his skull whilst you pressed your face against his shoulder.

You were right, all those weeks ago back at the start of the season, when you said he needed to build up to this moment. You were right about the different experiences and experiments the two of you had tried and tested over the last few months. You were right when you said it was just like practicing hockey.

It felt a bit fucking poetic and pathetic to compare his sex life to hockey right now, but he got it.

The same nerves that bubbled up before his first NHL game were no different. Because even though he had played hockey his whole life, it still felt nerve-wracking to play in the NHL. And even though he had spent the last few months doing so much with you, it was still kind of daunting to know it was all leading up to this.

But just like his first NHL game, it just felt right.

You felt right.

This whole moment felt right.

Luke knew he was not like his friends or teammates. He had spent years growing up with locker room talk, hearing about random hookups in the backseat of a car or halfhearted blowjobs in a bar bathroom. He heard about one night stands and casual flings and situationships that tended to go sour. He had heard it all and it was unsettling to imagine that was the future waiting for him.

But it wasn’t.

And it felt a bit comforting to know that he never had to look back on this experience and regret the person he was with or where he was or whatever stupid risk it could cause his career. All he had to think about was him and you and the way you were looking just as affected and turned on as he was right now.

“You still sure?” You whispered, soft and comforting and so fucking caring, it made his throat feel a little tight.

“Yeah,” he nodded, smiling a little as he leaned in to kiss you again to emphasise his point. “I trust you. I want this with you.”

You smiled, still looking so fucking genuine before you leaned over to grab the box of condoms, removing the plastic peel with an ease he was only slightly jealous of. He watched you grab a small foil packet, glancing at him every few seconds like you were waiting for him to jump back on his decision.

“I trust you,” he repeated, confident and sure.

His hands laid on your legs as you tore open the foil packet. His hands squeezed the fat of your thighs as you rolled the condom on him, stroking him a few times until he was bucking into your touch. His hands were on your waist, supportive and guiding as you slowly sunk down onto his cock.

“Shit,” Luke breathed out, his breath shaky and gasping. “Shit.”

“I’ve got you,” you whispered, one hand on his shoulder and the other gripping the back of his neck. “I—fuck—I’ve got you.”

The squeeze of your walls around his cock made him want to close his eyes. It made him want to lean back against the headboard, keep his eyes closed and fucking bask in the feeling of you being so warm and tight and intense around him. But the desire to watch the way his cock disappeared into you was stronger, to watch the way your eyes fluttered shut and your lips parted as you settled fully on his lap.

It was fucking memesiring watching the way you slowly lifted your hips and sunk down again. It made him feel like his head was spinning as he watched you continued to move, to sink up and down on his cock, to fuck yourself on his cock and moan his name and look into his eyes and—

“Can I—” He cut himself off, a pathetic and whiny noise leaving his lips when you squeezed around him. “Can I please—”

“Whatever you want,” you murmured, breathless and panting as you leaned in to kiss him like you needed it.

He let himself enjoy the kiss, to enjoy the feeling of being inside you and the weight of you on his lap and your lips on his before he moved. Before he reminded his brain that he can move, that he didn’t have to feel so boneless and helpless, as he shifted until the two of you had rolled over and you were beneath him and—

“Oh fuck,” you moaned, loud and shameless as he hooked an arm under your knee, lifting your leg out of the way enough for him to thrust back in as your head feel back against the pillow. “Shit, yes, like that.”

For a second, it was hard to remember he was even in his own body as he watched you. It was fucking mesmerising as he watched you moan and whine beneath him, as he felt your nails digging into his skin and scratching down his back as you demanded him for more, as you muttered his name between pleas and begs and whimpers.

Luke kind of wished this moment would last forever.

Unfortunately for him, he was utterly weak when it came to you. Because you were pretty and sweet and you felt fucking unreal around him, and you were looking at him like he fucking meant something and—

It was so much. Too much. Just fucking enough.

“I can’t—” He gasped out, his whole body feeling like it was buzzing alive as the knot in his stomach twisted tighter and his thrusts became sloppier. “I’m not gonna last long—”

“Come for me,” you breathed out, your hands cupping his cheeks as you wound your legs around his waist. “C’mon, Luke, wanna feel you come in me.”

And well, he stood no fucking chance lasting after you said that to him.

He could have sworn his ears were ringing when he came. It was intense and overwhelming and disorienting and, fuck, it felt so good. He could feel his muscles tensing, his body rigid and shaking as his orgasm washed over him. He could feel the wave of pleasure rushing through him, leaving every fucking nerve in his body buzzing as he let himself enjoy the way you were squeezing him around him.

He felt like he was on cloud nine when you ran your hands through his curls, your lips against his ear whispering god knows what. But your voice was low and humming and comforting and he could feel his eyes slipping close to enjoy the sound of it.

He could feel you running your hands over his body, feel the way every inch of skin was pressed against you, feel the way your legs were tightening around him like you didn’t want him to move just yet either.

After the rush of adrenaline and pleasure, his body felt syrupy. His movements felt slow and unhurried, his thoughts felt like they were floating away. His brain felt fuzzy and pleased and content to just lay on the bed with you, bask in the feeling a little longer before the grossness and desire to clean up took over.

Luke was more than happy to nuzzle his face into the crook of your neck, to close his eyes and let out a happy sigh and let himself relax after the really intense last few minutes the two of you had just experienced.

And if Luke was more awake, he would have noticed the way you tensed up the second he spoke. The way your eyes widened, the way your body instantly locked up, the way you went a little pale.

If Luke was more awake, he would have been able to think twice before he spoke.

But Luke wasn’t awake. He fell asleep after muttering the one thought that had been on his mind since New Years.

He closed his eyes and slept like a fucking baby and woke up to an empty bed and an empty apartment and not a single sign of proof of the night before except the marks on his skin and the used condom lying on his bedroom floor.

“I think I’m in love with you,” he had slurred into the crook of your neck, his voice barely louder than a rumble as the sleepiness really hit.

If Luke was more awake, he would have stopped himself from completely fucking everything up.

#luke hughes #nhl #new jersey devils #luke hughes x reader #luke hughes x you #luke hughes x y/n #luke hughes fic #luke hughes one shot #luke hughes smut #nhl x reader #nhl x you #nhl x y/n #nhl fic #nhl one shot #nhl smut

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sugucide · 10 hours ago

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Satoru Gojo has made it out of the grave.

In another life, he sits under the sun in the evenings and lazes for the hell of it, not for a ten minute break from the chaos. He enjoys the silence, unlittered by curses and fighting and white burning static. He smiles now and then, when he wants to and never to prove himself to be okay when he isn't.

In another life, there are still dark days. And when the nights are cold and memories of friends never forgotten become haunting, he is free to cry. He finds comfort in his peers, never judgement, and lets himself be sad until the sun rises and his slate is once again clean.

In another life, Satoru Gojo doesn’t have to learn to love his name and the weight it holds. He learns to love his body, his scars, his memories both good and bad. He learns that it’s okay to love, and its okay to fear loss- he learns how to share his meal time with others and accept compliments with one in return rather than a faux over-confidence.

In another life he finds a soulmate. You’re kind and strong and not with him for his name or glory. He doesn’t have to worry himself over protecting you because in another life there is nothing out to get him. You have loving sex each night and can’t keep your hands off each other the morning after either. He learns your body like it’s his own and treats it with the reverence that so many have given the Gojo name—though without the gory weight of responsibility.

Maybe, in another life, he has kids. Probably girls, but maybe a boy or two as well. He isn't a perfect dad, never will be, but he's one that stays and loves and leads by example, not by empty threat and misplaced anger and the expectation of power and greatness. He teaches his daughters what love a man should show his spouse through his affections towards to you. Teaches his son how to love himself before trying to lean on another for love. He raises a family, not a clan.

In another life, he buys a house with a garden. He commits to watching his garden grow, tends to the weeds when they become unruly after he's put it off a little too long. He stays in one place, doesn't feel an urge to move around and stay on edge. He builds a shed and turns it into his space: teaches his kids a secret knock to let him know they're in trouble with you for abandoning their chores and want to hide from the gentle wrath of your loving discipline.

In another life, Suguru comes to visit every weekend. He’s Uncle Suguru to his kids and they sit on the porch and talk over a drink as the sun sets. He doesn’t have to worry about his friend because they speak rather than act. Satoru isn’t so focused on himself. Suguru isn’t so reluctant to ask for help.

In another life, he enjoys the quiet of domesticity. He’s not facing death each day—not shaping students up to kill and exorcise. He eats good, and lots, and thanks you for every meal by doing the dishes wrong and growing confused when you take over yourself to do it right.

In another life, he keeps photo albums. They're off in some box in the attic he has to strain his back to find, and they're worn out and dusty and some of the faces he used to see every day are seen for the first time in years when he pulls them out to show the grandkids. They show interest in his stories, albeit half-feigned and more interested in giggling at how cute his friends were back in the day. He laughs along with them.

In another life, he’s old and gray and still makes the effort to dance with you in the living room to the old music he loves. He kisses you goodnight before bed and good morning when you wake him for breakfast. You go on date nights, because he’s never too busy fighting curses to be with his one love. He feels like a teenager in love every day, even well into his senior years.

In another life, all is well: he lays down in his grave with a smile, having lived a hard life, but one worth reliving over and over and over again. He does first, because he couldn’t bear to lose you, and he dies happy.

But thats in another life—one where he wasn’t doomed from the day he was born. Maybe his next life, if he’s so lucky.

#satoru gojo #gojo #gojo x you #jjk smut #jujutsu kaisen smut #jjk x reader #gojo smut #gojo x reader #jjk x you #jujutsu kaisen x reader #satoru gojo x reader #satoru gojo smut #jujutsu kaisen x you #jujutsu kaisen

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zmbiesoph · 3 days ago

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rainbow sprinkles

Summery: you and Steve fight over sprinkles, and it turns to something more

wanings: none

It started with an argument about sprinkles.

“I’m just saying,” Steve declared, leaning against the counter with that signature smirk of his, “sprinkles are the worst ice cream topping. They don’t even taste like anything.”

You gasped, clutching the container of rainbow sprinkles like he had personally insulted your family. “Blasphemy.”

Steve rolled his eyes. “Okay, name one good thing about them.”

“They’re colorful and fun,” you shot back, dramatically shaking a handful over his head. A few landed in his hair, getting lost in the soft brown waves.

“Great. So they make a mess. That’s two strikes against them.” He ruffled his hair, shaking the sprinkles off, but one stubborn little blue one stayed put. You decided not to tell him.

“Sprinkles are elite. This is a hill I will die on.”

Steve smirked, crossing his arms. “That’s a dumb hill, Y/N.”

“You’re a dumb hill.”

Before he could respond, a mother with a crying toddler approached the counter, and both of you straightened up. Steve launched into customer service mode, flashing a smile that was equal parts charming and tired.

“Ahoy! Welcome to Scoops Ahoy. What can I get for you?”

As Steve took their order, you tried to focus on work, but it was hard when he was so—well, him. It had started out as just another summer job, slinging ice cream and dealing with sweaty mall-goers, but somewhere between Steve’s awful jokes and the way he always made sure you got the last waffle cone before they ran out, you started to feel something.

Which was so not part of the plan.

You were still trying to shake the thought when the mother took her toddler’s ice cream cone and, naturally, disaster struck.

One second, the kid was reaching for his scoop of chocolate, the next, it plummeted onto the counter, splattering all over your apron.

You froze. The kid froze. Steve? He howled with laughter.

You turned to glare at him. “This is your fault.”

Steve wiped an imaginary tear from his eye. “How exactly is this my fault?”

“You jinxed me with your bad sprinkle opinions.”

“You’re right. My anti-sprinkle stance is a powerful force.”

The kid started sniffling, and Steve, to his credit, immediately switched gears. “Hey, little dude, don’t worry—we’ll fix it.” He grabbed a new cone, added an extra scoop, and handed it over. “On the house.”

The kid beamed, all traces of distress gone. You hated how attractive that was.

After they left, you went to the back to clean up, still grumbling about how Steve was definitely responsible. He followed, arms crossed as he watched you scrub chocolate from your apron.

“So,” he said, leaning against the wall. “Am I gonna get an apology?”

You raised an eyebrow. “For what?”

“For accusing me of sprinkle-based sabotage.”

You scoffed. “Never.”

Steve clicked his tongue. “Shame. I was gonna offer to buy you dinner after work, but if you’re not feeling guilty…”

Your hands paused mid-scrub. “Wait. What?”

His smirk softened into something more genuine, a little nervous, even. “Dinner. You, me. Not here. I mean, unless you really want more ice cream.”

Your heart did a very dumb thing in response—like a little flip. “Are you… asking me out?”

He rubbed the back of his neck, looking down briefly before meeting your eyes again. “Uh, yeah. I mean, unless you don’t want to. In which case, I was totally joking, and this is just, you know, workplace banter—”

“Steve.”

“Yeah?”

“I’d love to get dinner with you.”

His whole face lit up. “Yeah?”

You rolled your eyes, but you were smiling too. “Yeah.”

“Well, in that case,” he reached over and plucked a sprinkle from your shoulder, holding it up with a grin, “this is coming with us as a third wheel.”

You shoved his arm playfully, laughing as he pretended to stumble. Maybe working at Scoops Ahoy wasn’t so bad after all.

HELP I LOVE THIS SOSOSOSO MUCH LIKE ITS JUST SO… FUN

#fanfic #steve harrington #stranger things #scoops ahoy #steve harrington fanfic #steve harrington x reader #steve harrington fluff #steve harrington imagine #fluff

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ladybracknellssherry · 2 days ago

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I’m kinda bummed at myself and it’s been bothering me that maybe it seems like I cared more about their interpretation of the media instead of how they interacted with people.

And it’s just been rolling around in my head for days.

What I really wanted to convey was that based on how they interpreted the media - always coming in with really rigid and really negative hot takes…seeming to use their hot takes interpretations of the media to express very thinly veiled problematic general views…and how they worded them and responded to anyone who responded with any amount of disagreement… maybe because I already knew about the shit-server it gave me that context to really see those things for what they were. But idk if that context should have been necessary. And these negative comments and overt bullying and vitriol at people with different opinions… as well as some high high amounts of self aggrandizement and this attitude that apparently seemed to some as just being “strong” or “confident” read to me like some pretty hostile narcissism.

So looking at things like that, it had always been really distressing to me that other people didn’t seem to see it all for what it was. Like, those things were there on public display on their tumblr. Maybe not always as explicit as it was in their shit-server. But it was there.

So the media interpretations matter to me. I keep thinking about the time in a chat that I responded to someone talking about punk-rock and rockstar Crowley with “I HATE rockstar Crowley.” And it really upset some people. Someone asked why and I said I just don’t interpret his character as someone who would enjoy that sort of attention and life. And when it was pointed out to me how hostile that seemed, I immediately apologized to everyone. I apologized for using “hate” instead of a softer “I don’t like.” But you know what I didn’t do? I didn’t double down and not apologize. I didn’t say “I’m right and you’re wrong.” I didn’t make fun of the people who enjoy reading or writing that characterization/trope. I corrected myself with “BUT I understand we all interpret characters differently.”

And I’m not saying wow I’m a great person for that. I just think that’s a pretty basic decency appropriate response. And I still feel Bad for how I said it.

Which is decidedly NOT how moonyinpisces, saglaophons, and apparently vavoom-sorted react.

Okay. Even if I was just clearing that up for myself. I think I said it right this time.

reminder that good omens is a trans allegory before it’s a biblical one.

#good omens fandom #drama in the fandom #acephobia

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heartsriki · 16 hours ago

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ALWAYS YOURS, NEVER MINE ⌇늦은

pairing ᝰ jungwon x fem!reader (?) — featuring.. riki & jay word count: 3k+

⌇ … warnings & genre ↺ pt. 2, angst, high-school au!, gut-wrenching angst like trust, love triangle, crying, lots of selfishness coming from won, hurt no comfort..., one-sided love.

synopsis — why did jungwon hide rikis love letter to you? (PLEASE READ PART 1)

lee's ₊˚⊹ ᰔ comment ┊there were a lot of questions/asks for explanations from pt. 1 so here it is! guys lowkey started tearing up I'm so sorry jungwon biases... I couldn't help myself again...

5 months before…

Today was Jungwon’s worst day possible. He hadn’t done as well as he wanted on an important test—not a failing grade, but not perfect either. On top of that, he left his stuff somewhere and couldn’t remember where.

Usually, he was calm, cool, and collected, but right now, he felt helpless. Resting his head on his desk, he let the frustration settle in, feeling like he was slowly being submerged in water—until he felt a slight tug on his hair.

Slowly, he lifted his head, only to see you, your hand still hovering above him. You flinched at his movement, clearly not expecting him to be awake.

“Oh my gosh, I’m so sorry! I thought you were asleep, and your hair just looked so fluffy—” you blurted, your words tumbling over each other.

Jungwon just stared at you, silent.

You took his lack of response as a reason to keep going. “Anyway—I found this bag and recognized the name. Here you go!” You slung it over the back of his chair, grinning.

He glanced at the bag before looking back at you. You knew him? He didn’t know you.

The silence stretched, and you hummed, shifting awkwardly. He still hadn’t said thank you. You were about to excuse yourself when you caught a glimpse of the paper under his arms.

“Hey, a 75? That’s great! Man, I barely got a 65—you’re so smart. You wanna study sometime?”

Jungwon opened his mouth to reply, but before he could, the classroom door swung open.

“Y/N! We need you in the student council room—the boys are fighting again!”

You groaned, dragging your hands down your face. Without another word, you gave him a small wave, flashing a pretty smile before running off.

Jungwon raised his head, staring at the spot you had just been. “A 75 isn’t even good,” he murmured, resting his head back down. “What a weirdo.”

Yet, despite himself, he kept thinking back to that moment. He wouldn’t admit it, but it brought him a strange sense of comfort. He also didn’t even want to imagine what would’ve happened if he had really lost his stuff.

Days passed, and while he didn’t speak to you much, he saw you everywhere. Then, one day, as he strolled through the library, he spotted you working at the front desk.

He lingered behind a shelf, watching as you glanced around before sneaking to the back of the library.

Curiosity got the better of him. He followed.

Turning the corner, he caught you opening a small box, slipping a piece of paper inside. When you turned around, both of you flinched.

“Jungwon? What are you doing here?”

He crossed his arms. “What are you doing here? What’s in the box?”

Quickly, you stretched your arms out, blocking him. “It’s nothing.”

Jungwon smirked, trying to peek past you. “If it’s nothing, let me see.”

Before you could stop him, he had already snatched up the paper. You groaned, covering your face as he read it.

“You were embarrassed over cussing someone out for wearing the same headband as you on picture day?” His grin widened, amusement dancing in his eyes.

“I talked about wearing that headband for weeks…” you mumbled, looking away.

For a moment, he stayed silent. And then—he burst out laughing. Full, unrestrained laughter—the kind he hadn’t had in ages.

From that day on, he stayed by your side.

Jungwon was well-known around school. Girls found him handsome, even flirted with him, guys thought he was pretty damn good at sports and cool to hang out with. But because of that pedestal, few ever approached him as a true friend.

You didn’t seem to care about all that.

Instead of just waving at him in the hallway, you ran up to him to rant about your day. Instead of borrowing a pencil and ignoring him for the rest of class, you swapped desk numbers just to sit beside him. Instead of leaving him alone when he shut down, you stayed. Always.

You became his best friend. And he was yours. Thats all he ever needed.

That’s what he told himself, anyway.

February rolled around—the month of love. The halls were littered with Valentine’s posters, the air buzzing with excitement.

Jungwon didn’t think much of it. Maybe he’d just hang out with you that day.

But when he sat down next to you in class, you were grinning at your phone, giggling.

He smiled. “What’s got you so giddy today, huh?”

You turned your screen toward him. “I got Riki’s contact today… look!”

Jungwon’s smile faltered. He glanced at the name on your screen. Ah. Right.

He forgot about your tiny crush on Riki.

Nodding, he turned to the window, pretending it didn’t bother him. But the dull thump in his chest told him otherwise. I guess you’ll be busy that day. How lame.

Later that day, he was on the soccer field when his phone vibrated. Seeing your name, he grinned stupidly and opened the message.

You:

JUNGWONJUNGWONOMG

PLSPLSANSWERLOOKATURPHONE

Wonnie:

Ok what the hell

What is it?

You:

You are NEVER going to believe who just slid into the back of the library.

Wonnie:

Is it Jake again? Poor guy

Maybe Jay? Idk tell me

You:

Nishimura… Riki…

Jungwon stared at the screen.

Riki? Well. It was about time. He had been into you without a doubt.

Scoffing, Jungwon typed back.

Wonnie:

… Fr?

Maybe he confessed to you?

You:

Right, totally.

Jungwon frowned. You could be so oblivious sometimes. To more than one person.

Wonnie:

Think about it.

Setting his phone down, he exhaled sharply. He had a weird urge to see you. Maybe you wanted to talk about it.

He sighed, packing up his things and heading toward the library.

As he neared the back entrance, he spotted Riki slipping out. Their eyes met for a second, but neither spoke.

There was something in that look. Knowing.

Jungwon clenched his jaw and walked past him, slipping inside unnoticed.

Then, his eyes landed on the box.

For a split second, he hesitated. Then, without thinking, he stepped forward.

Glancing around, he reached inside. There were a lot of letters. But he found Riki’s almost immediately—a pink envelope decorated with tiny white hearts, his name written neatly on the front which was uncommon for love letters being left vulnerable in a box.

Jungwon stared at it. “What an idiot.”

Without thinking, he plucked it from the box, turning it over in his hands before slowly opening it.

Inside, a note.

Hey, I don’t really know how to start this. Okay, so… I think you’re really annoying. But for some reason, I like how annoying you are. You’re incredibly nosy, but I don’t mind when you peck at my life. I don’t know when I started to feel this way, but I know how I feel now. I like you. A lot. Too much, actually. If you feel the same, then… I don’t know. You’ll know what to do. You always do. — N.R.

Jungwon exhaled, rubbing his temples.

If you knew about this, you’d be over the moon.

And yet—before he could stop himself—he shoved the letter into his bag.

Why?

He convinced himself it was to toy with you. Something deeper inside knew other wise.

When Jungwon saw you through the student council door, scanning through all the love letters, he felt a soft pang in his chest. You were looking for Riki’s… he knew it.

When he entered, he played it off—laughing, smiling—knowing he had the one thing you had been waiting for this entire year. But when the opportunity came to fess up, he couldn’t. He just couldn’t.

When Riki stepped in, both Jungwon and Riki locked eyes. It didn’t even last a second, but the way he looked at him… he knew. He definitely knew that Jungwon had grabbed the letter.

Jungwon excused himself, whispering, “Good luck,” into Riki’s ear. A small part of him meant it. It was more for you.

He walked slowly to the locker room, overthinking about you and Riki. Overthinking about you and himself. What is this? It hurt. It hurt so much.

He was caught off guard by a hand on his shoulder. It was Jay, another friend of his.

“Hey man, where’s your girlfriend?” Jay asked with a knowing grin.

Jungwon blinked, still walking toward the locker room. “Girlfriend? I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

Jay sighed, glancing around before looking back at him. “Don’t play dumb. You know I’m talking about Y/N. Did you confess yet?”

Jungwon stopped, causing Jay to stumble a little. Jay looked at him, puzzled.

Confess. Did he like you? Is that what this is?

That’s what he thought about for the rest of the day.

He liked you.

He liked you. You. You. You.

He fumbled on the field, spaced out during conversations, and excused himself from after-practice hangouts.

When he got home, he immediately went to his room, throwing himself onto his bed and sighing at the ceiling. The moment of peace was interrupted by a vibration in his right hand. He brought his phone up to his face and saw your contact. You always called him after his practice.

He answered, bringing the phone to his ear. “Hey.”

“AHHHHHHH, Wonnie! You won’t believe it! He likes me back! Isn’t that crazy? For some reason, his love letter went missing—some weirdo took it. But he confessed to me!” you squealed from the other line.

He smiled a little at your happiness, ignoring the heaviness in his chest. “That’s great Y/N… You guys dating now?”

“Actually, we’re taking things slow. He blabbed about needing to take care of something first.”

That made Jungwon sit up. “Take care of something?” he asked.

“Yeah. No clue, but it doesn’t bother me. I’ve been waiting long enough—I can wait a little bit more.” You smiled to yourself.

Jungwon thought. Riki didn’t need to take care of something. He needed to take care of someone.

“I’m sure it’ll happen soon,” Jungwon said, trying to sound reassuring.

You sighed at his words. “Thanks, I feel like the happiest girl in the world.”

Jungwon didn’t respond to that. “I’m pretty tired from practice. Talk to you later?”

“Oh! I’m so sorry, Wonnie! Of course—sleep well, alright?”

“…You too.”

And with that, he hung up.

Jungwon stared at his phone, the call screen fading to black as the weight in his chest settled in. His fingers curled around the device, gripping it tighter than necessary.

He likes me back!

Your words replayed in his head over and over, each time pressing harder against the part of him that had only just realized the truth.

He liked you.

And now, he was too late.

Jungwon exhaled sharply, tossing his phone onto his bed before running a hand down his face. The ceiling blurred in his vision as he lay back down, feeling—what was this? Emptiness? Regret?

He wanted to be happy for you. He was happy for you. You were his best friend. That’s what best friends did. They supported each other, no matter what.

But then why did it feel like his heart was being squeezed in a way that left him breathless?

Riki still hadn’t officially asked you out. That was something, right? But Jungwon knew it wasn’t for the reason you thought.

He needed to take care of someone.

Jungwon scoffed to himself, letting his arm drape over his eyes.

Riki knew. He definitely knew.

And now, Jungwon had a choice to make.

Does he let this be? Pretend his feelings didn’t exist, swallow them whole, and stand by your side like he always had?

Or does he do something about it?

His fingers twitched at the thought, but deep down, he already knew his answer.

Jungwon had never been the type to back down from a challenge. But this—this wasn’t some game. This wasn’t a competition he could win just by trying harder, running faster, pushing himself more.

This was you.

And if anyone deserved to be happy, it was you.

Even if it wasn’t with him.

“Pass it!” Jungwon yelled across the field.

He had been practicing all morning, through breaks, and even during lunch. Soccer was his escape—the only thing that drowned out the noise in his head.

But that peace was shattered when he spotted a figure standing by the benches near his stuff.

Riki.

He stood there, arms crossed, gaze steady. His expression was unreadable, but Jungwon knew exactly why he was here.

Jungwon hesitated for only a second before calling for a break. With a deep sigh, he jogged over, wiping sweat from his forehead before sitting down on the bench. He didn’t look at Riki, just grabbed his water bottle and took a sip.

Riki sat beside him, wasting no time.

“Do you know what happened to my letter?”

Jungwon glanced at him from the corner of his eye, then turned his gaze back to the field. “Why are you asking questions you already know the answer to?” His voice was flat, expression unreadable.

Riki exhaled through his nose, nodding slightly as if he expected that response. “Why?”

Jungwon leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees. “You know the answer to that too.”

Silence stretched between them, heavy and suffocating. The distant shouts of players and the sound of cleats against the field felt worlds away.

Finally, Jungwon sat up, patting his thigh before standing. “Is that it? I’m pretty busy.” He nodded toward the field, crossing his arms.

Riki stood too, this time meeting Jungwon’s gaze head-on. His voice was calm, but there was an edge to it.

“However you feel, take it out on me. Not her, she cares for you.”

Jungwon clenched his jaw.

Riki let the words linger before turning on his heel and walking away.

Jungwon watched him go, fingers tightening around his water bottle. His chest felt heavy, like something was pressing down on it, suffocating him.

He ran a hand through his hair, exhaling sharply before kicking the bench. It barely moved, but it was enough to make his frustration bubble over.

Why did Riki have to say it like that? Like he was some selfish idiot who didn’t already know that? Like he didn’t already hate himself for it?

With a forced breath, he shook his head, pushing everything down, just like he always did. He had a game to focus on.

Without another glance at the benches, he jogged back onto the field, forcing himself to get lost in the only thing that still made sense.

A week after that encounter with Riki, Jungwon found himself in your room. He was doing homework while you sat beside him, pouting at your phone. He glanced at you and smiled.

“What are you grumbling about?” he asked.

You sighed, putting your phone down and continuing with your work. “It’s nothing…”

Jungwon raised a brow. He had never seen you this down before. “What? Tell me. You always tell me what’s wrong,” he pushed.

Pouting, you looked at him with puppy eyes. “It’s Riki… It’s been about a week, and I haven’t seen him or heard from him. Do you think he ghosted me?”

Jungwon stiffened. He had overheard from some guys that Riki had gotten into serious trouble with his parents and now had to work overtime at his part-time job. He sighed, looking at you. You were so obviously heartbroken. Should he tell you?

Or should he be selfish?

This was his chance. He could win you over. He could show you that he was here. That he would always be here.

He gulped, staring back down at his work. He was selfish—just for a moment. But then, he heard a broken sniffle come from you. His eyes snapped to you, watching as you tried to dry your tears, a fake smile on your face as if pretending everything was okay.

His heart dropped. Did Riki really mean that much to you?

Jungwon quickly moved next to you, guiding you to rest your head on his lap. Your cries softened as he gently patted your head, just like he always did.

He looked down at you—your eyes shut, your breathing slowing, the tension in your body fading. And then, softly, he spoke:

“I overheard that he got into some pretty big trouble and is working overtime at his job. He probably didn’t want to trouble you with that stupid mentality of his.”

Your eyes shot open. You turned your head, looking up at him. “Really?”

He nodded. “Really.”

In an instant, you shot up, grabbing your jacket and shoes. “Gosh, that jerk. Where does he work? I’m gonna give him a piece of my mind. Text me the address?” you said, pacing around the room.

Jungwon watched you, unable to find the right words. He wanted to stop you.

Before you could rush out the door, he stood up and grabbed your wrist. You looked up at him, confused. “Wonnie? What is it?”

“I—uhm.”

This was it. He should tell you now. If he didn’t, it would kill him. But as he looked at you—eager, desperate to see Riki—he exhaled and let go.

“Take your umbrella. It’s raining.”

You smiled, running past him to grab it. “Thanks! Leave whenever you want! And don’t forget to take some leftovers home!”

And just like that, you were gone.

Jungwon stood frozen, staring at the empty space you had just occupied. Slowly, his eyes wandered around your room.

The walls covered in posters. The notebooks scattered on your desk. The lingering scent of your perfume.

It was all so familiar.

His mind filled with memories—the time you both got front-row tickets to your favorite band and shouted while holding hands, the nights he stayed up to bring you food when you were sick, the first time you hugged him while crying into his chest.

And yet, despite all those moments, despite everything he had done for you… he never came to terms with his feelings.

A tear slid down his cheek before he even realized it. He wiped at it absently, staring at his damp fingers in disbelief.

Then, without warning, the tears came faster.

He sucked in a shaky breath, trying to stop them, but his chest tightened, and his knees buckled beneath him. He collapsed onto the floor, hands gripping the fabric of his pants as silent sobs racked his body.

It was too much.

The love he had buried.

The longing he had ignored.

The pain of watching you run to someone else.

He had lost you.

And the worst part?

You were never his to begin with.

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clockwayswrites · 12 hours ago

Text

The Haunting of Danny Fenton, p4

Masterpost late, tired, still emotional and physically fragile. please no editing <3

“—ir? Sir?”

Danny mumbled something incoherent that was supposed to be a response to that, or befuddlement about being called ‘sir’, or at least something better than ‘wadamehaaftz’. The bite of a tightening blood pressure cuff around his arm helped bring him a little be back to the world. He opened his eyes right into too bright light and winced back in reaction.

“Sir? Do you need us to call an ambulance?” the panicked looking barista asked. She was crouched down next to him where he lay on the floor.

Great, now he could never come back to this coffee shop. That was a damn shame, they had really good bagels.

“No,” Danny managed to make his mouth say. “Seizure. Newish thing for me. I’m fine—will be fine. Sorry.”

“Maybe you should stay laying down for a moment longer?” The barista suggested.

Danny hummed. “Don’t want to be a bother.”

“Dude,” someone said off to Danny’s right. He didn’t think it was worth the effort to turn his head and look, “you just had a seizure. You were screaming. Like, I think we’re all okay if you lay there. We can step around you.”

There were murmurers of agreement.

“Okay, yeah, you know what, great,” Danny said and summoned the willpower to lift his hand and give there room a thumbs up. He let it drop listlessly back down onto his chest.

At least the floor was cool against his back. And he did feel a bit better not trying to get up immediately. When he finally pulled himself back up into his chair, the nice barista brought him a glass of ice water with a straw. Danny drank every drop of the first glass and a refill until the paper of the stupid straw started to turn to mush between his lips.

Knowing that he wouldn’t be up for doing much especially that day, Danny got a bagel sandwich to go, left a generous tip, and fled the cafe with his proverbial tail between his legs.

Penny was was at the apartment. She shoved a still warm load of banana bread at Danny as she bitched about her latest failed relationship. Apparently her girlfriend had been hooking up with the bouncer at their favorite bar. Not that Penny would have minded if they had talked through it before hand and Penny was allowed to join every now and again.

Which, fair, the bouncer did have amazing arms.

When Penny’s phone rang, blaring a dated pop song, Danny was able to make his escape with the added load of his two liter water bottle and bag of little oranges. Or not oranges—clementines? Tangelos? Whatever, little oranges.

He set everything down on the end of his bed before flinging himself onto it.

Another seizure. A worse one.

But a clearer vision of the ghost than he’d ever had before.

Groaning, Danny dragged himself to hang over the edge of his bed so he could pull out one of the storage cubes from under it. After a bit of shuffling, he got the one he wanted out from the back: a long ignored stack of art supplies. Danny rummaged around in it for a pencil and eraser before he pulled the sketchbook out from the bottom. He flipped past old game ides and idle doodles to find a blank page and started to work.

There was so much of the ghost that he still couldn’t define, but the more he worked at the sketch of the ghost’s face, the more he started to narrow it down.

Danny stared down at the page.

Overworked eyes stared back.

Feeling frustrated at how close it was, Danny grabbed a blue marker from the page and filled in the eyes carefully. Then, with almost irritated strokes, Danny roughly messed in the strikingly orange hair.

Now his ghost started back.

“Hello there…”

Danny stared up at the building. “I can’t believe I’m about to do this.”

The figure made a little shooing motion towards the door.

#dp x dc #danny/wally #danny/dick #dick/wally #danny/dick/wally #thodf

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bestalbertcamuslover · 1 day ago

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"if the sex was half as good as the conversation was, soon they'd be pushin' strollers"

↳ Masterlist

︶⊹︶︶୨୧︶︶⊹︶︶⊹︶︶୨୧︶︶⊹︶︶⊹︶︶

✯ pairing: Sebastian Vettel x GF! Reader ✯

✯ content warnings: none ✯

︶⊹︶︶୨୧︶︶⊹︶︶⊹︶︶୨୧︶︶⊹︶︶⊹︶︶

She knew this moment would eventually come. He had suggested going back to his place for a drink after yet another wonderful date, and it was clear what that implied. Under different circumstances, she would have been more than eager—but instead, she felt terrified. Not of the act itself, but of whether she was any good at it.

Only a few months ago, she had been dating a friend of a friend. He was smart, handsome, and, more importantly, interesting—very interesting. Their dates were filled with amazing conversations, but when it came to the intimate part, he thought otherwise—and he was very vocal about it. That became the dealbreaker, and it planted a deep seed of insecurity in her.

Her chest rose and fell in sync with her breath, still catching up to reality, still trying to piece together the sensations coursing through her body. She felt warm, her skin sensitive, her limbs pleasantly heavy. And yet, beneath all of it, a quiet voice in the back of her mind whispered doubts she had tried so hard to ignore.

Sebastian lay beside her, his arm lazily draped over her waist, fingers tracing absentminded patterns on her bare hip. He looked utterly at ease—relaxed, content, and maybe just a little smug in that effortless way he had.

She turned her head toward him, studying him in the dim light. The mess of his hair, the slope of his nose, the way his lips still looked slightly swollen—it was all so effortless, so natural. He looked like someone who had absolutely no doubts. Meanwhile, she felt like she was buzzing with them.

Sebastian must have sensed her gaze because, after a moment, his hand stilled, and he cracked one eye open. “What’s that look for?” His voice was low, laced with curiosity and a hint of amusement.

She blinked, feigning innocence. “What look?”

His lips twitched. “The one you’re giving me right now.” He chuckled lightly, shifting slightly so that he could look at her more directly. “Like you're looking for something,” he replied, his fingers still tracing light patterns against her skin. “Or like you're expecting something.”

“Maybe some comments on what just happened,” she grinned, trying to sound as if she was joking, but she really wanted to hear what he thought about it.

Sebastian's expression softened, and he shifted so that he was propped up on one elbow, facing her. “Comments?” he replied, raising an eyebrow. “What kind of comments?” His fingers were still moving over her skin, gently tracing the curves of her waist and hips. “You want me to rate the experience on a scale of one to ten or something?” he teased, a small smirk playing at the corners of his mouth.

She chuckled slightly. “Perhaps.”

Sebastian's smirk widened slightly at her response, and he chuckled as well. “Well, in that case,” he said, his free hand coming up to trail lightly up her arm, “I'd give it a solid nine. Maybe even a nine-point-five.” He paused for a moment before adding, “But I do have one complaint.”

“What is it?” She asked, expecting the worst.

He leaned in closer as he replied, “I think you should have said my name louder.” He winked, a wicked grin plastered on his face. “I mean, I know I was pretty great, but I want everyone on the entire top floor to know it too.”

Her soft chuckle in response to his words made him smile. Yet, she still looked unconvinced—doubtful and worried, as if someone were whispering contradictions into her ear through a hidden earpiece.

Sebastian's expression turned slightly more serious, and he gently cupped her face in his hand, his thumb rubbing over her cheek. “Why do you seem so... uncertain about this?” he asked, his voice gentle. “It's like you're waiting for me to tell you that it wasn't good, or that you weren't good.”

“It's literally nothing, I was just wondering whether, um, you liked it,” she replied as lightly as possible, “since it is our first time.”

Sebastian paused, his hand stilling on her waist as he processed your words. He frowned slightly, tilting his head to get a better look at her face, hoping to glean some hint of your true feelings.

“Of course I liked it,” he said, his voice soft. “Why would you think I didn’t?”

“I don't know,” she said again with feigned casualness, “some couples just don't have bed chem” she explained, and despite the pretended nonchalance, it was clear that there was some sort of personal experience, insecurity, and vulnerability behind it.

Sebastian caught the not-so-subtle note of vulnerability, the hint of dread behind her words, and it broke his heart a little. He could tell there was more to this than just a casual, passing comment. And he knew her well enough to know that when she was hurt—really hurt—she tended to try and downplay it, brush it off like it was nothing.

He moved closer to her, his arm resting possessively over her waist. His next words were quiet, sincere. “Did… someone ever say that to you?”

“I said some couples, not that it had happened to me,” she replied softly, avoiding his gaze more than once.

He moved even closer, his body pressing against hers. His touch was light, his fingers tracing the outline of her jawline. “I know you’re lying,” he murmured, his voice filled with a soft mixture of concern and gentle reproach. “Don’t try to pull that with me.”

“Okay, yeah, maybe is based on a personal experience,” she admitted softly.

He let out a slow exhalation, his thumb stroking her cheek gently. He could see the vulnerability in her eyes, could feel the weight of those experiences hanging over her.

“You don’t have to hide it, you know,” he said softly. “I want you to be able to talk to me about things. Especially hard things.” He tucked a stray strand of hair behind her ear.

“Well, maybe I’m a little insecure about it because my ex said—and I’m quoting word for word—‘if the sex was half as good as the conversation, we’d soon be pushin’ strollers.’ But, yeah, then, it was over,” she admitted, trying to say it as lightly as possible, as if it didn’t affect her much.

“You’re joking.”

“I’m not.”

His hand slid to her cheek, tilting her face toward him, his eyes scanning hers like he needed to confirm that she was really being serious.

“Well,” he said, voice firm but teasing, “either your ex had absolutely no idea what he was doing, or he was just trying to make himself feel better.”

She huffed a small laugh. “Seb—”

“No, really,” he insisted, shaking his head, his lips curving into a slow, incredulous grin. “Because if that was you being bad at it, then I’m terrified of what happens when you decide to be good at it.”

She laughed slightly then, genuinely, and his grip on her tightened as he pressed a kiss to her temple. “You were incredible,” he murmured, his lips moving down to her jaw, then her neck. “And if you ever need more proof…” He smirked against her skin. “I’d be happy to demonstrate again.”

︶⊹︶︶୨୧︶︶⊹︶︶⊹︶︶୨୧︶︶⊹︶︶⊹︶︶

✯ authors note: This is very random lol

English is not my first language and I hope you liked it <3

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neoraso · 19 hours ago

Text

bf things with boynextdoor

03z + 04z

sungho

cooks for you without a second thought. wants his baby fed and even before you started dating he always made extra when he knew you were coming around

sticks up for you always. if he sees ANYONE mistreating or teasing you too much he makes sure to end it there.

thinks you're THE funniest person alive. laughs harder and smiles more when you're around

lots of dates (shopping, cafe, eating, museums,etc.) but also loves to just stay in, cook and watch movies with you, talking and cuddling, he serenades you sometimes playfully >_<

loves to play with your hair and hold your hands- so simple but its so endearing and special to him to feel the back of your hand or your fingers curled in his own.

riwoo

was literally so shy around you before you started dating, now you are the person he feels most at home with. he doesn’t say it all the time but it shows when he’s around other people

carries your bags for you, holds your drink, etc. with no hesitance- even if someone points it out

is quite observant about your moods, habits, likes and dislikes. prides himself on knowing things about you no one else seems to care about-especially when he pulls out the most thoughtful gifts that leave you floored

feels a sense of responsibility for your care and overall wellbeing, but also feels incredibly comforted and safe with you

loves to share food and treats with you, all the time but especially when you look like you need a pick me up

jaehyun

he tries to not hang off of you like a backpack but fails within an hour and especially at night

everyone he introduces you to, coworkers, family members, friends, etc., all act like they know you from how much he talks about you. he thinks the world of you and loves to brag

every time he sees you it's like you've been gone for 6 years, even if it's only been a day; hugs so tight and gives 1 billion kisses, coos at you

an obvious mention: cute aggression that occurs so often it might be like a chronic affliction... srsly... kisses your face and head with a surprising amount of force and ur literally js sitting there, minding ur business

he elevates you. he's a great guy who you know deserves the world and it makes you want to live up to that. he feels the same about you and you guys encourage each other to be your best selves.

taesan

loves to have matching items with you (will spend hours customizing shoes or hats for you both)

loves days in where u just listen to whatever records you picked up the last time he brought you to the shop and lay there or slow dance around

lovessss meaningful gifts and gestures. will buy or make you snacks when you’re stressed or just bc would steal the moon for you if you asked

thinks everything you do is so cute and perfect and wonderful. literally so biased he will choose you to win over anyone

likes to pick you up from work or school even if its just to walk to the bus stop together and ride home (greatest protector award goes to…!!!)

leehan

your rock. soothes all your worries no matter how silly they seem. says really profound things like they're simple and- you guess they are when he’s around.

treats you oh so softly; tucks your hair behind your ears, pulls you into a hug like you're glass

nothing is embarrassing to him, he will wash your hair, shave your legs, brush your teeth for you. just ask and he’s there

likes when you sit with him while he watches his fishies,, you dont even have to be watching too but he feels so content with both of his favorite things to be around

the type where if you fall asleep on the couch instead of moving you, he'll just slip next to you to sleep too <<33

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short-honey-badger · 2 days ago

Note

Hello!

This is the first time ever that I ask for a writing to a headcanon and it’s exciting. :) I have been eating up your Shamrock/Shanks writings, love them!

There is this idea living in my head that the female reader

a) falls very ill

b) gets poisoned by rivals of the Figarland family

And is then discovered by Shamrock who comes looking for us, wondering why we don’t react to him calling our name.

In both scenarios mentioned, the reader is then lying in bed and very weak, suffering and slipping in and out of consciousness.

Meanwhile, Shamrock deals with guilt, fear and shock about this even happening right under his nose

Shanks of course would be there too, angry with his brother for not looking out enough for Reader

I know this is very angsty (think about that scene from Gone with the Wind where Scarlett fell down the stairs and was ill) and I am not sure if you said anywhere that this isn’t something you would like to write about.

Still, I would love to see what you make of this little snippet. :) Your Shamrock characterization is great 👍

Okay anon. This was probably one of my favorite ones I've done so far so thank you dearly for the wonderful prompt. I hope I have done it justice! ❤️❤️

Watch me Wither

Pairings! Shanks x Female Reader x Figarland Shamrock

Warnings! Not many? Angsty sick fic

Shamrock Masterlist-> HERE

Shamrock stands vigil over your still form, lips set in a harsh frown. It's been three days, and still your condition has yet to improve. Guilt eats at him, knowing that if he had listened to his brother for once that this wouldn't have happened. That you, their most precious person, would not be lying here still as a corpse. How could he let this happen when he had sworn to you that you would be safe here with him?

When you don't come to his office to share lunch with the leader of the Holy Knights, Shamrock knows that there is something going on. He stands from his desk and leaves his office, booted feet slapping against the stone of his home as he navigates the halls to the room he had set you up in a month ago.

Shanks had argued against you staying in Marie Geoise with Shamrock, seemingly convinced that you would be happier, safer with him and his crew. Shamrock had scoffed and rolled his eyes at his younger twin, lips pursed and arms crossed.

“She will be perfectly fine here with me, safe where no bloody pirates can steal her away when you aren't paying attention.”

Shanks had rolled his eyes but backed down, face set in a scowl as he turned on his heel to go tell you goodbye.

Shamrock knocks on your door, knowing that you value your privacy, but when you didn't answer after several moments, the holy knight turned the handle and strode inside. He stalks forward, scowl on his face as he comes to a stop beside your bed. He can see the lump you make under the blankets and calls your name, but still, there is no response from you. He rolls his eyes and reaches out, pulling the quilt down and freezing when he sees the yellow pallor of your face, your hair weighed down by sweat.

His heart siezed in his chest, eyes going wide as he reached out, on ehand wrapping around your shoulder and shaking you gently, “Darling, my love, please, wake up.”

A wretched groan left your mouth, eyes cracking open just enough that he could see the way your pupils had shrunk, tiny pinpoints surrounded by the dull color of your iris and bloodshot white sclera.

He had jumped into action when you fell back into unconsciousness seconds later, eyes drooping and body going lax in his hold. Shamrock had scooped you up and ran like he had never before, heedless of puting up a front in front of the servants and other members of his household until he made it to the room that their personal healer stayed. He’d woken Jurgan, demanding that the old man examine you, and what he found had made dreaded guilt well up inside the holy knight.

Someone, either an enemy of the Figarland household or one of their enemies, had poisoned you.

Now Shamrock could do nothing but regret his choice in keeping you here. He had called Shanks on the second day that you were admitted into the medical ward, and had sat still and silent as his twin lay into him, furious at Shamrock for allowing this to happen right under his nose. He deserved the dressing down, and it only added to his guilt and fear that because of him, they would never see that shy little grin that was only meant for them, ever again.

Shanks had told him that he would be back as quickly as he could, wanting to be there for his twin and for you if you ever happened to wake for longer periods of time. Shamrock had just quietly agreed, not feeling the need to argue against his younger brother, not when you were in such a delicate position.

You would wake long enough each day that Shamrock for drip water into your mouth, his eyes intent as he watched you slowly consume the liquid before you would drop back off, still too weak to do much but slowly recover. Jurgan had purged your system with a concoction of drugs, but even then, the doctor had informed him that it may not be enough for you to pull through. Only time would tell.

Shamrock didn’t know what he would do if you didn’t make it. You had become an extension of his life, a need that he would happily let consume him if only to receive your soft hands and sweet attitude that you rewarded him and Shanks with. Raging guilt eats at him, knowing that he failed you, that the promise he had made you and Shanks has been broken by being too prideful, too sure in the knowledge that you would be safe in his home.

A low groan gains his attention, and Shamrock cuts his eyes down at you, loping forward to grasp your hand in his own when he sees your hand twitch in his direction. You grip his fingers weakly, and the holy knight kneels by your side, burgundy eyes soft as he reaches out with his other hand to gently card his fingers through your hair. You look pitiful, but it gives him hope that you are beginning to feel better when you crack your eyes open to meet his own.

“Sham?”

Your voice is scratchy with disuse, but Shamrock is just happy to hear your voice. He squeezes your fingers, the hand in your hair smoothing down to cup your cheek, “I’m here, darling.”

Shamrock doesn’t know what to do or how he could make you feel better other than just by being at your side. His father had huffed and sneered, telling his older son that he needed to get over this, and get back to his duties, but the redhead found that he was always pulled back to your side, unable to be away from you for too long.

“Red?” You rasp quietly and frown when Shamrock shakes his head.

“Shanks is on his way, my love,” he murmurs, and the knowledge that the other twin was on the way seems to settle you, face smoothing out into something peaceful. He watches you for a while longer until your hand goes slack and you seem to slip back to sleep. Shamrock sighs and carefully disentangles his hand from yours and stands. He knows that you are unlikely to wake again in the next couple of hours, so as much as it pains him to leave your side, Shamrock does. He must before his father comes to collect him.

The next several days passed the same way, Shamrock would come and stay by your side, the guilt inside him eating away at him as he stared at your pale form resting under warm blankets. He would hold your hand, a silent sentinel. He seethed and raged inside his mind, furious that he was no closer to finding out the culprit behind your poisoning. He watched you wither further every day, and it killed him on the inside little by little.

Shanks arrived on the seventh day, running through the halls of a home he held no fond memories of. He ignored the sneers that were directed at him, not caring that the household thought of him as lesser just because he refused to bow to their whims. He found his twin sitting beside you in the medical ward, the other redhead looking worse than Shanks has ever seen his older brother.

“How is she?” He asks as he shuts the door behind him. He comes and stands at his twin's side, eyes wide as he stares down at you. He wanted to touch, to feel you, to make sure that you were still holding on, but he was terrified of making your condition worse.

“Better,” Shamrock murmured, voice rough from disuse. He watched his younger brother, seeing the look of fear etched on the face that looked so much like his own, and felt that same remorse well up. He drops his eyes quickly, averting them back to where you lay, “Jurgan says that she will recover, but the poison did a number on her internal organs. She will never be as strong as she once was.”

Shanks grits his teeth, his anger at his brother coming back with a vengeance. He doesn't bother looking at the other man, but his voice is tense and full of displeasure, “I told you that she wouldn't be safe here. You should have known better than to keep the one weakness you have so close. Her staying here was doomed from the start, Sham.”

Shamrock grits his teeth, shoulders hunching. He knows that Shanks is right, having already berated himself mentally more than his brother ever could.

“So you've already said last time we spoke,” He murmurs, and thankfully, Shanks doesn't say anything else about his failings. The two sit in silence, both content to watch your chest move up and down in your sleep. It isn't until there is a catch in your breath that they snap to attention.

Your brow furrows, and soft sound leaves you. You shift on the bed, arm snaking out from under the blankets, and Shanks stands, beating his brother to grasp your hand in his own. Your eyes crack open a moment later, blurry but more focused now than you seem to have been in days. You turn your head, lips pulling up in a tiny smile when you see both of your boys sitting beside you. You squeeze the hand you hold, voice scratching and throat sore.

“Shanks, you're here.”

The redhead smiles sadly, squeezing your hand back tightly, “Yeah, baby. I'm right here. How are you feeling?”

You shift with a wince to lay on your side, sliding your other hand out and reaching for the older twin. Shamrock easily slides his hand into yours, eyes soft as he stares at you.

“Better now that you're both here,” you say quietly and give them both a meager smile. You can tell, even in your pained and muddled state, that there is more than the usual tension between the two brothers. You sigh softly and squeeze Shanks’ hand again to gain his attention.

“Don't be mad, Red. This is my own fault. I should have been more careful.”

Both men widen their eyes, confused and about to argue that they are the ones who are supposed to take care of you, but you plow on before they can get a word out, “You can't be by my side every waking hour, loves. I knew this place would be dangerous even when I agreed to stay here. I got too comfortable, and that cost me.”

“But-”

You cut the holy knight off, “But nothing, Sham. You have duties, and Shanks, you have a crew to take care of. I don't want the two of you beating yourselves up or each other up.”

They watch you swallow harshly, lips moving into a weary smile full of sadness both men dearly wished they could wipe away.

“I heard what you said, Shamrock, and if it's as bad as you say it is, then I'm going to need you. Both of you.”

Shanks nods immediately, crouching down so that he can be at eye level with you. He leans forward, lips kissing your brow before he pulls back to give you a smile, “We'll be here, baby.”

Shamrock clutches your hand, still feeling that raging guilt that threatens to suffocate him, but he shoves it down for now. You were right. They would need to be there. He leans in and kisses your knuckles where they wrap around his hand, voice a soft promise, “Always, my love. We have you.”

You give them both a small smile, exhaustion suddenly eating away at you, and you squeeze their hands again, grip going slack as moments later, “I know.”

You are asleep seconds later, but neither man has any plans of going anywhere, not when you would need them when you woke up next. You had a long road of recovery ahead, but you would get there with them at your side.

@mit-suri @mfreedomstuff @sanjisleggy @nocturnalrorobin

#one piece #reader insert #shanks x reader #red haired shanks #one piece x reader #shanks #figarland shamrock x reader #figarland shamrock #shamrock x reader #shamrock #one piece manga spoilers

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rafesbuzzcutseason · 21 hours ago

Text

chasing city lights

chapter 5 - long gazes

synopsis: you move to new york to start fresh, hoping to find comfort in the city’s atmosphere. that’s when you meet sarah cameron, where she takes you to a concert and you catch sight of the lead band member, rafe cameron. it only takes a moment for you to realize you’re captivated by him. as sarah helps you navigate your new life in the city, you start to get pulled deeper into rafe's world—the music, the fame, the chaos. the more you get to know him, the more you realise that rafe is not just the rock star he seems to be. he’s wrestling with his own demons, and the last thing he needs is someone like you getting close.

masterlist

✧˖ °. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁‧₊˚ ☾. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁˖°✧

after another amazing show the guys put on, you and the girls headed out to a nearby bar while the boys were finishing up and doing some press shots.

"they never miss. this tour is the best yet" cleo said as you all sat down with your drinks. "you should be so proud sarah"

"why me?" she asked.

"with everything rafe has been through, he seems to be doing well and he really shines on stage." cleo replied.

you couldn't help but wonder what they meant. what had he been through? sarah nodded in response, a small smile coming across her lips as she seemed lost in thought, clearly proud of her brother.

"yeah i am. i'm proud of all of them, they have come so far."

after a few cocktails in, the boys finally arrived and took their seats, topper coming to sit next to you before rafe had a chance too. he made a quick stern look to topper, making him clearly uncomfortable but he didn't budge.

rafe hadn't sat down yet, he just stood there for a moment, as if weighing something in his mind. he finally sat down across from you, an intensity there, a quiet pull between you two that felt almost electric.

the rest of the group chatted casually, but the air between you and rafe seemed to sparkle with an unspoken tension.

topper, oblivious to the silent exchange, leaned back in his chair and grinned at you, his arm slung casually across the back of your chair. you could feel rafe's stare shift to him, then back on you, his eyes burning with something you couldn’t quite place.

"so, what’s the verdict?" top asked, nudging you lightly.

"hmm?" you blinked, snapping out of the fog rafe’s gaze had put you in.

"the show, I mean." topper raised an eyebrow. "did you enjoy it?"

"oh yes!" you replied, "you guys killed it. maybe even better than the other week"

rafe kept his eyes on you, moving in closer across the table, his presence suddenly looming over you.

"did you really think tonight was better?" he asked, his voice low. he was leaning in now, his face only inches from yours.

the rest of the group was still chatting, but it felt like you and rafe were the only two in the room.

"yeah," you said, holding his gaze. 'you were incredible." the few drinks in you giving you a slight boldness.

rafe's lips turned into a smug, half-smile. there was a flicker in his eyes "good" he muttered softly,

you felt his knees slightly graze yours under the table, but you tried to ignore the heat threatening to come over your face and turned back to the table to join in the conversation they were having.

"and then he told me that wasn't possible! like what does that even mean?" jj laughed, you had no idea the context of the discussion, but you laughed along like you had been paying attention the whole night.

toppers arm had moved and was no longer hanging loosely around your back, a sense of relief washing over you, not because you didn't like topper, he was a great friend, but it wasn't him you wanted touching you.

the night stretched on, and rafe and you kept making eye contact with each other, the tension growing thick.

"should we head back to the hotel?" sarah asked.

"yeah i could head to bed now" kie replied.

"where are you guys staying?" jj chirped in.

"just down the road at hotel monroe" cleo replied.

"that's where we're staying" rafe said gently, a hint of a smile on his lips. "let's all go then."

you couldn't help but feel excited knowing rafe was staying where you were, meaning you would at least see him one more time before you drive home.

you all made your way out your seats, taking the short walk back to the hotel, alcohol rushing through your systems and the adrenaline of the night. trying to remain calm as you could feel rafe lightly holding onto the short of your back, keeping you steady.

once you all made it to your rooms and said your goodbyes, you and sarah got into the bedroom to start getting ready for bed.

"this was such a fun night." sarah spoke happily.

"it really was. i can't thank you enough for letting me interfere your life like this." you responded, giving her a long hug.

"don't be silly. you fit in so well with us and it's rare for the boys to like someone so much that we bring into their lives also. they're very cautious, for good reason, but seeing them all trust you just as much as us girls do certifies i've found a good one" she grinned.

"stop being soppy" you threw your pillow at her.

"it's true! especially rafe. he doesn't warm to people easily."

"i wouldn't say he's exactly warmed to me" you responded, slightly pushing to see if she'd say more.

"i know it doesn't seem it, but i can tell he approves of you. he's a tough egg to crack."

"you can say that again" you giggled

"tell me about it, imagine being his sister"

you both laughed until sarah went serious "he looks at you differently y/n"

"what do you mean?" you questioned.

"i don't know yet. he's a confusing guy." her light hearted tone present again.

"hmm" you replied, letting sleep slowly start to wash over you, lost in thoughts about what sarah meant over that. had she noticed? would she mind? you couldn't lose your friendship with sarah.

but you also couldn't ignore the rafe was making you feel.

✧˖ °. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁‧₊˚ ☾. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁˖°✧

a/n: treating you to another one🤭 apologies for the slow burn... can you tell i grew up on wattpad

taglist: @hoefordrewstarkey @marleymarleymarleymarley @bee-43 @cherryhoneybabe @skye-44 @drewrry @drewrry @yesterdaysproblemm @pogueprincesa @dylsdaily @rafeysworldim19 @valyrianflower

#smau #rafe cameron #outer banks #obxsmau #drew starkey #obx #boyfriend rafe #rafe cameron x reader #rafe obx #chasing city lights

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mayanneaa · 1 day ago

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always and (not) forever - ʀᴀꜰᴇ ᴄᴀᴍᴇʀᴏɴ.

PAIRING : rafe cameron x reader

SUMMARY : rafe breaks up with you right after you get accepted to stanford university.

WARNING(S) : angst, swearing, not really proofread

A/N : can you tell i just watched to all the boys: always and forever? (divider by @roseraris )

WC : 0.7k

masterlist.

Your heart’s pounding more and more as you click on the email you just got.

It’s late at night, only the crickets outside accompanying your growing emancipation. You squeeze the hem of your pajama shirt, biting your lip almost to blood.

This is the moment you’ve been waiting for forever— the week of acceptance letters from Stanford.

You can’t really remember when exactly you decided that a university across the whole country was good for you. It just… happened.

Your boyfriend, Rafe, wasn’t particularly excited for you to study so far away since he wanted to go to the one in-state. You managed to convince him that you’ll be well.

The email is long, but after the first words, you don’t even bother reading more. You got in.

A scream escapes your lips, quickly muffled by your hands. You sit there wide-eyed, the faint light of your laptop’s screen falling on your face.

“Oh my God.”

You immediately grab your phone, trembling fingers dialing Rafe’s number. He answers faster than the first ding.

“What’s up, baby?” His voice’s a little raspy and low as if he was falling asleep.

“I got into Stanford,” you whisper, the words feeling unreal once they leave your mouth. “Can you believe it, Rafe?”

There’s a silence, followed by a hum. “That’s… great. I mean, you’re happy, right?”

“Yeah, of course!”

There’s a silence— a moment where you can let your emotions cool off a bit, followed by Rafe clearing his throat.

“Actually… Can we meet?”

You knit your eyebrows. His voice is steady but distant. Something you haven’t heard in a while. “Like, right now?”

Rafe hums in response, and you feel the confusion bubbling up. “Well, if you want to you can come over, but be quiet. My parents are asleep.”

“I’ll be there in five.”

You hang up the phone, your hand lingering as you glance at the laptop screen.

Was Rafe overthinking this whole ‘distance’ thing once again?

You’ve already told him a million times that it will work out. So why the sudden change of mind?

You slip your feet into your slippers and grab a hoodie you throw on on the stairs.

The light from Rafe’s motorcycle flashes through the windows, a quiet buzz filling the natural silence. You quickly open the door and get outside, a chilly breeze hitting your bare legs.

“What’s wrong?” You ask, crossing your arms on your chest.

Rafe takes off his helmet and looks at the ground. “I think we should break up before you go to Stanford.”

You grimace, scrunching your nose. “What are you talking about? Rafe, we’ve been through this. I know it’s hard to be this long distance, but we can do it—”

“No.” The word comes out of his mouth so quickly, you gasp under your breath. “Honestly, how do you see that? Going from what we are now, from me getting to your door in five fucking minutes to seeing each other once God knows how much time?”

“But… you agreed to that earlier…”

“I was wrong,” Rafe says as quietly as a whisper, his voice cracking. “I’m not going to watch it all fall apart in two, four, or even six months. It’s better if we just end it now.”

You squeeze your arms and clench your jaw so tight it almost hurts.

How dare he just stand there, not even looking at you, as your life seems to split in two?

“Don’t say that, Rafe. You don’t mean it…” You say, your voice is small, but you know better than this. Rafe doesn’t just say things.

“I do.”

Two words. Those two words were enough to let the tears pushing onto your eyelids fall.

“Are you serious? After all we’ve been through, you leave me because of some stupid belief that we will not make it?” You sigh, anger spilling out with each breath you take.

“Go, Rafe. I don’t want to see your face.”

He inhales sharply as if you just slapped him. Maybe you should’ve done that. Instead, you turn on your heels and storm into the house, not giving Rafe another glance.

All you hear is the engine running, and the quiet sound of your heart breaking.

taglist :

@amterasuu

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shoukokus · 2 days ago

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Hello! Can you please write Vil with a crush on someone (preferably fem) who likes more “masculine” activities; like wrestling, rugby, weightlifting, etc (definitely not bc I do those sports). Thank you!!! 🩷🩷🩷

I love this! So cute

Vil Schoenheit

Vil doesn't know how this happened. He was high-end! Beauty oriented, grace above all else, and maintain an air of refinement. So how in the Great Seven did he fall for someone so rowdy?!

It defied all logic, but reason seemed to escape him when it came to you. He could be strictly instructing a dance course, the graceful art of ballet obviously, when he sees you. In the corner with Epel, wrestling him to the ground. It should make Vil outraged! But instead he's fixated on the way your muscles contract with each movement.

It must have taken time and discipline to get them like that... So taut and firm. Beautiful in its own way...

"Are you all right, dorm leader?" Someone asks him, pulling Vil out of his thoughts.

"Of course I'm fine," he snaps in response. "Another 30 minutes of practice for everyone."

Some time later, Epel is drowning in homework and extra assignments given by Vil. At one point during this, the younger boy timidly tells Vil that he had an alchemy project with none other than you. He had done his part, but now it needed to be delivered so it can be completed. His dorm leader doesn't want Epel to fail, right?

Vil snatches the papers and box up with feigned annoyance.

When he arrives at your door and knocks, you don't answer but he does hear loud music inside. You probably wouldn't have heard him, so he lightly pushes it open.

Down the end of the hallway in the living room, he sees you and freezes on the spot. Wearing loose workout clothing, you're lifting weights that looked... rather heavy, to say the least. It's infuriating how stunning you look, so perfectly in your element. Doing something that compliments you so well.

He clears his throat, determined not to let this fluster him, and approaches you. When you finally see him, you send him a wide smile that nearly sends him into panic mode.

A week or so later is the final straw.

Vil spots you from across the courtyard at lunchtime. It was a lovely day, and a lot of students were outside enjoying it. You're with most of the Spelldrive team, talking animatedly and laughing. Even Leona seems to be enjoying the conversation, although it was hard to tell while he lounged on a bench.

While it was unclear what was said to spark it, you and Ruggie were suddenly squaring off. It was playful and kind of... cute, but that does not diminish how easily you got him to the ground. Your technique had obviously been honed, and came from some kind of sport, but Vil couldn't pinpoint it.

After the two of you removed yourselves from each other, you went back to laughing and brushing grass off. Vil has had just about enough. He marched up to you and your little group.

"Come with me, now." Vil told you, eyes boring into yours.

The others looked at you with sympathy, assuming that you were about to be chewed out for starting a ruckus or some such. You followed, shoulders tight, worried about your fate.

When the two of you had reached a private spot, Vil turns to you. He has a slight flush on his face as he begins to speak. "You are rowdy. Your hobbies are reckless, and entirely ill-suited to my tastes." You open your mouth to protest, but he holds up a finger dangerously close to your lips. "Yet I still find myself enchanted by you. The way you are... the way you carry yourself. It is unbelievably mesmerizing. Allow me to take you on a date."

A smile had been slowly growing on your face as he spoke, while the blush on his also increased.

"I'd love that, Vil."

Requests are open!

#vil schoenheit #vil schoenheit x reader #twisted wonderland #twisted wonderland x reader #twst x reader #twst

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kindaasrikal · 3 days ago

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A long asked question about Misako was why she decided to leave Lloyd at Darkly’s school for bad boys. Mainly because she knew he was the green ninja from birth and still left him there.

Some people speculate it’s because she was aware he was quarter Oni and others thought it was because his father is Garmadon. Like his dad is bad and so is he kinda assumption.

Yeah so once you remember the fact that the REASON Misako left Lloyd was to spend her time finding a way to stop the prophecy of the final battle, it becomes a lot more clear.

Misako, as a mother, knew Lloyd was the green ninja from the moment he popped out.

Misako, as a historian, knew that the green ninja is a pillar of hope and good and is physically incapable of being actually evil.

Misako, as a strategist well known for her intelligence by both sons of the Fsm, had the one goal of stopping the prophecy from ever coming true.

And so she left her son in a school that teaches you how to be evil and encourages bad behaviour, in an attempt for Lloyd to not become the good and kind green ninja that will have to face his own father. In an attempt for it to either be delayed, or the prophecy needing to come true and hitting someone else with that responsibility.

Of course, he then thought being kicked out was a great idea and look where we ended up. Oh, destiny and how you are a strong driving force in Ninjago.

#lego ninjago #ninjago #lloyd garmadon #lloyd ninjago #young lloyd #ninjago misako #misako montgomery garmadon #misako ninjago #right remember that none of these are actually confirmed canon in any way because back teh writers were a mess #asrikal’s dumb rambles

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wyattjohnston · 2 days ago

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just between you and me - cole caufield

summary: you return to montreal after some time abroad and it unleashes a whole new slew of questions.

word count: 3,325

note: this is for @lam-ila for The Winter Fic Exchange 2k25! i hope you like it maleeha <3 thank you to @comphy-and-cozy and for all your help!!

main character: feminine reader insert

The windowpane offers a nice reprieve from the chaotic warmth being produced by seemingly everybody you’ve ever known being invited to your welcome back party. It’s well below freezing which isn’t at all unusual for Montreal, and—you’ll never admit this out loud—sitting next to the window is the closest you’re going to get to outside. Belgium had been utterly tropical in comparison and you’re ashamed by how quickly the Montreal weather became too much. The crowd of people sitting on the balcony are, quite frankly, out of their minds.

“Don’t think you should be sitting over here by yourself.”

You move your attention from the group outside to the person who just joined you, smiling gently when you realise who it is followed by a just as gentle, “Hi, Cole.”

The confusion across his face is clear and it lasts longer than just a passing second, before he’s saying your name back to you in such a questioning manner that you start to wonder if you’ve somehow been wrong all these years.

He shuffles further into the booth opposite you, leaning all his body weight onto his forearms and the table between them, and says emphatically, “No fucking way.”

You understand his reaction somewhat, knowing that the semester spent in Belgium had been eye opening and experimental, but you can only shrug at him because visibly all that’s changed about you that night is that you’ve put on some makeup and worn something a little tighter than you used to.

“You look—” he pauses, and you sigh to yourself because you know what’s coming next. “You look great. Belgium really did a number on you, eh?”

“Sure, you could put it that way.”

The compliment is nice, regardless, so you take it at face value and put your own arms on the table, leaning in towards him. He grins, toothy and all encompassing, and you’re shunted back to the small crush you’ve always had on him. It’s not anything that takes over your life; sometimes you’re not even sure it’s anything more than the thought that he’s available, but it’s enough to send butterflies into your stomach.

He tells you to stay put, and you do as you’re told even if you’re contorting yourself in your seat to see exactly where he’s gone and what he’s up to. The drink he brings back to you is what he knows as your favourite; you thank him for the soft drink, even if that’s also something that changed while you were away.

You can’t say you’re surprised when, a couple days later, you get a text from Cole asking when you’re next free which is quickly followed by another text with the days he’s free that week.

Hanging out with Cole wasn’t uncommon, though it was typically part of a larger group. It’s not explicit that this is one-on-one in any way other than Cole being the one to initiate and organise; he always left that to someone else and just showed up wherever the people were.

You leave them on your Lock Screen for most of the day and wait until the Habs game is over that night to text him back—whilst you wouldn’t give him the quick response he was undoubtedly after, there’s no way you’re going to put yourself in the position to wait by texting him mid-game.

The text you send reads “that depends what we’re doing” and it’s not until the read receipt pops up and you read it back that you realise it probably sounds quite flirty. It’s not not the message you were trying to convey but your palms get a little sweaty when it really kicks in that the flood gates have just been opened.

Cole’s unbridled joy is conveyed through his texts—the win probably doing some heavy lifting there—and the abundance of exclamation marks. Though, truthfully, they might not be that uncommon for Cole.

“We can go bowling!! Or ice skating!! Or you can come over??!!”

It’s endearing if not a little overwhelming.

Ice skating is the pick, and you can’t help but laugh at the idea of him using his day off to do more skating. It was his suggestion, and he doesn’t seem bothered by it, so you don’t bring it up at all.

He helps with your skates even though you’re more than capable; he just kneels down in front of you and starts lacing them up before you can even begin to tighten them yourself. He does look cute when he smiles up at you proudly, so you don’t have it in you to fight it.

Cole is holding your hand the moment you’re stepping onto the ice. You know how to skate and he knows you know how, so it’s not a tight, steadying grip. In fact, it’s having the opposite effect as your knees get weak because even through two pairs of thick, winter gloves you can feel every part of his hand against yours.

On the ice you can hear a guy yapping at his poor date about how good he was at hockey, how he could have gone pro, but he decided it was better for him to go to university and get a real job because of some made up reason that trailed off before he really finished his sentence. You couldn’t hide your laugh at it all, a full-bodied snort that drew the attention of the couple, so you curled into Cole to try and pretend it was something he’d said.

It did end up being Cole who was making you laugh, when he leant in closer whilst he kept you moving across the ice to repeat the guy’s ridiculous claims. The hockey bro voice he was putting on—or maybe just playing up—really sent you over the edge, and you had to hold onto him to keep upright as your laughter got to a point where breathing was problematic.

Being pulled effortlessly around the rink by Cole was something. It certainly wasn’t making it any easier to breathe, and even less so when you were able to gather some bearings and make eye contact with him. You weren’t sure anyone had ever looked at you with such softness and sincerity; you had to look away.

It’s so cliché when you step off the ice to get hot chocolate that you have no choice but to sit opposite him and ask him a question that’s been on your mind all day.

“Is this your go-to first date?”

“It’s…” he pauses briefly, sheepish. “It’s in the rotation, yeah. Seasonal. You’re my favourite.”

You avert eye contact, staring at your hands where they’re wrapped around the source of warmth that is your cup. Cole’s foot nudging against yours doesn’t do a lot to help keep your voice steady because your mind has conjured up an image of Cole and the poor date from earlier. She’s stunning, exactly the type of woman who would make a perfect WAG—no amount of makeup or otherwise traditionally feminine behaviour would ever make you feel like you could match her.

It’s with a weak voice you say, “You probably say that to all the girls.”

“No.” Cole doesn’t miss a beat. “Just you.”

Your cheeks warm instantly, and you’re filled with so much emotion that you screw your eyes shut because you don’t want to see the face he makes at your delirious smile.

Before you leave, the wannabe hockey player catches up with you and asks Cole for an autograph and a photo which are happily provided. He tells his date, before you and Cole can even get out of earshot, that he was a better player than Cole has ever been and would have gone higher in the draft had he kept up with hockey.

“Can’t believe the world doesn’t get to see the next Gretzky play just because he wants to…” he trails off into unintelligible mumbling.

The number of dates you’ve been on—and they are dates, Cole has made that exceedingly clear—is quite frankly outstanding for it having been two weeks. It feels like every day he’s free, and you don’t have classes, you’re together. It’s a lot, to be honest, but it’s not bad.

It’s not like you’ve never gone to a nice restaurant before—your parents were fans of the finer things in life, and you and your friends liked to treat yourselves on your birthdays—it’s just not something you ever pictured yourself doing with Cole. Though, to be fair, you hadn’t thought about doing much with Cole until he’d suddenly started showing interest.

The maître d’ knows Cole and you’re not so sure whether it’s because Cole is a regular or because he plays for the Habs. It’s likely both.

You don’t feel like you fit, despite any sudden interest in fashion and skincare you’ve developed—when you went out with your friends in Belgium, it was always met with judgemental, and disbelieving looks that you belonged.

You push down your discomfort and let Cole order your dinner because the menu is intimidating. He asks the waiter to bring the wine that pairs best with each course, and then turns to you and says, “Pop?”

“Just seltzer, please,” you say to Cole before turning to the waiter with a timid smile. “Thank you.”

When you turn your attention back to Cole, he’s visibly confused—his eyebrows pulled together, and his mouth pulled tight. You tilt your head, confused by his confusion but he doesn’t say anything to you.

“I don’t drink soft drinks anymore,” you explain. It doesn’t clear his confusion. “Just trying to take better care of my teeth. That seems to be the change that’s got you the most.”

“Just surprised. It’s not a bad thing.”

You tilt your head at him again, waiting for him to elaborate, but the waiter returns with your drinks and Cole easily shifts the conversation to his brother, Brock.

At the next table there’s a couple, probably in their early 50s, who are absolutely besotted with each other. You catch yourself staring at them a lot throughout the evening, hoping to learn what really makes a relationship perfect. Cole notices, too, though he stares far less at them than he does at you. When you catch him staring, the heart eyes he’s developed are enough to make your heart swell.

“You look really nice tonight,” he says after one of the times he gets caught, as if it’s not what he said the second he laid eyes on you at your front door.

The compliments have come through thick and fast since Cole came back into your life. You’re not mad about them, really, and you’re proud of what you’re now able to do with your makeup and the outfits you’re able to put together so that they are outfits and not just pants and a top, but every time he says something nice you’re reminded of the years where he said nothing of the sort—when you were just another person in the same room.

It comes out of nowhere, is much of the problem. It’s been a month, maybe two, of thoughts running through your head, of what you and Cole are and what he really thinks about you—about anything—and you’ve not asked. You probably should have because it’s not an inconsistent thought in your head about what any of this even means.

You and Cole are sitting on his couch, watching a 90s teen romcom, not having said a word for half an hour, when you sit up straight and stare at him.

He looks put out by having lost your body heat, instantly reaching out to pull you back, but you can’t get over Laney Boggs’ sudden transformation into a Prom Queen and so you start spilling a months’ worth of thoughts to him.

“I can’t keep this up, Cole,” you say with all the dramatics of the main character of a romcom.

It sort of feels like he’s in a constant state of confusion when you’re around and it adds to all the thoughts running through your head because what could he possibly see in you when he doesn’t ever seem to know what to expect next.

He asks, “Keep what up?”

“Pretending that it doesn’t kill me that you’re only interested in me now that I’m more of a girly girl.”

There’s a beat, where he stares at you, and you stare back, and his face screws up and your heart does the same, but you bite your lip because really, you need to hear something from him, anything.

“What?” he says—it’s less of a question than a silence filler. “No. No that’s—”

“But it is, though, isn’t it?” You cut him off before he can stumble over any more words. “Because you weren’t taking me on dates or showing any interest when I was drinking nothing but pop and wearing nothing but sports merch but put me in a dress with a boring water in my hand and all of a sudden you can’t get enough of me.”

“I didn’t… I don’t… I don’t care about water,” he says, staring at you like you’ve grown three heads. Maybe you have. You’re not sure exactly what you look like at that moment. Promptly more unkempt than when you showed up, maybe a little crazier in the eyes—maybe doing a reverse She’s All That while the end of the movie plays behind you.

“You can’t even deny it,” you argue back, sitting further back against the arm of the couch and putting more space between you and Cole. He’s listening to every word you say, rolling them all through his mind one by one. “I thought I was alright with it, but I can’t stop thinking about it. Would you have ever looked at me that way if everything about me hadn’t changed?”

Cole’s face changes even more at that point, the confusion morphing into something a little pained and that makes sense to you if he feels like he’s been called out. He leans forward, trying to close some of the space you’ve created, but pulls back a little when you show any sign of helping the space disappear.

His shoulders fall and he says confidently, “I’m into you, babe. Just you.”

There’s part of you that wonders why he hasn’t made a move. There have been makeouts and cuddling but nothing more and you’re not mad about that at all, you’re quite happy that the pace has been slow in that respect, but the fact that it hasn’t come up at all has been playing on your mind because is he into you? Any version of you?

It’s not the most burning question in your mind right then, though, and you manage to get out, “But would you have ever asked me out the way I was before Belgium?”

“I didn’t…” All his confidence is gone. “I didn’t think of you that way before.”

You nod and stand, knowing that staying in that room is going to hurt even more than the conversation you’ve just had. So you say, “Okay,” as you’re walking to the door and following it up with, “That’s all I needed to know,” when you’re turning the doorknob.

Cole is standing, too, though he’s not moving towards you. He’s standing by the couch, looking small and curled in on himself. Your heart breaks just a little bit more when he asks, “Are we—Are we breaking up?”

Despite all the dates and the time you’ve been spending together, you’re not even sure that you’re at a point where you can ‘break up’. There’s been no conversation about what you are outside of calling the time you’re spending together dates.

“I don’t know what we are, Cole,” you say, tired and desperate to get out of his house and be alone. “I just need some time to think.”

You can hear your roommate open the front door, immediately telling whoever is there that you don’t want to see them. It’s not hard to connect the dots. Especially not when they line up perfectly with the Habs returning from a road trip.

Cole is talking before your roommate has even finished speaking, hurriedly trying to say he just wants to talk to you, and nothing else, and he has to explain things and the more the talks the faster he gets, and your roommate is trying to get a word in but Cole isn’t letting her.

It’s not anybody else’s job to be your bodyguard, so you prepare yourself mentally to rescue her from his rapid-fire speech. There’s no physical effort to put in, especially not when you putting in effort is what caused all your problems to begin with, so you step into the hall wearing a two-sizes-too-large Habs shirt with a hole in each armpit and the shorts made of sweatpants material that haven’t been seen outside your house since prior to you leaving for Belgium. Your skincare routine may or may not have been neglected in the last 48 hours, you don’t actually remember. The spots brewing suggest it’s more like in the may not column.

Yet, despite that, Cole’s eyes are on you the second you’re in his line of sight, and the relief rolling off him is palpable. He stops talking, finally taking a breath, and you just nod at your roommate when she silently asks if you actually want to do this. She takes a deep breath, waits half a second for you to change your mind, and then leaves you and Cole standing in your small entry hall.

“Sorry about the road trip,” you say, suddenly struck by his silence after how fast his mouth had been moving before you were standing in front of him.

“I’m sorry.” He sounds desperate, even more so than when he was begging to see you. “I—I’m into you. I don’t want whatever you think I think to get in the way of that.”

“But you weren’t into before I looked different.”

“You don’t look that different,” he counters. “I don’t think you’re wearing any make up right now and I am still really into you.”

Your cheeks warm, and you struggle to get out anything because you truthfully don’t have a lot of will to argue with him if he’s into you. You do manage, “You never showed any interest before,” which is just a repeat of everything you’ve already said.

“Then you disappeared for months, and I realised I missed you. The timing isn’t great for whatever you think is going on, but I promise I like you. A lot. And I want to keep going on dates and hanging out and all of that stuff. You can wear whatever you want or don’t want, it makes no difference to me.”

“Why didn’t you say any of that last week?”

He laughs, a snort which is largely self-deprecating, “I couldn’t wrap my head around what you were saying because it didn’t make sense to me. Kind of put me on the spot there, babe. Also felt like a bit of a trap with the movie if we’re being honest with each other.”

You sigh, “The movie was an accident. It did, uh, cause everything to kind of burst, though.”

“Can we go back to hanging out? To dating? The last week’s sucked sorta hard.”

You can’t disagree that it’s sucked sorta hard. Despite needing the time to think about it, the absence of Cole’s silly texts throughout the day or his random minute-long phone calls because his thought was too much for a text had left a huge gap in your day that you hadn’t even realised he’d been filling.

It’s easy, then, to move towards him and wrap your arms around his neck, pulling him close.

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