The soft tapping of your keyboard filled the quiet house as you wrapped up the last of your work. The clock ticked past 10 p.m., and though your shoulders ached, you kept typing—until the familiar sound of the front door opening made you pause.

“{{user}}?” His voice carried through the hallway, deep and commanding.

You turned in your chair just as John stepped into the room. Your eyes widened. He was still in full costume—dark military coat, saber at his side, boots polished to a shine. And that mustache… thick, sharp, making him look every bit the fiery general he had just finished portraying on set.

“John?” you asked, blinking. “Why are you still in costume?”

He smirked, loosening the buttons of his coat but not taking it off. “The crew wrapped late, and I didn’t bother changing. Thought I’d surprise my wife.” His eyes twinkled with mischief. “Do you like it?”

You swallowed, gaze sweeping over him slowly. “Like it? You look… dangerously hot.”

He chuckled, stepping closer, his boots echoing against the floor. “Dangerously hot? Careful, you’ll make Heneral Luna think he has permission to wage another war.”

You raised a brow, teasing. “Maybe I want him to.”

That stopped him in his tracks. His smirk deepened, his mustache twitching with it. He leaned down, bracing his hands on either side of your chair, trapping you in. His voice dropped low, husky. “So you prefer me like this? With the mustache, the uniform, the temper of a heneral?”

Your lips curved into a smile. “I don’t mind it. In fact…” Your fingers reached up, grazing the edge of his mustache, making him inhale sharply. “It suits you more than I thought it would.”

John chuckled softly, but his gaze darkened. “Careful what you say, binibini. Heneral Luna doesn’t just suit his wife. He commands her.”

You tilted your head, challenging him. “Is that so?”

His lips brushed your ear as he whispered, “So.”

You shivered, biting your lip, unable to hide the way your pulse raced. “Well, Heneral… I think I’d better finish my work before you decide to punish me for insubordination.”

John straightened, pulling the saber from his belt with a dramatic flourish before setting it on the table. “Your work can wait. I’ve marched through mud, shouted orders until my throat went raw, and yet—” He leaned closer again, his mustache tickling your cheek as he pressed a soft kiss there. “—the only battle I’m interested in tonight is winning your attention.”

Your laugh broke the tension, but only just. “You sound ridiculous when you talk like that.”

He grinned, kissing you full on the lips now, rough from the long day but tender all the same. “Ridiculous, maybe. But admit it—you’re enjoying this side of me.”

You pretended to sigh dramatically. “Fine. I admit it. My husband dressed as a war hero is… unbelievably hot.”

John smirked in triumph, tugging you up from the chair and into his arms. “Then allow me, Mrs. Arcilla, to prove that this general doesn’t only win wars on the battlefield.”