#and then she just takes him in the middle of the night

[theonewiththefanfics]

Peace in the Darkness (one-shot)

Synopsis: Bob knows Y/N isn't one to go back on her words. So when she doesn't show up to go through with their plans, he starts to worry. Luckily for him, Yelena knows how to break-and-enter. And doesn't mind invading her personal space.

Pairing: Robert 'Bob' Reynolds x fem!Reader (ex-Black Widow)

Genre: fluff, lil bit of angst

Warnings: sickness because I've been sick this past weekend and life sucked, swearing, Bob being an anxious little bean, alluding to violence, but nothing else, really :)

Word count: 6623

All characters belong to Marvel. Also - Bob has my heart

If Bob paced any more behind Y/N’s door, he was sure to wear a track into the concrete floor.

            His hand had hovered over the panel separating him from whatever lay beyond, about twenty times in the past hour or so, yet just as his knuckles were about to meet it, he pulled back with a shake of his head and began his pacing once more.

            “I should just knock,” the man muttered to himself, blue eyes warily watching the door, hoping it would creak open without his interference, but alas, it remained as immovable as it had always been. “She’s not gonna mind. You’ve woken her up in the middle of the night before, and she wasn’t angry then. She won’t be angry with you.”

            And even still with those thoughts in his mind, Bob couldn’t get himself to do it, his anxiety overriding his motor skills.

            It wasn’t that he was incapable of action. He was. It was more so getting to the action where he faltered. His therapist, someone Bucky had helped him find, had told him even two steps forward and one step back was still a step forward.

            Like the first time he’d reached out for help after a nightmare, where he could feel the Void curling inside him, just waiting until his emotions reached a bubbling point so he could take over.

            “What did you do?” the therapist, a take-no-bullshit kind of woman, had asked. “To stop the Void from emerging?”

            Bob shrugged, knee bouncing up and down, not daring to make eye contact. “I uh – I went to Y/N. I just… I heard she was still awake and knew if the Void was gonna come out, someone had to… You know… be aware and take me – him – down.”

            “And who is Y/N?”

            Now that was a loaded question he wasn’t fully yet ready to answer, so he settled on the objective truth. “She’s my teammate. We live across the hall from one another.”

            “And how did she help?”

            “She…” Bob bit down on his lip. “She invited me inside her room and we just… talked. She had some music playing… I – I guess she helped me take my mind off it all and… stuff…”

            The woman hummed. “And why was she the first person you thought to go to when things got bad?”

            He wanted to say it was because she was the closest one to him, physically being right down the hall, that they were the only two people occupying the floor, but the truth spilt out before he could even contain it, “Because I knew she wouldn’t be mad at me. If – if I woke her up. She… she wouldn’t be upset I was there.” Because she was one of the few people who wasn’t afraid to touch him, despite his powers and the Void.

            But just because she hadn’t been upset with him those few times he’d sought her out, didn’t mean she wouldn’t be angry with him that specific day. Otherwise, why hadn’t she stuck to her promise?

            The previous week, right before Y/N had been shipped out to Malaga on a mission, she’d promised him that once she was back, the two would go to a bookstore together, Bob’s supply already dangerously low.

            Now, though, three hours had passed from the time they’d set last night, and Y/N was nowhere to be seen.

            He’d let the first hour pass by, thinking maybe she had to catch up on some paperwork the team had to file after a mission. When hour two had come and gone, Bob had started to become anxious, but still, he told himself she was probably just resting, no doubt exhausted by the mission, and he would never be one to take away time she could be using to heal. But as hour three had started to roll, Bob couldn’t help the nervousness entering his body, and that was how he ended up behind Y/N’s door.

            Gently, he placed an ear against it, hoping to hear the slightest sound, maybe a soft movement of her feet padding against the carpeted floor, but the only noise invading the silence was the echo of his heartbeat.

            Bob sighed, head hanging low and fingers plucking at the hem of one of his sleeves as he turned around, ready to go back and wallow in self-pity, when Yelena’s raspy voice made him look over his shoulder.

            “Bobik? Everything alright?” she asked, the nickname Alexei had bestowed upon him, making warmth bloom in his chest. Not ‘Bobby’, a name that made him flinch, but a soft ‘Bobik’, a name that made him feel cherished.

            The blonde was decked out in her combat gear, clearly just having arrived from a mission, so the fact that one of her first instincts was to check in on him made his body flush. He was still trying to get used to the fact that people actually cared about him, not as an experimental subject, not as a wannabe superhero, but just about him. About Bob.

            “Oh, yeah,” he stammered, giving Yelena a tight-lipped smile, but he couldn’t control the way his hands wrung together, betraying the anxiousness he was feeling. “Everything’s A-Okay.”

            For a second neither of them moved or said anything, and just as Bob was about to venture down to his room, Yelena crossed her arms, cocking her hip to the side and raising a single brow.

            All he could do was sigh. She was one of the few people it was hard to lie to, whom he didn’t even really want to lie to. “It’s just that… umm… Y/N and I were supposed to go to a bookstore a while ago, but she uh… well, I haven’t seen her all day… and when I asked around, nobody else has either. Ava even said she didn’t come up for breakfast, and she wasn’t in the kitchen for lunch, so…”

            “That does not sound like her.” Yelena’s nose scrunched as she went closer and knocked against Y/N’s door, a motion that came so easily to her, yet Bob had struggled for ages to even lift his hand. “Lubov moya,” she sing-songed in Russian. “Are you in there?”

             And once again, only silence responded. As the moment stretched, Bob slowly started to roll back and forth on his feet. God, why hadn’t he thought about how she could already have left the tower ages ago!

            But no, it wouldn’t be like Y/N to just leave him hanging or not let at least one person know where she was.

            Unless… unless she’d gone out to do something she didn’t want the others to know about… to tease her about… like maybe she’d gone on a date.

            “It’s – it’s alright,” Bob let out a strangled chuckle, as thoughts whirled inside his head. “She just probably forgot about it, or something more important came up.”

            But the ex-Widow just knocked again, ignoring Bob’s spiralling. “Legushka?” she called out, the nickname rolling off her tongue with a concerned yet teasing lilt.

            There’d been this one time John had called Y/N that, snorting as Alexei had translated the meaning of the word (froggy or little frog), and where usually she’d respond with an eye roll to Yelena or their sort-of-kind-of adoptive father figure, Walker received a bloody nose and grade-two concussion.

            Only Yelena had the privilege of calling her fellow ex-Red Room alumni such absurd names without any consequences. And, well, sometimes Bob could too, but he wrote it off on the fact that Y/N just tried to make him feel included, and no other reason…

            “Snookums? My little pookie-wookie?” Now, Yelena was just making things up as she went, no doubt hoping to get at least some sort of a response from Y/N, but when even that didn’t accomplish anything, with a grumbled, “alright, fine, be that way,” she crouched down, pulling out a picking set from her boot.

            Bob’s eyes widened in alarm, hissing at the woman, “What are you doing? Don’t do that!”

            “Well, we have to get in somehow,” Yelena just shrugged, the noise of metal softly scraping against metal invading his senses.

            “Not by breaking and entering Y/N’s room!”     

            The blonde let out a squeak of indignation. “I am not breaking and entering!” The lock clicked open. “For one – I didn’t break shit. And two – the door is open. Now it’s just entering.”

            “She is going to kill us, and I will not be coming to your rescue.”

            “Please,” Yelena replaced her picking tools back inside her boot. “We have too much history between us in the Red Room for her to decide this is the final drop. As for you…” Yelena smirked. “Let’s just say, I know things you don’t.”

            “Wait, what? What do you know? What things?”

            But she didn’t respond, only opened the door.

            Bob wanted to protest, wanted to say they shouldn’t be invading Y/N’s private space like that, wanted to shake Yelena down for whatever information she might possess. If it had anything to do with feelings he hoped Y/N might have for him. That most likely, there was a reason she wasn’t answering, even if she was there, and that most likely, she just felt bad about not wanting to hang out with him, but didn’t want to hurt his feelings by saying so, which he was totally fine and cool with and –

            Yelena poked her head inside, and where usually, Y/N’s place was brightly lit by the daylight, her curtains drawn back to allow it to be illuminated, pure darkness greeted them, as Bob, shame curling in his stomach at such invasion, peered over Yelena’s head to take a glance.

            He associated Y/N’s room with peace.

            Cream colored walls, dark brown curtains with a plush carpet, emerald settees resting atop it and a large bookshelf taking up a whole wall with softly glowing nightlights in the shape of sprouting mushrooms would be plugged in during the night, and plastic glow-in-the-dark stars creating real and made-up constellations on the ceiling – that was the space he considered his true home.

            Every free inch was covered in some knick-knack or a souvenir, as she had a tendency to collect small things, but she also had a tendency to gift them to others.

            She was kind. Caring. Thoughtful. She was Bob’s safe place.

            Yet now it was pitch black inside.

            Yelena was clearly just as worried as he was, because when she looked up from her still crouched position, confusion marred her face.

            “Malishka?” she called out as she stood, slowly entering the room, Bob following as their eyes adjusted to the lack of lighting.

            He shifted his gaze around only to settle on a large moving mound on the bed, so with Yelena as the lead, they moved towards it, when finally a voice rasped from somewhere beneath the ungodly amount of blankets. “Malishka is dead. Come back tomorrow with a warrant. Or a casket.”

            Every single doubt that’d permeated Bob’s mind vanished at the realisation of what was really going on.

            Y/N hadn’t forgotten about the plans they’d made. She hadn’t found something better to do with her time or decided he was simply not worth her while.

            Y/N was sick.

            And by the sound of it, badly.

            Bob’s heart clenched at the thought. They all seemed so indestructible, but it was moments like those, where he was reminded that some of them, especially Yelena and Y/N – the two people he’d grown to care most about in the weird little team he was a part of – were simply humans. And humans could get ill.

            Gently, Yelena sat down on the side of the bed, her fingers rooting around the coverings before an opening was made, a pair of Y/E/C eyes squinting at the intruders. “Can you please close the door? My eyeballs hurt.”

            “Oh, shit!” Bob cursed softly, padding to the door and closing it, once again plunging the room into complete darkness. “Sorry.”

            He wanted to rebel against the black that now surrounded them, he wanted to panic and spiral, to have at least one of those nightlights be turned on, but somehow, through a sheer sense of will, he steeled himself against the rising tide. Whether it was because he knew light would hurt Y/N, or whether it was because he felt safe with the two women, despite not really being able to see anything that wasn’t an inch away from his face, Bob couldn’t tell. Well… he could, but he wasn’t going to say it out loud, because that would make things real…

            “Can you please breathe quieter, Lena?” Y/N groaned from her cocoon. “My head’s pounding as is.”

            “Oh, sweetheart,” Yelena cooed, placing the back of her hand against the other woman’s forehead to feel for her temperature. “I think you might have the flu, huh?”

            Y/N sniffled. “I dunno what I have, but whatever it is, I blame Walker.”

            Bob looked at Yelena, the man still hovering by the bedside table, not wanting to invade the space between the two. “Has John been sick?”

            “Not that I’m aware.” Yelena ghosted her hand over Y/N’s cheek before standing up and going to what he knew to be the bathroom. After a quick second, she returned with a wet cloth, laying it over her friend’s forehead. “But we can always blame him.”

            A delirious smile appeared on Y/N’s face. “We can, can’t we?”

            “Of course.” Yelena nodded. “Would it make you feel better if I went and beat him up?”

            “I think it would, yeah… Can you stab him too?” Y/N asked as an afterthought.

            “Anything for you, legushka moya.” Yelena brushed a sweaty Y/H/C strand from where it’d plastered itself down against her cheek. Bob’s heart ached at the tender motion, fingers twitching at his side with the want to do the same, but he restrained himself. “But tell you what, before I go and seek revenge on Walker, how about I go and make you some soup, and Bob will keep you company. Sound okay?”

            Instantly, it was like someone had turned the light switch off, Y/N’s smile dropped, and she harrumphed. “Bob can stay, but no soup.”

            “Soup always makes everything better! Besides, Bob said you didn’t go to breakfast or lunch. You have to get something in you,” Yelena scolded the woman. Despite them being barely a month apart, she acted like an older sister to Y/N.

            The sick girl just whined. “I’m not hungry. I’m achy and icky and gross, and I just wanna rot away in my bed.”                             

            “Well, you need to get food in you,” the ex-Widow countered, hands on her hips. “Do not move. I will be right back. Bob, please keep an eye on her.”

            “As if I could go anywhere,” Y/N scoffed, but it fell only on Bob’s ears, as Yelena had already made her exit.

            On instinct, his fingers started fidgeting with the hem of his shirt, a nervousness taking over his body. After a moment of unsurety of what exactly he was supposed to do, a croaky voice whispered, “You should go, Bob. I know Lena said to stay, but I don’t want you to catch whatever wasting disease I have."

            An involuntary smile blossomed on his lips at her care about his well-being, despite being so sick herself. “I uh, I don’t think I can get sick anymore, so no worries there.”

            He noted the small frown on Y/N’s lips as she eyed him up and down. “Show off,” she muttered, but didn’t tell him to leave again, rather said, “ ‘M sorry about today, by the way. Should’ve at least gotten out of bed and told you I wasn’t fit to walk in civilised society. I’m sorry if I worried you.”     

            “No!” he said, trying to quell her guilt, sitting down onto the bed, and to his own surprise, brushing a finger down her cheek without even thinking. “No, no, no… you’re not feeling well, so don’t even worry about me. I’m just glad that, you know, you’re not bleeding out on the bathroom floor or something.”

            Bob’s whole being lit up when, despite Y/N being evidently unwell, she snorted, no doubt remembering how about a month prior when she’d returned to the Watchtower after a mission, she’d pretty much traumatized both Bob and John, as they’d found her half-dead on the kitchen floor, munching on a peanut butter and jelly sandwich, blood pooling around her at a rapid pace.

            “Seriously!?” John had scoffed as he helped Bob lift Y/N up from the floor, the two men supporting as much of her weight as possible as they dragged her to the elevator and then to the med-floor. “PB&J? That was gonna be your last meal?”

            “Hey!” Y/N protested. “It was the only thing I could manage to make before the wooziness set in. You know, from having been turned into a walking-talking shishkabob.” She chuckled deliriously, looking at the man who had the biggest crush on her in the world, yet she didn’t even know about it, and now she could potentially die. “Huh. Shish-ka-Bob.” Then she booped his nose and promptly passed out.

            Safe to say, he’d spent the next few days hovering in the med-bay, and when Y/N had been discharged, off-missions for a while, but allowed to rest in her room, he’d hovered in the hallway behind her door, just to make sure the things he saw during his nightmares, the images that the Void tried to tell him were real, actually weren’t.

            But Y/N didn’t know that.

            She didn’t know the true extent of what went on inside Bob’s mind or heart, didn’t know the real depth of the feelings he had for her.

            She didn’t know how much the nights she allowed him to spend in her room meant to him.

            She didn’t know how much the little trinkets she brought back for him as a souvenir from whichever corner of the world she’d been sent to, mattered.

            She didn’t know that if the tower suddenly caught on fire and he could only save three things, he’d rush inside the flames to take the three little cat figurines sitting on his shelf.

            It had been after she’d returned from a solo mission in Japan, Bob having pretty much worried himself sick, only to have her bound up to him, still dirt-covered and bloodied, but the smile on her face was as bright as the morning sun. “Look!” She presented the white, red and gold porcelain cats. “It’s the three of us! Me, you and Lena! They’re so cute!”

            That night, he’d fallen asleep with the three little waving felines looking over him, golden night-light illuminating the statuettes.

            So, in a moment like this, where Y/N was the one who needed support, he could only hope and pray, she felt it from him.

            Gently, Bob brushed a palm against her forehead, taking off the wet towel that’d now warmed up to her skin temperature. But he hadn’t anticipated that, despite being bogged down by most likely the flu, her reflexes were still Black-Widow-quick, as her hand shot out from underneath the blankets, grabbing onto his wrist and pressing his hand against the skin of her neck. “Oh, you are so warm,” she sighed, cuddling the appendage.

            “S-so are you!” Bob didn’t necessarily know what to do. “Alarmingly so, actually.”

            “Yeah,” Y/N puffed a breath, still not releasing the death-grip she had on his hand. “That’s probably the 103 fever I have going on.”

            Instantly, his anxiety skyrocketed.

            He knew he ran warm. He pretty much always had the AC on in his room, especially at night, as he was a complete contradiction of a human – he was abysmally hot all the time, mainly thanks to the Sentry serum, but he was most comfortable in a sweater and sweatpants while swaddled up like a burrito in a blanket.

            His heart thudded in his chest as Y/N snuggled closer to his touch, while he worried he was doing her harm. Yes, a fever was the body’s natural way of fighting off viruses or infections and whatnot, but a too high a fever was also dangerous, and he'd never forgive himself if he made it worse.

            “Y/N, you’re really burning up.” Bob chewed on the inside of his cheek. “Can you please let me go? Just for a second,” he added on, as she whined when he tried to slip his hand away. “I’m just gonna get you a new cold compress. Please…”

            “But I don’t want you to leave!”

            “I’m – I’m not gonna leave,” he whispered, terrified that if his voice was any louder, any clearer, she might pick up on the emotion he was trying to suppress. “I promise, it’ll be just a second. I won’t even go outside the room.”

            For a moment, Y/N’s grip tightened on Bob, holding him closer than ever, but then, with a sigh of defeat, she released him.

            He was quick, just like he said he would. Even in pure darkness, his eyes having adjusted to the lack of light now, probably thanks to the Sentry serum, he dampened the cloth with cold water and wrung out the excess, getting back to her, in the time it took for Y/N to shift from lying on her side to being on her back.

            She’d somewhat untangled herself from the cocoon of blankets, and Bob had to stop mid-step as he noted what she was wearing.

            It was his sweater. Well, one of the many he had, but it was something of his nonetheless.

            And he could physically feel how something broken and cracked inside him got stitched together. Some deep, still-hurting part of Bob, that always managed to whisper a negative thought, how he didn’t matter, how washing the dishes and doing the chores was nothing compared to what everyone else in the tower did, fused back together, the Void’s incessant noise quietening. With just a simple glance at Y/N, who had found comfort in something of his when she was feeling bad, Bob felt a part of him heal.

            He didn’t comment on it, though, half-terrified if he did, she might think he was mad about it, when in reality it was the complete opposite. And an insatiable need had now settled somewhere in his chest, a want to see her in all of his clothes. And maybe nothing as well…

            “H-here,” Bob stammered out, before taking a deep breath and sinking down next to Y/N on the bed. Gently, he placed the towel along her forehead, and he couldn’t help himself as his thumb brushed along her jawline, tracing a small scar, no doubt from some mission. She leaned into his touch like a sunflower leaned towards the sun. “Is there anything I can get you?”

            “No,” she shook her head, and this time, when her hand met his, she intertwined their fingers, as if afraid he might disappear. “Just stay, please.”

            “Always.”

            And there really wasn’t anywhere else Bob wanted to be.

            The thought of spending the day at a bookstore, some ungodly sweet concoction that resembled a coffee only in spirit, in his hand, was only appealing because he would be going with Y/N there.

            “We’ll go when I get better, I promise,” she muttered, as if having read his mind while snuggling closer to the palm he’d placed on her cheek.

            “Books can wait.” Bob hoped his voice was low and soothing as he spoke, blue eyes still trained on the sweater that covered her body, his own feeling all fuzzy at the image. “Just rest.”

            When he didn’t get a response or even a little hum of acknowledgement, he looked up only to find Y/N’s features slack with sleep, her chest rising in slow and steady breaths.

            Bob wanted to curl up next to her, to have his hands wrap around her waist, and have her head rest on his chest as he buried his nose into her hair, because this was the highest degree of trust anyone could have in him. For Y/N to find peace and safety with him while she was in such a vulnerable state, catapulted Bob onto Cloud Nine. He knew darkness would always try to press in, try to find the cracks and strike when he was unawares, but this time he wasn’t afraid of what might be lurking in the shadows. Not when he knew he would have to be the one to step up, if only to protect the one he loved most in the world.

             He sat there like that, entranced with the sleeping beauty on the bed, a thumb softly grazing her cheek, making sure Y/N was as comfortable as possible. He was so attuned to her and her sleeping form, that when the door cracked open, he was startled by Yelena coming in, a tray in her hands as she blew on a steaming bowl of soup.

            “Okay,” once more the blonde sing-songed as she walked inside the room. “I have chicken-noodle soup for our little sick-bug.”

            There was some grumbling from Y/N as she was brought out from her slumber, but despite all her protests, she rose into a sitting position, Bob’s hand on her back a steady help. She eyed the bowl with suspicion. “Who made it?”

            “Do not worry, Dad was nowhere near the pot. He might be lurking for the leftovers now, but this!” She lifted the bowl above her head like it was a diamond, “is all from yours truly.”

            Y/N sniffed the air. “Well, I guess it smells edible… not that I can smell much.”

            “Then this is exactly what you need.” Yelena slid the tray to rest on Y/N’s knees while Bob helped her adjust against the backboard of the bed and was rewarded with the most gorgeous smile ever. “Here you go, legushka. Now, I’ll go get some paracetamol and VapoRub, and by the time I get back, I expect that bowl to be empty. It will do wonders for your sinuses, trust me.”

            She didn’t argue, just let out a resigned sigh and nodded, taking the spoon in her hand. “You know, back in the Red Room, Mistress Vera said the best kind of medicine is a good beating. Will get you right back on your feet.”

            “Yes, well, that is why Mistress Vera is six feet under.” Yelena fluffed up a pillow behind Y/N before nudging her chin up with a finger. “As is the whole of Red Room.”

            “I mean right now, I think I’d rather get a good beat-“

            “Eat,” Yelena interrupted whatever she was about to say.

            “Fine, fine, Jesus…. You’re worse than Mistress Vera…”

            Slowly, without moving her gaze from Y/N, Yelena stood to hover over her. Even Bob could feel the menacing aura she exuded – an older sister ready to torment her younger one. “And if you don’t eat every single noodle, every single piece of carrot and celery and chicken, you will be wishing Mistress Vera were here. Understood? Legushka moya?”

            Though Y/N was bleary and tired, she was unwavering as the two Black Widows engaged in a stare-off. Unfortunately for her, though, she was the first one to break, as she rubbed at her teary eyes, probably because of the light that was filtering into the room from the open doorway.

            “Damn it, Lena, fine! I’ll eat the stupid soup!”

            “Good.” The blonde straightened out, a self-satisfied smile on her face. “Because Bob will tell me if you don’t. Won’t you, Bobik?”

            His eyes turned so wide he was afraid they might fall out of his head.

            God.

            Oh god no.

            He was stuck between a rock and a hard place as Y/N glowered from below her lashes, sniffling, while Yelena cocked her head to the side.

            Ultimately, though, his loyalty to the blonde and wanting nothing but the best for the well-being of the woman he was in love with, no matter what she might say to counter the effectiveness of the soup, won out. “Yeah. I – I will.”

            Y/N scoffed, turning her head away from him as Yelena pressed a triumphant kiss to the top of her hair before leaving.

            “Traitor,” she muttered.

            Bob looked down at his hands, which he had resting in his lap as he worried the inside of his cheek. “I just want you to get better, Y/N…”

            “And I just wanna lie down and die, but neither of you is letting me.”

            “But who’s gonna go to the bookstore with me if you die?” He gave her a small smile, hoping to elevate her sour mood.

            “I dunno, John?”

            Bob gave her a look, their gazes meeting. “You actually think John can read?”

            If Y/N had been eating the soup, no doubt she would’ve choked with how she threw her head back in a loud laugh, as Bob tried to steady the tray, the broth sloshing a bit out of the bowl.      

            “I’m sorry,” she chuckled, their fingers brushing as she held the platter and pulled it closer. “Didn’t mean to make a mess.”

            “Don’t be.” The smile on his face was probably ridiculous, wide enough to make his cheeks hurt. “Laughter’s the best medicine or uh… something along those lines.”

            “You should tell Mistress Vera that. Might have to use a OUIJA board though.” Y/N winced as the hot liquid slid down her sore throat, slowly chewing on a piece of noodle.

            Admittedly, Bob didn’t know much about her time in the Red Room. He’d seen her shame rooms, just like he’d been privy to Yelena’s and the rest of the Thunderbolts’, as she’d been there when the Void had attacked New York, but once he came out of it, once they told him what he’d done, the feeling of having violated their privacy… he never asked either of them to talk about their time there.

            All Bob knew was that Mistress Vera had been Y/N’s handler, as she’d been trained separately from Yelena and her sister Natasha. Only after the original Avenger had broken her out of the trance induced by the mind-control serum used to keep the Black Widows under the Red Room spell, did Y/N join the two in helping them take down the organisation.

            “Oh… oh shit, I’m sorry,” her words of apology brought him back to the present, away from the thoughts of what she’d had to go through as a child, where a sore throat wouldn’t have been healed by a gentle touch, but a brutal beating.

            His brows furrowed as he looked around, thinking she might’ve spilt the soup, but there wasn’t anything there. “Whatever for?”

            “The dark!” she said, like it was a crime she’d committed. “Bob, you can put in some of the nightlights. They’re by the plugs.”

            “Oh, that’s…” He shook his head, for once happy to be surrounded by mostly shadows because that meant Y/N couldn’t see the furious blush covering his face, while his longish hair obscured his smiling features as he glanced down at his hands. “It’s okay. I don’t mind actually.”

            “But you don’t like the dark…?” The sentence was more of a question than the solid statement it used to be.

            Bob shrugged, pulling down the sleeves of his sweater. “This isn’t that bad… and if it helps you feel better, your eyes to not hurt, I don’t mind.”

            “I don’t want you to ‘not mind’ things. Bob, if you’re uncomfortable, you should put in at least one nightlight. Seriously. They’re not gonna boil out of my skull or something.”

            “My comfort isn’t as important as your health right now.” He shifted on the bed.

            “Of course it is!” The offended squeak Y/N let out would have made him smile, had it not turned into a violent coughing fit.

            After she was done hacking her lungs up, Bob’s hand running up and down her spine, hoping to at least somewhat soothe the ache, he lifted the warm bowl of soup closer to her. “Eat. Or I will tell on you to Yelena.”

            “Stukach,” Y/N mumbled in Russian, glaring at him as best as she could. Alexei and Yelena had introduced him enough to the language (mostly swearwords, which they said were the most important words) for him to understand she’d called him a snitch, but if being a snitch would motivate her to eat and get better, so be it.

            With a fond gaze, he watched as she finally got some food into her, and once she was done, he took the tray away, placing it on the nightstand, a hand of his acting on its own accord as he brushed a finger along her cheek. “Better?”

            “Yes. But don’t tell Lena that. She’ll just be insufferably smug about it.”

            Shaking his head, Bob helped Y/N settle back into bed, tucking the blanket under her chin, but before he could even move a foot, her hand shot out, curling around his wrist once more.

            “Bob?”

            “Yeah?” He looked where the woman lay against the plush pillows, head slowly sinking deeper into the down.

            “Could you… umm… and that is only if you really can’t get sick… could you maybe stay with me? Just until I fall asleep…”

            He was sure his heart had skipped a beat. Or maybe it’d done a full-blown gymnastics routine, somersaults and all, because it definitely wasn’t beating in its normal rhythm in his chest.

            “Y-yeah, of course, if that’s what you want.” Bob swallowed hard, nodding. “Just, uh… let me bring the tray to the kitchen, and then I’ll be right back.”

            And with a small “okay” from Y/N as his dismissal, Bob scurried out of the room like lightning.

            The hallway light was blinding compared to the darkness of the room he’d just spent about an hour in, but for the first time in his life, he craved it. Because in that darkness was safety and peace. In that darkness lay a body, curled up on a bed, covered in his sweater, waiting for him, hoping he’d help her get better.

            He barely acknowledged Ava or Bucky, who called out to him, asking if he was alright, as he grabbed a couple of water bottles from the fridge and some of the pretzels Alexei had stashed behind pots and pans, hoping to hide his hoard. He wouldn’t mind, Bob reasoned. Y/N was like another daughter to him, and if she’d eaten the soup, despite all her protesting, maybe her appetite was gonna be coming back sooner rather than later, and he wanted to be stocked up on snacks. Besides, he could just blame Walker if needed.

            When he returned, he was instantly enveloped by Y/N’s scent as if it were its own form of blanket.

            “Hey,” Bob whispered, not wanting to break the settled peace. “I’m – I’m back.”

            He mostly heard rather than saw shuffling on the bed, but as his eyes adjusted, he noted Y/N had moved to the side furthest from the door, opening up some space on the bed.

            She’d done so before during the nights his mind had been restless, but somehow this felt much more intimate than when insomnia forbade him from sleeping.

            Slowly, as if afraid this moment would be ripped from him if he moved any quicker, Bob placed the waters and pretzels on the ground, sliding in next to her, turning to face Y/N with one hand under his cheek, the other on the mattress between them.

            “Thank you,” she muttered, the ghost of a smile on her face as her hand slid from below the blankets and rested atop his. “For taking care of me.”

            “I–I mean, I didn’t –“

            “You did,” she interrupted his stammering, tightening the grip she had on him. Gently, he flipped it palm up so that her fingers could slide between his. “And you still are. So thank you.”

            And once again, like he’d said before, he simply replied, “Always.”

            With that single word spoken, Bob watched as Y/N’s eyes drooped closed, her breathing evened out, and once again she was deeply asleep. Yet even when in dreamland, her hold on him never wavered. Not when she twisted out from the cocoon and scooted closer to him, not as chills overtook her body and Bob held her through them, not as the fever broke and a small sigh of relief escaped, her body slowly returning to a normal temperature.

            For the first time in his life, Bob had found peace in the darkness, all because of the woman lying in his arms. And when it came to claim him too, he gladly fell, knowing that when he awoke, she would be there, much like she’d be in his dreams.

***

BONUS

“Oh my god! Oh my god, oh my god, oh my god, this is so cute!”

            It was a harsh whisper-yell that brought Bob out of his slumber.

            He peeked an eye open, noting the unmistakable shape of Y/N’s form in his arms. She was still sound asleep, her body curled around his like that of a koala’s, head tucked below his chin, while one of her arms had a death-grip on his waist, a leg thrown over his hip.

            One of his own arms was underneath her, completely numb. From the feeling of it, it’d probably been there for ages, but if this position meant she was comfortable and could have a good sleep, he’d deal with the pins-and-needles a hundred times over if necessary.

            Turning to look over his shoulder, Bob found the culprit or rather culprits of the noise as he was met with the faces of Yelena, Alexei, Bucky, Ava and John all looking at them through a gap in the door, the Red Guardian with a phone in his hand, no doubt taking pictures of the two cuddling.

            “You guys,” he mumbled, a blush of embarrassment crawling its way all over his body. “Can you pipe it down? Y/N’s asleep.”

            “How is Legushka?” Yelena whispered into the room. “Did the fever break?”

            “Yes!” Bob hissed, turning away from the team and curling tighter around the body he had in his hold. “Now, can you all please leave? You’ll wake her up.”

            “Sorry.” Bucky raised his hands in apology. “I told them not to disturb you. Come on! Out, everyone!”

            Obviously, he more than Y/N, would get mercilessly teased about it, but he could take it, if it meant a bit more time with her in his arms, but just when he thought he’d gotten away with it, Walker just had to shout a loud, “Yeah, fucking get it, Bobik!”, making Y/N spring up.

            She took a confused glance around at the room before her eyes settled onto Bob who was on her bed, red-faced and mortified.

            “The toad did it,” Y/N said, her tone serious as a heart attack.

            Bob blinked once. Twice. “What?”

            “I swear the toad did it,” she mumbled, evidently delirious from sleep and the flu, but slowly moving back to lay down next to him, curling into the man’s body like it was where she belonged. “The toad ate the last strawberry. Damn thieving amphibian…”

            Come morning, he would ask about the toad and the strawberry and if it had anything to do with Yelena’s nickname for her, but for now, Bob just pressed a light kiss against Y/N’s forehead, eyes slipping closed, listening to the melody of her breathing.

            One day, he would tell her how he really felt.

            One day, he would give his heart to her.

            One day, he hoped, she would trust him with her own.

             But for then and there, Bob was content with his present. With the peace he’d found in the darkness.

Tags: Marvel tags: @nerissa98 @asguardiansoftheavengers @crazybutconfidentaf @pizzarollpatrol @desir-ae A/N: we are so back baby, Tower fics incoming! Bob, my love, my life... you bet your ass I'm probably gonna write something where OG Avengers are still alive and living in the tower with Thunderbolts*!!! The chaos that would ensue is giving me life Tags are always open

[classyrbf]

roommate!choso who constantly brings a new girl over every few weeks. He goes out with his lame friends, partying and drinking, stumbling into the apartment during the middle of the night with a random girl who he ends up fucking. It drives you absolutely nuts. No matter how many times you ask nicely for him to keep it quiet or even maybe go over to her place, he gives you the same apology and fake smile.

And tonight was one of those night. The clock at your bedside table flashes the time

1:47 am

and all you hear is the sound of choso’s bed creaking, the girl letting out the most pornographic moans. “I’m cumming!” She yells and you roll your eyes in annoyance, sitting up in your bed. If you weren’t going to sleep at all, you might as well just sit on your phone and watch YouTube to make the time pass. But even minutes later, they’re still going at it, both of them moaning and whimpering, skin on skin slapping against each other.

It was getting hard to distract yourself and even harder to ignore. You stirred in your spot, letting out a deep sigh. As much as it annoyed you, hearing them two go at like rabbits, you couldn’t help but get turned on. Your mind kept drifting to choso, his chiseled face and body, his voice and siren like eyes. It was hard not to find him attractive.

Your hands found their way into your pants, your fingers finding your clit and gently rubbing. It was so pervy of you to listen and actually get off to it, but what else were you supposed to do? You were tired of listening and complaining to him, and at times you wish it were you. With the way these girls sounded like literal porn stars, it was hard not to wonder what he’d feel like inside of you, or how pretty he looked while eating you out.

Before you know it, you were fully undressed, rocking your hips to the rhythm that choso was going, humping the corner of your pillow. Your hand reached up, groping your tits and pulling at your perky nipples, wishing so badly that it was him instead. “Mmph,” you whimper, bumping your clit against the fabric. Why did this feel so good?

Your skin burns hot, mind running wild with imagination. Oh how badly you wished this pillow could be his face, riding his tongue instead. “Oh, yes,” you shakily breathe, pleasure slowly building inside your core. With each rock of your hips, your pussy grows wetter and wetter. It’s the fact you weren’t even getting off to them, but to choso himself. The noises were drowned out by your own thoughts. “Ah! Ah!”

You bite down on your lower lip, circling your hips into your pillow to put more pressure on your clit. Your brows furrow in pleasure and you can tell youre close, that overwhelming sense of pleasure clouding your senses and making your head foggy. “Fuckk!” You moan, eyes fluttering shut, hands reaching up to tweak your nipples between your fingers. The added pleasure pushes you over the edge. “Oh my god! Nnngh!” Your hips jolt against the pillow as your orgasm overtakes you. Did you really just cum to the thought of your roommate? You couldn’t even be bothered to do deal with that right now. Eyes heavy with sleep, you fall over on your bed, still trying to catch your breath. It only took you a few minutes to fall asleep.

Choso stands there in the kitchen, sipping a cup of coffee when you walk out your bedroom, rubbing your eyes and dragging your feet across the floor. “Someone slept in,” he spoke aloud, catching your attention.

“Shut up. You and whatever girl you brought back were loud last night and I couldn’t sleep!” You shove him out the way, grabbing the orange juice from the fridge.

“Yeah…you were pretty loud last night too. Guess that makes two of us,” he chuckles. With wide eyes, you swiftly turn your head towards him to see he’s already looking at you with a cocky smirk. “Heard you after the girl left. You should really take your own advice and quiet down.” He sips from his coffee.

How long were you going for? It really didn’t seem like that long at all. “Please shut up and forget you heard anything.” You slam the fridge shut, forgetting about your orange juice and walking back to your bedroom.

“If you need help next time, just let me know!” He shouts while you walk away, slamming the door on him.

[my-castles-crumbling]

pants - jegulus - trans!regulus - cw: period blood, dysphoria - @into-the-jeggyverse - word count: 606

He didn’t realize it’d happened at first. Not until, still half-asleep, he blearily looked down at his pants while sitting on the toilet.

Blood.

And suddenly, his body was cold, his heart racing.

It happened so rarely. A side-effect of the T, his period had nearly disappeared. But when it did show up? It was awful. It wasn’t just the physical side-effects and the annoyance of dealing with the whole bleeding-from-his-crotch thing. It was the mental parts. The self-hatred and disgust that rolled over him in waves, making him want to throw up and sob whenever it happened. How invalid and disgusting and wrong it made him feel.

And that was during a normal occurrence. Now, this was nothing less than a worst-case scenario. Because he’d been sleeping in his boyfriend’s bed. 

Choking back tears, Regulus finished doing his business and thanked Merlin he’d thought to bring his wand with him. Shakily, he waved it, cleaning his underwear and sleep pants as best he could, though a stain remained. 

Then, he stuck his head out the door.

“James,” he whispered, knowing that Sirius and Remus cast a Muffling Charm around the bed they habitually shared and Peter slept like the dead. “J-James?” Fuck, he hated this. Hated himself. Why was he like this? “James?”

A little grunt told him the Gryffindor had awoken. “Reg?”

“Can–can you c’mere please?” he murmured, pressing his hand over his mouth as tears began to flow.

The older boy must have sensed his tone, because he was by the door in half a second. “What’s wrong, baby?” he asked, looking like he’d been awake for hours. “What is it? A nightmare? Do you need me to get Sirius?”

Gods, Regulus could’ve lived a thousand lives and never deserved this boy. “I–” he broke, collapsing on the tiled floor and letting out a sob.

Somehow, James was there in the next moment, pulling him in his arms, mumbling soothing words, rocking him slowly. “It’s alright, love. I’m here. What is it, Reg?” he asked, a hand along his lower back, which did ache, now that he thought about it.

“I’m b-bleeding,” Regulus managed dully, still crying, face in James’s old night shirt.

“Bleed—? Oh,” the Gryffindor said, realizing in the middle of his question. “Oh, darling. I’m so sorry.”

“You’re sorry?” he whisper-shrieked. “I’ve–it’s disgusting! And it’s probably in your sheets, fuck, that’s horrible,” he tried to turn away, nauseated at himself.

“Reg. Baby,” James said calmly, maneuvering him so they were facing each other on the cold tile. “Sheets can be cleaned. Or replaced. All I care about is how you’re feeling right now. What can I do to help, love? D’you need a pad? Tampon? I have some in the other room. I can take you to the Prefects’ bath to relax, or we can skip class for a little rest? How can I help?”

So shocked he forgot to cry, Regulus gaped. “You have pads?” he asked, dumbfounded.

“I…asked Dorcas for some. I know she knows, so I figured she’d help me. Just in case,” James shrugged. 

Overcome with emotion at the idea of his seventeen-year-old boyfriend going up to a girl he only casually knew and asking her for menstrual products, Regulus swallowed, his tears easing. Did James really care that much? “I…I’ll take a pad,” he said, his voice tiny.

“Of course. I’ll be right back, and then I’ll change the sheets and steal some chocolate from Moony’s private stash. You need food and cuddles, yeah?” James said matter-of-factly, standing and offering a hand.

There were no words for how much Regulus loved him in that moment.

[mssishipi]

TASTE OF INDULGENCE

CHAPTER 5 - TOO SWEET

They say three’s a crowd, but for Jay, Jake, and you—it’s starting to feel something closer to home. Love was never meant to be this simple, this natural, but with them, it’s loud in the best ways, a little chaotic, deeply tender, and a little too sweet to ever let go.

content tags: slice of life, established relationship, mc backstory, jayke backstory, fluff, fluff and little bit of angst, then fluff. timeskip, this chapter is corny but at least it's happy ending. and! take time to read my note at the end pls.

explicit content (smut): vaginal and anal fingering, cunnilingus, rimming, unprotected sex, threesome (dom jake, dom jay x sub reader) somnophilia, blowjob, slightly dub con, double penetration, unprotected anal sex (fxm), mxm scenes, multiple sex position. MDNI. WC: 18.2K

want a taste?

4 YEARS AGO

JAKE grinned ear to ear, practically bouncing on the balls of his feet as his gaze swept over the crowd. The music was loud, the lights erratic, and people were already spilling drinks and laughing too loud but Jake loved it.

This was exactly what he pictured college to be.

"Baby, are you excited for the first day of school?" he asked brightly, turning to face his boyfriend. Jay stood beside him with a disinterested scowl, arms loosely crossed, his eyes scanning the mass of dancing bodies with veiled judgment.

Jake bumped his shoulder playfully, trying to coax a smile out of him. "Come on. Parties like this existed in high school too. Don't act like you've never seen drunk teenagers twerking to bad remixes."

Jay raised an eyebrow at him, deadpan. "I didn't attend parties. This is my first time."

Jake blinked, surprised. "Wait, seriously?"

Jay nodded, then glanced back toward the crowd with a look of mild disgust. "And it's gross."

Jake laughed, slinging an arm over his shoulder. "You're such a grandpa. Come on, just pretend you're having fun."

Jay sighed but didn't resist when Jake intertwined their fingers, pulling him gently through the throng of sweaty bodies and flashing lights. His grip tightened protectively as people bumped into them left and right.

Then came the chant from the far end of the room, loud and synchronized over the music: "Go, bad bitch, go bad bitch go! Go, bad bitch, go bad bitch go!"

Jake's eyes lit up immediately, he grinned, tugging Jay toward the source of the chaos. Jay hesitated for a split second, but followed.

The crowd had formed a loose circle around the center of the living room. Phones were out, people laughing and cheering, hyping up whoever was in the spotlight. And there, in the middle—was you.

You were lying flat on a makeshift bar table, skin glowing under the colored lights, a lime wedge resting between your lips. Two other girls leaned in, each on either side of you. One was licking a trail of salt up from your stomach, the other from the base of your neck. The moment the salt was gone, they dove in, mouths finding yours together to take the lime between their teeth.

The crowd erupted. Phones flashed. Drunken hollers echoed. Someone near Jay screamed, "Holy fuck, she's wild!"

Jake whooped, clapping his hands. Jay, on the other hand, just stood there, his mouth slightly ajar. And neither of them looked away.

The rest of the party blurred by after that. And somehow, Jake stayed surprisingly clear-headed. His tolerance had always been higher than most. Jay kept his hands shoved in his pockets, back pressed to the wall, his usual role as Jake's quiet shadow. He didn't like parties, but he stayed—for Jake.

Later that night, as the house began to quiet and bodies thinned, a senior stumbled down the hallway, trying to prop you up in his arms. You were clearly out of it—eyes half-lidded, mumbling incoherently, limbs too loose.

"Please," the senior slurred, gesturing to the others with one hand while the other barely kept you upright. "Her dorm's just across from the school. My car's full. I can't take her."

Jay narrowed his eyes instantly. Then another guy tried to step in. "Hey! I don't trust my best friend with some stranger. You're dumb as hell. I'll take her." His hand slid around your waist but missed its mark as he nearly toppled over himself.

Jake was already moving. "Alright," he said smoothly, stepping between you and the two drunks. "We've got her."

"Don't worry about it," Jay said flatly, already reaching for your arm.

Jake crouched in front of you, grinning softly. "Hey there, party queen. Time to go, yeah?" You blinked slowly, confused, but didn't resist when Jake turned and let you slump over his back. He hooked his arms under your thighs, carrying you.

Sunoo appeared around the corner at that exact moment, also tipsy and clinging to Jay's shoulder for balance. "H-hey! Don't forget about me, you assholes," he slurred, his cheek pressed to Jay's arm.

Jay sighed, feeling Sunoo's weight. He looked at Jake, who was now adjusting you more securely onto his back.

"This is not how I thought tonight would go," Jay muttered, earning a soft laugh from Jake.

But still, neither of them complained.

"That was you?!"

Your eyes widened in disbelief as you stared at Jake, who was casually popping a marshmallow into his mouth, already mid-laugh.

"Yup!" he said, chewing with a grin. "I didn't even remember it until Jay brought it up again. He was the one who recognized you."

You let out a breathless laugh, pointing at him with an accusing finger. "Oh my God—that's so weird! There's a name for that, right? When something connects later, after the fact..."

Jake raised an eyebrow, still grinning. "You mean fate?"

"No, no, not fate. Like... a theory. Something about timing, or patterns—ugh, what is it called?" You tapped your temple, your brows furrowed as you struggled to catch the slippery thought.

Jay, who had been quietly lounging nearby, finally spoke up in his usual calm, dry tone. "Red string theory?"

You turned toward him, eyes lighting up. "Yes! That! The one about people being connected by an invisible red string, right? No matter the time, place, or circumstances."

Jake raised an eyebrow, smirking around the marshmallow he was chewing. "Wow, look at Jay getting all romantic."

Jay rolled his eyes but didn't deny it. "Just answering the question."

You grinned, leaning back on your hands as the warmth from the fire flickered across your face. "Kind of wild, though. Like... what are the chances that it was you two who carried me back that night? I didn't even remember your faces."

Jake let out a laugh, tossing another marshmallow into his mouth. "Yeah, but that's so corny."

You whipped your head toward him, offended. "Excuse me? The nerve of you to even say the word corny to me!"

Jake only grinned wider, catching you in one of his spontaneous bear hugs, nuzzling his cold nose against your cheek. A habit of his.

It had been two months now since you'd made it official—the three of you. A real relationship. And it still felt surreal sometimes, like you were walking through someone else's dream. But the dream never burst. It just kept unfolding, piece by piece.

Unlike the early days, you had begun to notice more. More about them.

Jake always nuzzled his nose against your cheek when he was especially happy or needy. It was his way of grounding himself. He still clung like a koala in his sleep, and the more affectionate he was during the day, the more clingy he became at night.

Jay, on the other hand, didn't smother. But he paid attention. He remembered the flavor of non-coffee drink you liked without asking. Always gave you the last bite. Always checked if your charger was plugged in or if you had your meds in your bag. He wouldn't say sweet words often, but it showed in the quietest ways—like warming your side of the bed when you went to shower, or silently making your favorite coffee just the way you liked it without a word.

Though you still lived separately, your things had slowly begun to gather in their apartment—spare clothes folded in their drawers, your skincare beside the sink. Most of your nights ended there, tangled in the sheets of Jay's bed, wrapped between the two of them.

Finals were over. You were technically on break now, waiting for your internship assignments to be announced. It gave you more time with them.

Polyamory still wasn't something you felt fully comfortable sharing publicly. People had opinions. Judgments. And while you weren't ashamed of your relationship, you weren't ready to offer it up for scrutiny either. But Jake and Jay—God, they made sure you never had to feel small or hidden.

If you held Jake's hand in public, Jay held your other. If someone stared too long, Jay would narrow his eyes and Jake would kiss your cheek just to spite them. They protected you from the outside world in quiet ways. And somehow, that made it easier to keep going.

Because every relationship needs communication.

But yours needed more than that.

You were the type of girl who overthought everything. The kind who cried over imaginary scenarios at 2 a.m., the kind who spiraled in her head over a misread emoji. But Jay and Jake had never once made you feel like a third wheel—never once made you question if you were wanted.

If anything, they had a way of anchoring you when your own mind started pulling you under.

Jake was always the first to notice. He'd tilt his head, study your face for a few seconds, and then, without saying a word, climb into your lap, wrap himself around you, and whisper something stupid like, "You look like you're thinking evil thoughts again." And somehow, his playful teasing would melt the anxiety before it could take root.

Jay's approach was different. He didn't ask what was wrong. He'd just pull you to his side, rest your head on his chest, and let his fingers stroke your hair until the noise in your brain dulled to a hum. He wouldn't pry, but if you started to talk, he'd listen. Not interrupt. Not dismiss. Just... listen.

That's how it worked, somehow.

Jake was sunshine, so warm, chaotic, and always moving.

Jay was moonlight, so quiet, steady, and always present.

And you... you were still trying to understand how two people like that had managed to wrap themselves around your life so effortlessly.

It wasn't always easy. Sometimes, you panicked over little things—if they spent too much time alone without you, if they didn't text back fast enough, if Jake seemed too tired or Jay seemed too distant.

But then Jake would crawl into your lap during movie night and demand kisses like a spoiled puppy, or Jay would press a coffee into your hands in the morning and quietly say, "It's been steeped for five minutes. I know you like it stronger," and all the doubt would dissolve.

They never made you ask for love. They just gave it. In ways you were still learning how to receive without guilt.

Sometimes you would lie in bed between them, one of Jake's arms draped across your waist, Jay's fingers brushing the curve of your thigh, and you'd just stare at the ceiling and wonder how the hell this became your life.

How the hell you went from crying alone in your dorm bed, convinced love wasn't something that came easily for girls like you... to waking up between two people who made you feel like the sun never set when you were around.

In your relationship, solo moments with each of them were fine—you'd communicated that early on. Sometimes, it was just you and Jay, or just you and Jake. But what you loved most was when the three of you were together. That's when it felt the most whole. The most right.

Sex was inevitable, of course. Desire had long since stopped being subtle between the three of you. But you preferred it when it was all of you, when they were both there, touching you, watching each other, and you.

You were sprawled across Jay's mattress, your breath catching as you blinked up at the ceiling. Sweat clung to your skin, the aftershocks of your orgasm still tingling through your limbs. Jake lay beside you, flushed and grinning, his chest rising and falling in slow rhythm.

"Huh? We're not going to do another round?" you asked breathlessly, lifting your head as your arm flopped over Jake's chest. "I still have energy..."

Jay, who was already standing by the bed, glanced over his shoulder with a raised brow. "You say that now, but you were shaking ten minutes ago."

"I always shake after!" you countered, voice pitching up into a whine. "I can go again. Please?"

Jay shook his head with an amused exhale, grabbing a towel and returning to the bed. He knelt beside you, gently guiding you to lie on your back. "You got diagnosed with low blood sugar last month, remember?" he murmured, dabbing sweat from your brow. "We're not pushing it. Not tonight."

"But I'm not even that tired," you pouted, reaching out to tug at his wrist as he wiped you down. Your eyes flicked toward Jake, who just burst out laughing.

"She's doing it again," Jake chuckled, brushing your hair back from your face. "Trying to act all bratty after coming twice."

You stuck your tongue out at him, still sulking. "It's not bratty if I mean it. I'm literally telling you what I want."

"Yeah?" Jay leaned down, lips brushing your temple. "Well, I want you to stop being hardheaded."

You huffed. "That's unfair."

In those times, you noticed how Jay and Jake would always bicker over the smallest things. At first, you thought Jay was too mature to even entertain those petty arguments. He always carried himself with such calm, measured detachment. But that image of him shifted entirely the day they started fighting over a Lego set you had randomly bought for fun.

It was supposed to be a relaxing evening, just the three of you lounging around the apartment after dinner. You pulled out the box with a grin, half-joking when you said, "Let's see if we can finish this without throwing hands."  You had no idea you were basically handing them a fuse and a match.

Jake immediately dived into the pieces like an overexcited child, sorting bricks. "We're starting with the base," he declared, laying out the instructions.

"No, we should build the smaller sections first," Jay countered, already pulling pieces aside, ignoring Jake entirely.

"Jay," Jake said slowly, narrowing his eyes, "you always do this. We follow my lead, and the thing turns out perfect."

"Says the guy who made the Millennium Falcon with an upside-down cockpit," Jay replied dryly, not even looking up.

You sat back on the floor, biting your lip to stifle a laugh as they bickered like a married couple over Lego.

Jay's brows were furrowed in intense concentration, silently studying the instruction manual. Meanwhile, Jake grew more animated by the second, gesturing with tiny plastic bricks in his hand.

"That piece doesn't go there," Jay said flatly, not looking up.

Jake scoffed. "It's a spaceship. We can be creative."

"This isn't abstract expressionism, it's an architectural set. You can't just freestyle a spaceship onto a French café."

"It's called innovation," Jake replied, sticking the rogue brick in anyway with a triumphant grin.

You sipped your drink, amused, watching the war unfold.

But it didn't end with Lego. No, their domestic chaos knew no bounds.

Take cooking, for example.

It always started with innocent intentions—"Let's cook dinner together," Jake would chirp, and you'd foolishly think it was a good idea.

Until Jay started cutting the vegetables.

"You're cutting it wrong," Jake muttered one time, hovering behind him.

Jay paused, knife halfway through a carrot. "There's a wrong way to cut something into cubes?"

"Yeah," Jake said, grabbing another knife. "You're not respecting the angles. Look—like this."

Jay raised an eyebrow. "It's dinner,"

You tried to offer a diplomatic smile as both of them now had knives and were demonstrating their cutting styles with increasing passive-aggression. Jake's "angles" turned into tiny artistic cubes. Jay's "efficiency" turned into thick slices. And somehow, in the end, you were the one cleaning up carrot peels from the floor while both of them stood back, arms crossed, debating culinary theory.

They fought like cats in a paper bag over the most ridiculous things but it was all in good fun. It never lasted. The bickering always ended with Jay rolling his eyes, Jake kissing his cheek with an exaggerated mwah, and you sandwiched between the two of them, watching it all.

You loved it. You loved the chaos, the noise, the warmth of it all. And maybe, you thought, that's what love looked like for the three of you.

A little loud. A little messy. And just right.

Well, in every relationship, there comes a time when a little space becomes necessary. A moment to breathe, to realize that even when you move as a unit, sometimes individual paths need to unfold.

You hadn't realized how tightly the three of you had wound yourselves together, how naturally it had become "we" instead of "I" until now.

"You're not going to continue the internship?" you asked, blinking in surprise, staring at Jake.

Jake adjusted his glasses nervously, avoiding your gaze. You turned toward Jay, who stood silently halfway up the stairs, one hand braced on the railing. He met your gaze with a resigned shrug, as if he didn't have the right words either.

"You passed the exam," you said gently, trying to piece it together. "Jay's the only one assigned to a different clinic. Why, baby? Is something bothering you?"

Jake exhaled a long breath, his shoulders drooping. Without a word, he plopped onto the sofa, his lips pressing into a tight pout. Behind his glasses, you saw the familiar shimmer of tears. He was trying to keep it together, but his emotions betrayed him.

"I'm sorry," he whispered, voice cracking at the edges.

Your heart clenched painfully. You quickly sat down next to him, your hand instinctively reaching for his.

"Fifteen to twenty hours per week," you said softly, squeezing his hand. "We can do that. Are you... are you getting anxious again?"

You knew Jake's history with his own self-doubt, how sometimes he spiraled into believing he wasn't good enough no matter what he did. How the pressure to "keep up" gnawed at him until he felt hollow.

He hesitated for a long moment before finally speaking. "I don't think I like Psychology anymore," he admitted, his voice so small it barely made it to your ears.

"But Jake, it's only one year left—" The words stumbled out automatically, and the moment they left your mouth, you wished you could snatch them back.

Jake's face crumpled slightly, and you mentally slapped yourself. God, stupid. He doesn't need pressure. He needs understanding.

You exhaled shakily, leaning your forehead against his shoulder. "I'm sorry," you whispered. "I didn't mean that. You're allowed to change your mind. You're allowed to choose what's right for you."

Jay came down the stairs slowly, sitting on Jake's other side without a word. Jake sniffled, rubbing the sleeve of his hoodie against his nose. "I just feel like... like I'm failing," he mumbled.

"You're not failing," Jay said. "You're just being honest with yourself. That's a hell of a lot braver than forcing yourself to stay somewhere you don't belong."

You nodded against Jake's shoulder, feeling the truth of Jay's words settle deep in your chest.

Jake hiccupped a little laugh through his tears, shaking his head. His hands twisted nervously in the hem of his hoodie, and you hated the way he looked so small in that moment, like a boy trying too hard to be okay.

"I'm sorry," Jake whispered, his voice breaking again. "I know we planned everything. We talked about graduating together. About celebrating at the beach after..." His words trailed off, his eyes glossing over with more tears that slipped freely down his cheeks.

Without thinking, you reached up, adjusting his glasses with careful fingers, brushing the tears from his face. Your thumb swiped under his eyes gently.

"We can still do that," you said firmly, giving him the softest smile. "Graduation. The beach. All of it. Nothing has to change just because your path does."

Jake blinked at you, as if the possibility of still being loved, still being included, hadn't even crossed his mind. "You're not leaving us behind," you added, a little choked up yourself. "We're still doing everything, together. Always."

Jake let out a shaky breath, finally tipping forward, burying his face into the crook of your neck. His arms came around you tightly. Jay shifted closer, one large hand resting between Jake's shoulder blades, his other hand found yours where it rested against Jake's back, linking your fingers together.

You closed your eyes for a moment, overwhelmed by the swell in your chest. "I love you," you whispered, so quietly you weren't sure at first if they heard it.

Jake pulled back instantly, his eyes wide and stunned, still glistening with tears that clung stubbornly to his lashes.

"D-Did you just say you love me?!" he burst out, his voice wobbling, a new kind of shine lighting up his whole face.

You blinked at him, your own tears slipping down freely now. "Why?" you sniffed, wiping your nose clumsily. "Did I never say those words before?"

Jake immediately turned his head toward Jay, still clutching your hand, his whole body practically vibrating with emotion. "No! She never said it! Right, babe?"

Jay, who usually kept his emotions tucked neatly behind a cool exterior, looked just as rattled. He gave a small, stunned nod, his lips parting like he couldn't believe it either.

"Say it again!" Jake begged, bouncing a little in place. You laughed through your tears, your heart swelling, cracking wide open as you threw your arms around both of them.

"I love you!" you shouted, your voice ringing out.

Jake made a choked sound somewhere between a sob and a laugh, tackling you backward onto the couch, peppering kisses all over your cheeks, forehead, anywhere he could reach.

Jay leaned over you both, quieter but smiling that rare, soft smile you loved so much. He cupped your jaw, tilting your face up to meet his gaze.

"I love you too," he murmured, his thumb brushing tenderly across your cheek. "Both of you."

You had gotten so used to the three of you moving along the same path—same direction, same goals—that it almost felt foreign now to see it change.

But love wasn't about charging toward the same finish line at the same speed. It wasn't a race. It was about adjusting your pace, slowing down when someone needed more time, waiting without resentment, walking forward together even when the road split for a while.

And that was okay.

"So, he's planning on taking Physics now?" Sunoo mumbled around a mouthful of sandwich, crumbs spilling onto his sleeve as you walked together across the campus avenue, the late afternoon sun dipping low behind the buildings.

"Technically, he's not exactly back to being a first-year," Wonyoung pointed out, sipping on her milk tea as she balanced her phone in her other hand. "Most of his minor subjects are credited. He just has to take the major ones now."

"Irregular student life," Sunghoon grumbled beside Sunoo, gnawing on his chicken skewer. He squinted up at the sky like the very thought of coursework exhausted him. "He'll do fine though. He looks like the quiet, hardworking type."

Sunoo turned his head with a dramatic blink. "Silent? Who are you even talking about?"

"Jake? One of her boyfriends," Sunghoon said casually, waving his skewer toward you. "The one with the birthmark on his neck?"

You opened your mouth to correct him but Sunoo beat you to it, rolling his eyes so hard. "That's Jay, dumbass. Jake's the one who won't shut up about fucking Pokémon."

Wonyoung snorted into her drink, while you just laughed. They were teasing, sure. But there was something grounding about it, too. Like your relationship, no matter how unconventional, It was accepted without any weirdness among your closest friends.

Maybe that's what love looked like too. Not just inside the relationship, but outside of it—the way it wove itself into the spaces between you and the people you cared about.

You exhaled, a small, breathless laugh escaping you. "Sigh, I can't believe we're graduating," you said, shifting the strap higher on your shoulder as the four of you—Sunoo, Wonyoung, Sunghoon, and you—strolled toward the parking lot.

"I can't believe I survived without strangling a professor," Sunoo deadpanned, earning a chuckle from Wonyoung.

It was surreal. You still remembered crying in a ramen aisle. That version of you felt so far away now, like someone else entirely. Not because things were magically easy, but because you'd made it through, with them.

Time passed. Like it always does. Jay and you dove into your internships, different clinics, and long hours. Meanwhile, Jake transferred universities and somehow made himself busier, picking up part-time hours at a convenience store near campus, despite not needing the money.

"For experience," he'd said with a casual shrug when you asked. Then ruffled your hair and kissed your forehead before slipping out the door.

On a rainy Wednesday, you found yourself in Jay's apartment, the air filled with the scent of steak that he cooked and the faint hum of your laptop fan. You were standing behind him, your thumbs digging into his shoulders as he sat at the edge of the bed, posture slouched, brows drawn tight in pure exhaustion.

"Where are you even assigned?" you asked with your voice soft. "You look like you've been carrying the entire hospital on your back."

Jay groaned low in his throat as you hit a particularly stiff knot. His eyes fluttered closed, and he tilted his head slightly to the side. "Intake assessments and psych evaluations," he muttered. "A couple of the psychologists are already hinting they want me on the team."

You raised a brow, intrigued. "So... master's track?"

He tilted his chin up just enough to meet your gaze. "I don't know," he admitted. "Honestly? I only took psychology in the first place because I wanted to follow Jake. I never really had a plan past that."

Your hands slowed, thumbs stilling on his skin as you searched for the right words. Vulnerability wasn't something Jay handed out freely and it made this moment feel heavier, more fragile.

"You don't have to decide now," you said softly, stepping closer so your chest touched his back. "Let's just take the licensure exam together first. You can figure the rest out after."

Jay didn't say anything at first, but his hand reached up to find yours, his fingers lacing through yours in a quiet thank you. It was one of those moments where everything felt deeper than words.

You rested your cheek against his shoulder, wrapping your arms fully around him in a warm back hug. "It's been a while since we let ourselves just rest," you whispered, nuzzling gently into the curve of his neck. "Let's take it slow today."

Jay hummed in agreement, leaning into your touch. "We can go shopping tomorrow," he said after a beat. "Jake doesn't have class, and I noticed your skincare stash is pretty much empty."

You smiled against his skin, the corners of your mouth lifting. "I still have a few things left at the dorm."

"But not the good stuff," he teased, and you could hear the soft smile in his voice.

The next few months followed the same rhythm—routine, steady, exhausting. Your days blurred together in a cycle of early mornings and late shifts, and while your body pushed forward, it was starting to show the weight of everything. The kind of tired that sleep couldn't fix began to settle into your bones.

But at the end of every long day, there they were.

Jake stood at the edge of the sidewalk in his uniform, his name tag slightly crooked, his smile brighter than the streetlights flickering on around him. Jay leaned beside him in his white clinical coat.

Jake spotted you first, as always, and waved with both hands like he hadn't seen you in years.

And just like that, the heavy tiredness cracked open.

You smiled without even realizing it, quickening your pace as you crossed the street. Your bag slipped from your shoulder as your arms went around both of their necks, pulling them in close. You stood on your tiptoes, pressing your face into the space between their shoulders, breathing them in—Jake's warm scent of citrus and soap, Jay's subtle cologne and hospital linen.

Their arms wrapped around you instantly. You felt Jake press a kiss into your hair, heard Jay sigh softly as he pulled you in tighter.

"I missed you," Jake whispered, like he hadn't already texted you seventeen times that day.

You loved them. With every piece of your heart.

And finally. After everything, the sleepless nights, the breakdowns, the internships, and all the moments you wanted to quit—you stood here.

Your hair had grown down to your neck again, long enough for Sunoo to curl it into loose mermaid waves that bounced as you moved. You adjusted your toga, smoothing the fabric over your shoulders, and reapplied a layer of lip gloss while the ceremony rolled on in the background.

You glanced over your shoulder, eyes scanning the rows until they landed on him.

Jay was seated a few rows behind you, already in his cap and gown, his posture perfect as always. But when he noticed you looking, his expression softened. A small smile tugged at his lips, and he gave you a gentle wave. You couldn't help but grin back, lifting your hand to blow him a subtle, playful kiss. His ears turned pink almost instantly.

It still didn't feel real—graduation. But the weight of the cap on your head, the neat fold of the sash across your chest, and the buzzing excitement in the air around you made it sink in slowly. You did it. All of you did.

You'd earned Latin honors, your name printed in gold in the program. And Jay, unsurprisingly graduated as Magna Cum Laude, plus extra recognition for his work with a mental health advocacy organization.

The moment his name was called, the crowd burst into polite applause but that was completely drowned out by a very loud, very familiar voice near the back.

"THAT'S MY BOYFRIEND!!" Jake yelled, hands cupped around his mouth. Several heads turned. You laughed as you lifted your phone to capture the moment, zooming in to record Jay's furrowed brows and flushed ears as he made his way across the stage with practiced composure, pretending not to hear Jake's scream.

When the ceremony ended, you barely made it a few feet outside the venue before you were tackled into a tight, warm hug.

"Congrats, my lovers!!!" Jake beamed, pulling both you and Jay into his arms. He squeezed tightly before finally pulling back and grinning from ear to ear.

"Tadaaa!" he sang, revealing a bouquet in each hand—peonies and sunflowers for you, and a crisp arrangement of white roses and eucalyptus for Jay.

Jay shook his head with a small laugh, eyes fond as he accepted the flowers. You blinked against the sting of happy tears, clutching yours to your chest.

"Thank you, I love you," you sobbed, planting a loud kiss on his cheek.

"I love you more," he whined, hugging you back and forth.

"Sunoo! Take a picture of us!" Jake shouted, still hugging you.

A few steps ahead, Sunoo didn't even turn around—his face crumpled with exasperation as he raised a middle finger in your direction. Jake was still clinging to you, and Jay was trying to untangle himself from the three-way hug without knocking anyone over.

"Sunoo, please!" you called between giggles, clutching your bouquet in one hand and trying to shove Jake off with the other. "Come on, just one picture!"

Sunoo finally turned around, his expression the perfect blend of annoyance and affection. "You're all disgusting," he muttered, but he was already pulling his phone from his pocket, lining up the shot.

"Okay! Say 'I wasted my youth on a degree I'll never use!'"

You laughed and tugged Jake into the middle. Jay slid an arm around Jake's shoulder while you leaned in from the other side, flashing a peace sign and pouting your lips just in time for the shutter.

For the next pose, Jake was the one to yank you into the center. You wrapped your arms around both of them, grinning at the camera. Right as the second flash went off, they leaned in at the same time, planting kisses on both of your cheeks.

Sunoo made a dramatic gagging noise behind the camera, but you were too caught off guard to react—until a wide smile broke across your face. You lifted your hands, cupping their jaws gently, holding them there as if to say: stay. Stay in this moment.

Just like they'd plan for your upcoming anniversary, Jay and Jake had organized a trip to the beach.

And, of course, Sunoo was coming too.

"Bitch, I am not going to sit with you," Sunoo scoffed, rolling his eyes as he hauled his tote bag into the car.

"Well, Jay's driving, and I'm more of a backseat guy anyway," Jake said with a lazy grin, already adjusting his neck pillow. "If you want the front so bad, go ahead."

"No way, dude!" Sunoo scrunched his nose, then reached forward to tug your hair playfully as you buckled yourself into the passenger seat.

"Please, sit beside me!" he whined dramatically.

Jay leaned over to adjust your seatbelt, giving it a final click before gently brushing his fingers over your shoulder. You tilted your head to glance at the two of them in the backseat.

"It's only a three-hour drive," you said gently. "You'll survive."

Sunoo leaned back in the seat with a sigh, arms crossed, his face scrunched up. "Three hours in a moving tin can with him?" he muttered, jabbing a thumb toward Jake. "Barely."

Jay started the engine with a quiet sigh, already bracing himself. The soft murmur of the playlist filled the car as you pulled onto the open road, the city gradually melting into stretches of sun-washed highway and scattered trees.

For a few blissful minutes, the car was calm. Then, predictably, Jake opened his mouth.

"So," he began, sitting up a little straighter. "Did you guys know that if you accelerate fast enough, time literally moves slower for you? Like, time dilation."

You looked over your shoulder with raised brows. "Here we go."

"No, no—listen! Think about it. If Jay drives fast enough, like, close to the speed of light fast—then technically this three-hour trip would feel way shorter for him than for us."

"Except we'd all be dead because we'd vaporize before hitting Mach 1," Sunoo muttered under his breath, pulling his hoodie up over his head. "God, why are you like this?"

"But just imagine," Jake went on, eyes sparkling. "If we had a car that could do that. Like, space road trips. Time gets all wibbly. Three hours for us could be ten years for someone else. We could be out here vibing to music and come back to Earth and everything's changed."

Jay stared forward in silence, his grip on the wheel tightening fractionally.

"Jake," he said, voice low. "Please stop talking about bending time while I'm trying to figure out which exit to take."

You bit your lip, trying not to laugh. "Is this your subtle way of saying we should be grateful Jay drives us through time and space at a safe 90 kilometers an hour?"

"Exactly!" Jake said brightly. "He's basically our chauffeur and a physics miracle."

Jay let out a long, slow exhale. "If I start accelerating at light speed, it's going to be straight into a wall."

Jake gasped. "That's momentum, babe."

Sunoo groaned louder this time, slapping a hand over his face.

When the three of you finally arrived at the beachside hotel, the sun was already dipping low on the horizon, casting streaks of amber and rose across the ocean.

You'd booked a one-room suite that came with a connected layout—two separate bedrooms, one shared living space, and a wide balcony overlooking the waves.

Without hesitation, you decided to bunk with Sunoo. After all, you were the one who insisted he come along in the first place. You didn't want him feeling like a fourth wheel. Jake had whined dramatically when you made the decision, slumping onto the couch with his arms flung over his face.

But the moment Sunoo turned to glare at him, Jake shut up immediately.

"Wow," Sunoo gasped as he threw his overnight bag onto the nearest bed. "How much did you spend on this? This is fucking luxurious!"

He flopped down like a satisfied cat, legs in the air, starfish-style, bouncing on the mattress.

You dropped your backpack near the dresser and laughed. "I don't know. I tried to give Jay money for it, but he just told me not to worry about it. Said he'd take care of everything."

Sunoo sat up, his expression half-impressed, half-scandalized. "I know he's rich—but this rich?"

You walked over to the vanity and opened one of the drawers, expecting it to be empty. It wasn't. It was stocked with complimentary skincare in glass jars that looked expensive. You didn't even recognize the brand.

"Yeah," you muttered with a shake of your head. "He's always been kind of... low-key about it."

And it was true. Jay never talked much about money, or his family, or what exactly his parents did. You knew it was something in finance, he'd mentioned it in passing once, but never with any detail. Not that you pried. That wasn't really your thing, and he always had this quiet way of changing the subject that made it clear there were lines he didn't want to cross.

You'd only met his father twice. Once at some formal dinner event where you weren't even introduced as his girlfriend—just as Jay's "close friend," which, at the time, didn't bother you as much as it probably should have. The second time had been more casual, a short visit when his father was in town.

You knew Jake's family ran a business too—something equally stable, equally well-off. Money had never been a problem for either of them. You'd met Jake's mother once, and she'd been warm and lively, like him.  His older brother, you'd spoken with more than a few times—he went to the same university as you, and was easy to talk to, open in a way that made Jake's background feel a little less distant.

You opened the sliding door to the balcony, just to breathe in the sea air. Below, people were still wandering the shoreline, some with towels slung over their shoulders, others in flip-flops with dripping ice cream cones.

You leaned your forearms on the railing and exhaled, breathing deep, your thoughts drifted somewhere you usually avoided: your family.

You trusted them. They weren't conservative. Not in a way that would ever make you feel unsafe. But still... you couldn't help but wonder how it would go. Really go.

Introducing Jay and Jake as both of your boyfriend? Something about that still made your stomach twist, not because it felt wrong, but because it was different. Not a lie. Just not the kind of story your parents would expect to hear over dinner.

You imagined it. Sitting across the table. Your mom would probably ask how school was, then what Jay was majoring in, then what Jake was doing after graduation. Then maybe, when the moment came, you'd say it—"they're both my boyfriends."

You winced at the thought, fingers tightening slightly on the railing. It wasn't shame, it wasn't even fear, not really. It was that strange vulnerability, the kind that comes when you love something so much, you're terrified to watch someone else misunderstand it.

You closed your eyes for a moment, letting the wind thread through your hair. Maybe not now. Maybe not yet. But eventually, you'd have to tell them. Eventually, you'd have to share this part of your world.

"Hey."

Your eyes fluttered open at the familiar voice. You turned your head to find Jay standing just inside the doorway, backlit by the warm light of the room. Behind him, you caught a glimpse of Jake barging in, already diving onto the bed with zero regard for personal space, promptly tugging at Sunoo's legs and earning a dramatic scream in return.

You smiled, the kind that bloomed slow and soft, turning back toward the sea. "Hey," you echoed.

You felt Jay step closer, then, warm arms circled your waist from behind. His chin came to rest lightly on top of your head, and you leaned back into his chest without thinking

"Are you okay?" he murmured, soft enough for just you to hear. "Do you like it?"

"Of course," you said with a small laugh, tilting your head slightly to brush against him. "I love it, Jay. Thank you."

His nose nudging gently into your hair before his lips pressed the lightest kiss to your temple. The kind that made everything pause for just a second. The kind that left your heart fluttering.

Even now—after a year of being with them—this feeling hadn't faded.

That sweet, silly rush in your stomach. It was all still there. Still new, still dizzying in the best way.

Jay held you a little closer, his thumbs stroking slow circles against your sides. Behind you, Jake's cackling echoed through the room as Sunoo threatened to throw him off the balcony.

A minute later, Jake came barreling out onto the balcony, full of loud energy and bright eyes. Without warning, he wrapped you in a rough, bouncing hug and started peppering kisses all over your face—forehead, cheek, nose, chin, each one louder and messier than the last.

You squealed in protest through your laughter, half-heartedly trying to push him away, but Jake only grinned wider. Jay let out a small chuckle and pulled him in too, arms closing around both of you. He kissed the top of Jake's head, then yours. And just barely, beneath the breath of the breeze and the rustle of waves below, you heard him whisper:

"I love you. Both of you."

Since the sun was already beginning its slow descent, the four of you decided to wander the local beach town and hunt down some fresh seafood. It should've been easy, but nothing ever was when it came to your group.

It was, well—how would you describe it? Chaotic. Definitely chaotic.

Because somehow, none of you knew how to properly eat lobster. Except Jay. Of course Jay did. He sat there effortlessly cracking shells and separating the meat for the three of you. Meanwhile, Jake had nearly launched half his shrimp into Sunoo's lap.

By the end of the night, your table was covered in seafood scraps, crumpled napkins, and three different sauces spilled onto your pants. You wouldn't have changed a thing.

The next morning arrived, you'd planned this day from the start—beach time.

Down by the shore, the sun was still soft in the sky, the sand warm beneath bare feet. Sunoo and Jake were already out on a big inflatable air bed, lazily drifting in the shallows, drinks in hand and sunglasses slightly too big for their faces.

Jay had volunteered to stay on the beach, a towel draped over his lap, focused on a portable grill he'd set up in the shade of a beach umbrella. He was flipping skewers of marinated meat and pineapple slices.

You had your body half in the water, arms hooked over the edge of the air bed, letting yourself float lazily beside it. The sun warmed your back, and you listened with half a smile to the conversation between the two clowns above you.

"I still don't understand how you can't swim," Sunoo said, voice shaded with judgment.

"I can swim," Jake replied. "I just... choose not to, for safety reasons."

"You panic the moment your feet don't touch sand!"

"Which is a valid fear, Sunoo! Ever heard of deep sea creatures?"

You rolled your eyes fondly and, with a quiet grin, began gently pushing the air bed farther out from the shore with your arms. Inch by inch. They didn't notice at first.

"H-Huh? Where are you taking us?!" Sunoo suddenly sat up, eyes darting to the now noticeably deeper blue beneath him. "I can't see clear water anymore!"

Jake peeked over the edge, alarm rising in his voice. "H-Hey! T-This isn't funny!"

You couldn't help but laugh, water sloshing against your shoulders. "Relax, we're still like twenty feet from the shore."

"Twenty feet too many!" Sunoo snapped. "Turn this raft around or I'm throwing Jake into the sea and sacrificing him to Poseidon."

"Excuse me?!" Jake gasped. "We made friendship bracelets yesterday!"

"I've already cut mine off," Sunoo declared with no hesitation.

You snorted, pulling the float gently back toward the beach as Jake and Sunoo continued bickering above you.

The rest of the day passed in a soft, golden blur. Jake and Sunoo spent most of it constructing a ridiculous, over-the-top sandcastle complete with seashell gates and a moat that kept getting trampled by passing kids. You stuck close to Jay, helping him with the food, handing him skewers and snacks while sneaking bites every time he wasn't looking.

Since Jake and Sunoo both flat-out refused to venture into deeper water, you and Jay decided to try something a little more thrilling: the banana boat.

Your heart pounded with excitement as you slathered sunscreen across Jay's back, he stood still beneath your touch. You gave his shoulder a playful squeeze before pulling your hands away and practically bouncing toward the dock, already grinning.

Clad in your two-piece swimsuit and secured in a bright life jacket, you tugged off your beach shorts and tossed them into the pile of bags before climbing onto the giant inflatable banana, you gripped the side handles for balance.

Jay climbed on right behind you. You felt the boat shift under his weight as he settled into place and then, as expected, his arms slipped around your waist, tugging you flush against him.

You turned your head just enough to catch his face over your shoulder, raising a brow. "Hey," you said, teasing. "Your hands should be on the boat, not on me."

Jay gave you that infuriatingly soft, crooked grin of his. "They'll get there," he murmured, but his hands lingered a second longer—fingers trailing gently along your ribs, dangerously close to your chest—before finally letting go and grabbing the side handles.

You gave a dramatic sigh, rolling your eyes, but you couldn't stop the smile that tugged at your lips.

The instructor gave a thumbs-up from the front, and moments later, the speedboat roared to life, tugging the banana boat forward in a sudden burst. You shrieked with laughter as the inflatable jerked forward, bouncing across the waves like a bucking bronco.

Salt spray hit your face. The wind whipped past your ears. Behind you, Jay's laughter rang out, arms tightening around your waist every time you caught air.

The boat twisted, turned sharply, and for a moment you were sure you'd fly off. But Jay held on, and you did too, screaming and laughing.

By the time it slowed, you were breathless, soaked to the bone, and still grinning like a fool. You turned slightly, cheeks flushed, and met Jay's gaze. His hair was plastered to his forehead, and his eyes were shining.

"I want to go again," he said, already leaning in to kiss your cheek.

You smacked him lightly on the arm. "Hands on the boat, remember?"

He just laughed.

Later that evening, with dinner long over and the sky outside dark, you ended up sprawled in the other room with Jake, watching a random thriller movie on TV.

Jake's head rested comfortably on your chest, his arms lazily wrapped around your waist. Your fingers combed idly through his hair as your eyes stayed fixed on the screen.

"The fuck?! So he's the killer all along?!" Jake sat up a little, his voice loud.

You barely bit back a laugh, already expecting the outburst. "It was all in his head," you said calmly, brushing a stray strand of hair away from his face. "He's addicted to propofol. It's one of those unreliable narrator things."

Jake groaned like the world betrayed him. "This movie is a scam. We wasted two hours for a hallucination ending?"

"You watched it on hotel cable," you pointed out.

But Jake didn't respond. A few minutes later, you realized his breathing had evened out, and soft snores were puffing against your shirt. You looked down to find him completely passed out, you smiled softly.

The bathroom door clicked open, and Jay stepped out, hair damp and towel slung over his shoulder. He paused at the doorway, eyes softening when he saw the scene on the bed. Then he crossed the room, leaned over, and pressed a kiss to your lips.

"I think I need to join Sunoo," you whispered, careful not to disturb the sleeping Jake.

Jay's hand slipped around your waist as he climbed into bed beside you. "Can you stay a little longer?" he murmured, pulling you close without even shifting Jake.

You chuckled, forehead resting briefly against his. "I'm already tired. Why? You're acting needy today, hmm?"

He smiled faintly, shaking his head, and leaned in to kiss your neck. His lips traced a path up toward your jaw, each kiss a little more lingering than the last.

"Not needy," he said softly. "Just... wanting to hold you both a little longer."

Eventually, after a long minute of coaxing and playful protest, Jay finally let you go but not before you caught the way his gaze lingered as you slipped out the door, like he was already thinking about pulling you right back in. Jay was usually calm, it was Jake who would've actually pouted and clung to your arm if denied his nightly cuddles.

You quietly padded across the hall and slipped into the other room. Sunoo was already passed out on the bed, one leg kicked free from the blanket, a silky eye mask perfectly in place despite his softly parted lips and gentle snores.

With a quiet sigh, you crawled into bed next to him and let the weight of the day sink into the mattress. The room was cool and quiet, and eventually, your eyes fluttered shut.

But somewhere in the blur between dreams and the gentle pull of sleep, you felt the bed shift behind you.

An arm slid around your waist, pulling you gently back against a solid chest.

You hummed softly, eyes still half-lidded as you turned your head slightly, blinking against the dim glow from the room.

"Jay?" you whispered, voice scratchy with sleep.

Jay pressed closer, nuzzling into the curve of your neck. His hand drifted over your waist and down to your stomach, fingers brushing the hem of your shirt before slipping underneath.

"What's wrong?" you murmured, trying to sound stern, but your voice was too soft. You risked a glance toward Sunoo, still blissfully asleep and completely unaware. Then your gaze returned to Jay, whose lips now grazed your shoulder.

"Nothing," he said quietly.

But his hand told a different story. It moved slowly beneath your shirt, calloused fingertips gliding across the bare skin of your stomach, tracing idle shapes.

You exhaled a quiet breath, lips parting slightly. "Jay..." you warned.

"Sorry," he murmured, but the apology was quickly eclipsed by the press of his lips to your neck. His mouth moved, grazing the sensitive skin just below your ear. Then his hand shifted upward. You sucked in a quiet gasp when his palm brushed over your breast, fingers curling to cup it gently.

"Jay, s-stop," you whispered again, glancing anxiously toward Sunoo. He had turned in his sleep, now facing away, the soft rise and fall of his breathing steady and undisturbed.

Jay's hand didn't still. "I miss you," he breathed, thumb teasing over your nipple in a slow, deliberate flick that made your back subtly arch against him. His other hand tightened around your waist, pulling you closer until you could feel him pressed against you, the firm outline in his sweatpants grinding lightly against your hips.

"It's been so long," he murmured.

And it had. Between the internships, late-night assignments, and Jake's nonstop academic grind, the three of you had barely touched each other in weeks.

But you hadn't expected Jay to be the one like this tonight. He was always the composed one, the patient one. Jake was usually the one who gave in first, always craving touch, always clinging. Jay had control.

Usually.

"Jay, wait..." you whispered, your voice a rushed hush as you felt his other hand slipping lower, beneath the waistband of your shorts. His fingers moved slow, grazing over your folds, teasing the delicate skin. A low breath escaped him the moment he felt how wet you already were.

You swallowed, pulse quickening.

"I've been so horny all day thinking 'bout you," he whispered. That quiet, whiny edge in his tone made your core clench instinctively

Maybe it was the softness of his voice, or the fact that it was Jay who is usually so composed, now whispering filthy truths into your ear.

His fingers traced the seam of your labia, before one slowly pushed inside. You whimpered at the stretch, your walls clenching around him as your body instinctively responded. Despite the risky position, your legs parted a little wider under the sheets, silently begging for more.

"Please," he whispered, voice tinged with that desperate, breathy edge that made your heart race.

You tilted your head, meeting his mouth with yours, pressing your lips to his. He moaned against you, his mouth parting eagerly to deepen the kiss. His tongue slid past your lips matching the rhythm of his finger as it began to move—slowly thrusting in and out, curling just enough to make you shiver.

The kiss grew messier as his hand worked between your thighs. Your breaths tangled. Every quiet sound you made, he swallowed with his mouth.

Jay pressed closer against your back, his body molding to yours, breath hot against your cheek. Then he broke the kiss, slowly pulling his finger from your core, his eyes locked on yours the entire time. You whimpered when you saw him bring it to his lips, slipping it into his mouth.

He exhaled, clearly it wasn't enough. Then, without a word, he sat up and carefully lifted you into his arms.

You instinctively wrapped your arms around his neck, legs curling slightly as he carried you out of the room.

By the time he stepped into the other room, Jake was still sound asleep—sprawled out, one arm flung across the pillow.

Jay laid you down gently on the bed, his hands lingering on your sides. "Been thinking about eating this pussy ever since you wore that damn swimsuit," he whispered.

Before you could reply, he was already tugging your shorts down, exposing the heat between your thighs. The rush of cool air on your skin made your back arch, a soft gasp slipping from your lips.

"I think we're gonna wake Jake up," you whispered, voice breathless.

Jay was already on his knees. He hooked your legs over his shoulders, fingers curling around your thighs to keep them parted. Slowly, he leaned in and licked a long, slow stripe up your folds.

Your hips jerked at the contact, a moan slipping from your mouth. You reached down, fingers sinking into his hair, holding on as he buried himself deeper between your legs.

"Missed eating this pretty pussy," Jay groaned into you, he tilted his head slightly, adjusting the angle as he dragged his tongue in slow circles, then pushed it inside, the wet heat of it driving you mad.

You clung to him, biting your lip hard to stifle the sounds threatening to escape, but it was getting harder—impossible, even. Your body trembled beneath his mouth, hips shifting uncontrollably as Jay devoured you without pause.

He alternated between slow, languid licks and deep, greedy sucks, lapping up every bit of your arousal, then going back to swirling his tongue.

You tried to stay still, but it was too much. You couldn't stop moving, hips jerking. Every time you gasped, every time your legs twitched, Jay just held on tighter.

At your side, Jake stirred slightly in his sleep, mumbling something incoherent as he shifted. You froze for a beat, heart pounding then another sharp flick of Jay's tongue made your hips buck again.

"I'm cumming," you breathed out in a desperate whisper, thighs shaking. Your hands gripped the sheets as your hips tried to rise off the bed, but Jay only pressed you down harder, his palms firm on your waist, pinning you in place as he buried his face deeper into your cunt.

"Jay—Jay, I'm cumming, I'm cumming—" you sobbed, unable to stop the way your body trembled violently beneath him. He groaned at your words, grinding his nose against your clit, tongue plunging and swirling until the pressure snapped all at once.

Your back arched, eyes rolling back as your orgasm surged through you. The scream that left your lips was silent, lost somewhere in your chest, trapped between needing release and needing to stay quiet.

Jay didn't stop. Even as your thighs trembled and your whole body clenched around the pleasure, he kept licking, drinking you in, chasing every last drop while your limbs went slack around him.

"J-Jay... stop," you whimpered, voice cracking from the overstimulation. "Stop for a minute, p-please..."

You could barely breathe. The pleasure had gone white-hot, your body sensitive, twitching with every flick of his tongue.

Finally, he slowed. His mouth softened, his tongue easing into gentle strokes until he stilled completely.

He pressed one last kiss to your inner thigh before rising slowly, crawling up your body. His hands pushed your shirt up to your collarbone, and his lips followed, kissing along your stomach, trailing upward until he reached your chest.

He caught your nipple between his lips, tongue flicking softly as he sucked. Your fingers tangled weakly in his hair, still dazed.

Then his mouth moved higher, brushing along your collarbone, up the line of your throat, until he finally captured your lips.

You taste yourself while kissing him, tongue desparately shoving down to yours, only adding to the intensity as his tongue moved with yours.

Without breaking the kiss, he shifted your position, gently guiding you onto your side. Now spooning you from behind, he pressed flush against you, the heat of him seeping into your skin as his thigh tucked between yours.

You glanced at Jake who was still fast asleep.

Jay exhaled against your neck, then reached down with one hand to push his sweatpants just low enough to free himself. You felt him, hot and hard, nudging against your backside. A shiver ran through you as his hand slid along your inner thigh, coaxing it forward, lifting just enough to open you to him. You instinctively pressed your hips back, the thick weight of his cock nestling against your folds.

"Jay," you breathed, tilting your head. Your foreheads touched, noses brushing as his hand slid up to cup your breast, thumb brushing over your nipple in slow, teasing circles.

"Keep your eyes on me, baby," he whispered. Your lashes fluttered as he ground his cock slowly against your center, dragging it along your slit without entering.

"We're gonna wake Jake up," you repeated, forehead still pressed to his, breath mingling.

Jay just smiled, the curve of his lips brushing your cheek as he whispered back, "It's okay... he can join anyway."

Before you could respond, his hips shifted and the thick head of his cock pressed into your entrance. Your mouth fell open, a gasp escaping as he filled you in one smooth, unhurried thrust. The stretch was full. You dug your nails into his forearm where it wrapped around your waist

He kissed you again, catching your breath with his mouth as he began to move, slow at first, each roll of his hips drawing a quiet moan from your throat. His hand never left your breast, kneading gently, thumb circling and flicking your sensitive peak in rhythm with his thrusts.

You broke the kiss, eyes half-lidded, both of you breathing heavily now, sharing the same air, bodies locked together as his pace gradually built.

He pulled out until only his tip remained, then pushed back in harder, hips snapping forward with more pressure.

"Ahhh!"

"Wanna go rough," he muttered against your neck. His eyes fluttered shut for a second, his grip tightening. "Can I? You'd like that, right, baby? Right?"

You nodded, unable to form words.

A low, needy moan left his throat as he picked up the pace, his thrusts turns faster and deeper. The soft mattress bounced beneath you with every movement, muffling the sound but not the intensity. You gripped the sheets, trying to stay quiet, but the way he filled you, the way his cock dragged perfectly along every inch of your walls—it was too much.

"Fuck," he groaned, burying his face in your shoulder.

"Jaaay..." you gasped out his name, drawing it long and needy as pleasure pulsed through you.

His grip on your thigh shifted, releasing only to find your hand, fingers lacing with yours as he gently pushed your upper body forward, angling your hips just right. You followed without resistance, the motion letting him reach even deeper.

Then he hit it—that spot—and your mouth fell open in a silent cry.

Your eyes fluttered shut, lip caught between your teeth as your body clenched around him. You could hear the sharp breath he sucked in behind you, the tremble in his exhale as you tightened.

He was getting close. You could feel it in the way his rhythm faltered for a second.

"Good, baby?" he whispered against your ear, that soft, breathy tone he only used when he was holding back.

You smiled through another moan, the sound catching in your throat as you tilted your head slightly to find his lips. The kiss was short, a sweet, heated peck that melted into a soft whimper as he thrust into you again.

"Yes," you breathed, barely able to get the words out. "So good—haah—so deep..."

Jay rested his forehead against the back of your head, lips brushing your hair as he kept moving.

Jay pulled out. Your brows knit in confusion, lips parting, but Jay was already grabbing your hips, repositioning you. He dragged you to the edge of the bed, bending you forward as he laid you across Jake's sleeping form. Your back arched instinctively as your body adjusted to the shift.

"Wake him," Jay murmured as he settled behind you again, his hands spreading your cheeks.

You fumbled with Jake's pajama waistband, tugging both the fabric and his boxers down until his cock— still soft but stirring was exposed to the cool air.

Jay's fingers brushed against your rim. "You clean here?" he asked, his thumb circling the sensitive entrance.

A soft, involuntary whimper left your lips, your hips twitching backward toward his touch. You leaned down, pressing a trail of kisses along the length of Jake's cock, feeling it twitch beneath your lips.

"Answer me, baby," Jay said, punctuating the demand with a slap to your ass. The sharp sting made you flinch.

"Yes! I—I clean every day," you gasped.

Jay groaned in frustration. "Fuck. No lube."

You glanced over your shoulder to see him already sinking to his knees behind you.

He didn't hesitate—his tongue found your rim and began working. You moaned, body trembling as your knees weakened under the heat of his mouth.

You returned your attention to Jake, licking along the underside of his shaft up to the tip. He shifted slightly beneath you, a quiet sound escaping him, not yet fully awake but already growing hard in your mouth.

Jay's tongue pressed in deeper, spit slicking your rim as he worked you open. You groaned around Jake's cock, the vibration sending a jolt through him. His hips jerked upward instinctively, pushing his now-hard length deeper past your lips.

You took him in greedily, eyes fluttering shut as you pushed your ass back into Jay's face.

Jay stood suddenly, spreading your cheeks wide and guiding himself into your slick pussy with one firm thrust.

"Hmmph!" Your body jolted, a strangled moan escaping around Jake's cock. Jay grabbed your hips again, this time angling your body forward just enough to press your mouth deeper onto Jake's shaft, brushing the back of your throat.

Jake stirred fully now, groggy eyes blinking open.

He felt it first—the wet heat of your mouth wrapped around his cock and then he saw it.

Jay was behind you, fucking you, your body sandwiched between them, head bobbing in his lap.

Jake's stomach tightened at the sight. Jay looked up at him and grinned.

"Hey, baby," he said smoothly, driving in harder, making you moan louder and push yourself down even further on Jake's cock.

Jake reached out, still dazed but growing harder by the second, brushing a hand through your hair as your moans vibrated around him.

"G'evening...?" he mumbled, voice hoarse with confusion and arousal. He gently tugged you off his cock, watching a thin strand of saliva stretch from your lips to his tip.

Behind you, Jay didn't stop. He bent lower, lips brushing the back of your shoulder as he licked his middle finger, eyes locked on the tight ring of muscle between your cheeks. Slowly, he pressed his finger to your rim, circling once before slipping inside.

You jolted at the intrusion, hips twitching against him, a gasp escaping your lips. Jay didn't stop thrusting—he just matched the rhythm of his cock with the push of his finger, stretching you gradually, his free hand gripping your waist to hold you in place as you writhed beneath them both.

Jake shifted on the bed, pushing himself upright onto his knees, positioning himself in front of you. His hand wrapped around his cock, pumping slowly as he brought it back to your mouth.

"You want it back, sweetheart?" Jake asked softly, he tapped the head of his cock against your lips, smearing pre-cum along your mouth.

You opened willingly, tongue flicking out to taste him, your moan muffled as he slid back in. Jake groaned, hips twitching as your lips sealed around him again.

Jay curled his finger inside you, pushing deeper, and your whole body tensed at the double sensation — your throat filled with Jake's cock, your ass stretching slowly around Jay's finger as he fucked you with deep, rolling thrusts.

Jake leaned forward, hands gripping the curve of your ass as he spread you open wider, eyes fixed on the way you pulsed around Jay's fingers. He exhaled a shaky breath, mouth slightly parted.

Jay slipped a second finger inside you, the added stretch pulling a sharp gasp from your lips. It burned just enough to make your eyes sting but you didn't ask them to stop.

Because you missed this. Missed the ache, the fullness, the way they both used your body for their pleasure.

Moans overlapped in the room, Jay's soft growls as he felt you tighten around his fingers, Jake's ragged gasps as your mouth moved faster, your head bobbing on his cock.

You arched deeper, forcing yourself further onto Jake's length, the wet sounds of your mouth and their breathing tangled with the slap of skin and the creak of the bed. Your throat flexed as you took him in, your tongue working along the underside of his shaft, matching the pace of Jay's fingers stretching you open.

Jay slowed his thrusts behind you, his breath hitching as he reached the edge again, hips grinding into your ass with just enough pressure to keep himself teetering. Edging on purpose.

He looked up, meeting Jake's eyes over the curve of your back. Jake leaned forward, their mouths crashing together in a kiss that was anything but gentle. Teeth and tongue crashing.

Their bodies moved in tandem—Jay driving into you again and each push sent you forward, impaling your mouth on Jake's cock.

Jay's fingers slid out just as his cock pushed deeper inside. Jake's hand cupped the back of your head, guiding your rhythm, his hips snapping forward in short bursts, each one pushing into the tight heat of your throat.

"Ahh, fuck. Jay," Jake groaned, breaking the kiss. His breath fanned across Jay's cheek as he leaned in, trailing kisses down the side of Jay's neck. His lips found skin, then teeth followed, scraping lightly before soothing with his tongue.

Your lungs screamed for air. The pressure at the back of your throat blurred into dizzying deprivation, your nails scraped down Jake's thigh to signal him.

Jake pulled back in an instant, your lips slipping from his cock with a wet gasp. He leaned down, catching your mouth in a kiss. His hand cradled your jaw, wiping a trail of drool from your chin with his thumb.

Your chest heaved against the mattress, breath coming in stuttering bursts. Your vision swam, lashes heavy, lips swollen. You could feel your body moving but your mind floated, clinging to the feeling rather than the shape of it.

Jay groaned, breath shuddering as he pulled out, only to grip your hips hard enough to bruise—and drive himself into your ass with one single, brutal thrust.

"Ahhhh! Fuck!" Your scream tore through the room, your body convulsing under the intrusion.

Jay groaned loudly behind you. Your legs trembled, toes curling tight as pain bloomed through your spine. Tears spilled without permission, streaking hot down your cheeks.

"Hey... still with us?" Jake's voice broke through the haze.

He knelt beside you, brushing your hair out of your face, his lips soft against the damp trail of your tears. He kissed you again, slower this time, anchoring you as you shook beneath them both.

Jay bent over you, his chest pressed to your back. He nuzzled into the crook of your neck, lips peppering kisses across your skin, his cock twitching deep inside your ass. His breath was ragged.

"Sorry, baby," he whispered, moving one hand up from your hip to your breast, cupping it gently. His thumb circled your nipple while the other hand steadied you. "Shhh... I got you. Just breathe."

But your lips trembled, a sob slipping through as you buried your face in the sheets. It hurt. Your body throbbed from the stretch, the shock of how deep he was, how sudden. Jake caught your hand, holding it gently, kissing the back of your palm.

"Talk to me," he said softly. "Does it hurt?"

You nodded, tears still falling, throat too tight to speak.

Jay froze. "I'm sorry," he whispered again. His hands softened, his hips still. He leaned back a little, pulling out carefully, guilt etched in every line of his body.

"No!" your voice cracked out, panicked, reaching blindly behind you. Your fingers curled around his hip, clutching. "D-Don't stop... I... I can take it."

Jake's brows furrowed, watching your face closely. "You sure?" he murmured, his thumb brushing along your wrist, eyes locked to yours.

You nodded, swallowing down the ache. "Please."

Jay didn't move yet. He stayed pressed close, his forehead resting against your spine, just breathing with you. Slowly, he guided his cock back, sliding just the tip inside before pausing. His hand smoothed over your side, your ribs, your hip.

"Okay," he breathed. "We go slow this time."

And when he pushed back in, it was careful, patient—his hands trembling with restraint as you stretched around him again.

And despite the sting, the burn, your body opened for him.

Jake leaned in and kissed you, his tongue teased your bottom lip, then slid past it. His hand cradled your jaw, tilting your face just the way he liked it, deepening the kiss as your mouth opened willingly for him.

Behind you, Jay didn't stop moving. His hips kept a slow, steady rhythm as he fucked into your ass, stretching you open all over again. You didn't expect the sudden shift not when he slipped free and thrust himself into your soaked pussy without warning. Your whole body jolted at the change, a moan catching in your throat, only to be swallowed by Jake's mouth.

Jay didn't stay there. He pulled out, slick with your arousal, and pushed back into your ass. You cried out into Jake's mouth, fingers digging into his shoulders as Jay started alternating between your holes, back and forth.

His groans grew louder with each pass, his cock coated with your slickness making the transitions smooth. Every thrust into your ass felt deeper now,  and once he was satisfied with the slickness, he stayed there—burying himself fully and starting to fuck you.

Your moans were helplessly muffled against Jake's lips. You clung to him as your body rocked from the force of Jay's pace, the bed creaking under the rhythm of their bodies working in sync.

Then Jay moved. His arms wrapped around your torso, lifting you effortlessly off Jake, carrying you as though you weighed nothing.

Jake fell back onto the bed, cock still hard and slick between his thighs, stroking himself as he watched Jay position you above him. Your body trembled in Jay's grip, your breath coming in fast, erratic gasps, eyes glassy and unfocused.

"Still with us?" Jake asked. His gaze locked onto your flushed face as he slowly fisted his cock, watching your lips part in a silent moan.

You tried to nod but squealed instead as Jay shifted behind you—straightening your spine, pulling you tight to his chest. And then Jake pressed the tip of his cock into your entrance, pushing into your dripping pussy.

Your hands were caught behind your back in Jay's grip, leaving you fully exposed, you gasped as Jake bottomed out inside you.

"God, so tight," Jake groaned as his hands slid up your belly, caressing the trembling muscles beneath your skin.

Jay held you steady, arms firm around your waist, as Jake began moving—rocking into you, using your slick heat to guide each stroke. Your hips rolled with his rhythm, your moans turning to desperate little gasps as you felt yourself being tugged and used like a doll between them.

Jay hissed behind you, resting his forehead against your shoulder. "Missed this," he growled, though he stopped his hips, letting Jake take over the motion for now, letting himself feel you clench around both of them with every bounce of your body.

Your head lolled back onto Jay's shoulder, mouth open in a silent scream as Jake's cock drove up into you from below, and Jay's cock filled your ass to the hilt.

And then Jay started again. He let go of your bound hands only to slide his arms around your chest, cupping your breasts, holding you in place as he started thrusting again. Faster and rougher.

Your mind spun. Your body thrashed. The friction, the pressure, your pussy squeezing Jake while your ass clung to Jay, was too much.

The bubbling heat in your stomach snapped. You came hard, your whole body seizing as the orgasm ripped through you, crying out shamelessly between them. Your walls clamped down, legs twitching.

"Shhh, Sunoo's sleeping." Jake moaned as he held your hips, anchoring you as he fucked up into you faster. Jay grunted, his arms tightening as his pace grew erratic, cock pulsing inside you as he pounded into your ass.

Behind you, Jay's control was unraveling. His rhythm stuttered, breath ragged in your ear. His arms tightened around you, holding you in place as his cock throbbed. "C-Close," he ground out before pushing you forward into Jake's chest, hands flattening against your back to hold you still as he drove in harder.

The pressure built again, your vision blurring at the edges. You could barely distinguish the sounds around you anymore—Jake's sharp gasps near your ear, the slap of skin, the wet drag of their cocks inside you, your own breathless moans.

And then Jay came. You felt the twitch, the sudden warmth deep inside as he groaned, head dropping to your shoulder. His teeth grazed your skin as he rode out his release, fingers digging into your sides.

Jay pulled out, only for Jake to shift suddenly beneath you. He flipped your body over, and before you could even register the new position, he was pushing into your ass.

You cried out, your voice raw from earlier but still rising to meet the intensity. Your senses were waterlogged, every drag of skin, every shift of their bodies, blurred into one endless stream of stimulation.

You writhed, helpless beneath Jake, your ass clenched tight around him as he buried himself deep, grinding his hips, gritting his teeth at the feel of you.

And then, in the haze of it all, you saw Jay again—on his knees, eyes glazed over as he wrapped his lips around Jake's cock the moment it slipped free, tongue tracing the length, savoring the taste of you and him mixed together.

Your mouth fell open, but no words came. They moved you again, bodies switching places.

Jay lifted your legs over his shoulders while Jake held your wrists above your head, mouths exploring. Jay's teeth found your shoulder, your neck, your ribs—sharp nips that left heat in their wake. Jake's hands were everywhere—palming your breasts, your hips, one hand buried in your hair, tugging just enough to make your breath hitch.

Your throat was raw from screaming, your voice reduced to ragged whimpers. Your body is so overstimulated, so far past the edge—moved only because they moved you.

They shifted you again.

Your body was gently rolled onto its side, limbs trembling, eyes fluttering as they adjusted your position.  Jay pressed against your back, he curled one arm beneath your body. In front of you, Jake wrapped your leg over his shoulder, one hand cupping the back of your knee, the other guiding his cock back into your swollen cunt.

Jay pushed into your ass again at the same moment Jake slid inside you.

You made a broken sound, your fingers curled uselessly into the sheets as they moved in sync—slow at first, as though they both knew you were at your limit, then gradually picking up pace, chasing their own pleasure while coaxing the last shreds of sensation from your spent body.

"Almost there, baby... just stay with us..."

"So good for us. Always take us so well..."

Their hands didn't stop. They kept touching, even when you could no longer respond—Jake's fingers tracing lazy lines down your thigh, Jay's palm sliding up to cradle your breast, thumbing your nipple with the barest pressure, just enough to make your hips twitch.

You didn't know how long they kept going—minutes or hours?

When they came for the fourth time,  their moans were strained, filled with relief and release. Jay's hips stuttered as he emptied himself inside you once more, while Jake buried himself, his breath hitching as his cum spilled into your cunt.

They stayed still afterward, breathing heavy, their bodies wrapped around you. You whimpered softly, every part of you drenched in sweat and cum, your holes leaking, your thighs trembling.

Jake was the first to move. He brushed damp hair away from your face and kissed you. "Happy anniversary, baby," he whispered against your mouth, "I love you."

Jay nuzzled into your neck from behind, his hand still splayed over your stomach. "I love you," he whisper to your ear.

A soft smile lingered on your lips as sleep began to pull you under, your body finally giving in to exhaustion. Jay noticed the way your breathing slowed, the way your hand slackened in his. Panic flickered across his face for a second, concerned he might've pushed you too far, been too much.

But then he heard your first soft snore.

He let out a quiet sigh of relief, brushing a few strands of hair from your face before pulling the blanket gently over your body. His lips pressed to your shoulder in a tender kiss, before kissing also Jake whispering "I love you," before he allowed himself to relax.

You became the unintentional reason why the long-planned island hopping trip was canceled the next day.

You'd barely moved from the bed.

At some point, Sunoo had burst into the room, sunglasses still on despite being indoors, holding a half-eaten banana and a very dramatic frown.

"You've got to be kidding me," he said, hands on his hips. "One night, one night of freedom, and the three of you manage to destroy my entire itinerary."

You groaned from under the sheets, your face buried in a pillow.  Everything hurt.

Jay offered an apologetic look from the other side of the room, while Jake just laughed into his juice box.

"She's not going anywhere today," Jake said cheerfully, lounging at the foot of the bed. "She couldn't even walk straight coming out of the bathroom."

"Stop talking," you mumbled into the pillow, smacking Jake's thigh without lifting your head.

Sunoo threw his arms up. "I planned a whole route! A cute lunch spot! Coordinated swimwear! And now my best friend is basically bedridden and you two—" he pointed accusingly at Jay and Jake, "—have the audacity to sit there like you're innocent!"

Jake ended up tagging along with Sunoo that afternoon, following him through local shops as he hunted for souvenirs and spent half the time helping him find the perfect lighting for his Instagram shots. You'd seen the selfies later, Sunoo in oversized sunglasses, Jake photobombing with goofy peace signs, and couldn't help but smile.

When you returned from the vacation, back to reality, back to the hum of city life, you decided to take a breath and visit your hometown. Your family.

The first night home, you found yourself seated at the dinner table, the scent of home-cooked food familiar but somehow distant. Your mother passed you the rice bowl before sitting back in her seat with a sigh.

"We're sorry we couldn't come to your graduation," she said, not looking directly at you. "Your sister had her moving-up ceremony too, and I couldn't leave your brother alone."

You just smiled.

"So... what's next for you?"

You shifted in your seat, pushing the rice around your plate with your spoon. "I'm reviewing for the psychometrician licensure exam," you said calmly. "If I pass, I want to work in hospitals—maybe start looking into master's programs too."

"That's good," she replied, then went quiet.

The conversation ended there, just like that. The sound of utensils against plates took over the room. You weren't sure if they didn't know what to say... or if they simply didn't care enough to ask more.

Your parents had always been like this, distant and distracted. Your older brother had been a handful since childhood, always in trouble, always needing someone to clean up after him. The second eldest was the star: awards, medals, top of the class. Then your little sister came along, the one your mom adored, who got praised for even the smallest thing. And you... you were somewhere in the middle.

Never a problem. Never the pride. Just quietly capable. They assumed you could handle things. And you did. But being the one who always "figured it out" left you invisible more often than not.

You looked up from your plate, watching your mother refill your father's glass. He hadn't said much beyond a grunt of acknowledgment when you walked in earlier. You thought about what it would take to pierce the silence.

"I have boyfriends," you wanted to say.

Jake, who lights up every room and kisses your face. Jay whose love is in every thoughtful gesture, every look. You wanted to say it. You wanted to say they make you feel seen in a way your own family never did.

Your father might freak out. Or not. He might just wave it off the way he always did, tucked into his chair and his silence. Your mother might purse her lips, ask questions with careful tones and measured words.

You didn't expect celebration. So why was it so hard to say?

Your hands stilled on the table, spoon resting against your plate. The words sat on your tongue, but somehow they wouldn't come out.

Moving back in with Jay and Jake should've felt like comfort after being away too long. And in some ways, it did.

But the train of thought that had started back home refused to leave.

You couldn't shake it. Not even after unpacking. Not even after lying on the couch with the TV on and your phone buzzing somewhere out of reach. You stared at the screen blankly, not really watching, your mind circling around the same thought like it had nowhere else to go.

You'd missed your chance.

That window—that perfect, ordinary moment at dinner—you let it pass. And now it would be a long time before you saw them again. Maybe longer than you'd like to admit.

You'd wanted to share your life. The love you had. The people who saw you fully. But instead, you played your part again, the reliable one, the good daughter, the girl who doesn't ask for much.

You didn't hear the door open or close. Only the soft thud of a backpack hitting the floor pulled you from your thoughts.

"Hey."

Jake's voice snapped you gently out of your spiral, and you blinked to find him standing there in a rumpled hoodie and jeans, casual as ever, a tired smile on his face. He dropped his bag by the table and made his way to you.

You stood automatically, meeting him halfway to press a quick kiss to his lips before sinking back into the couch.

"Where's Jay?" he asked, dropping down beside you with a long, theatrical sigh. He leaned over without hesitation, wrapping an arm around your waist before settling his head in your lap.

"Helping his dad with something for the business," you murmured, threading your fingers through his hair.

Jake huffed, and you chuckled softly.

"Tired?" you asked, even though the answer was already clear.

He nodded into your thigh, lips pouty. "I want you two to cuddle me. Physics is actually killing me."

You smiled and leaned down to press a kiss to his forehead. He hummed contentedly, his hand lightly rubbing circles into your hip as the quiet returned between you. But then, softly, Jake asked. "Are you okay?"

You blinked, and looked down at him. His eyes were still closed, lashes brushing his cheeks.

You didn't know what to say. You looked away from him, eyes drifting back to the glowing TV screen you hadn't been watching at all.

"I..." you started quietly. Jake opened his eyes, turning his face slightly against your lap to really look at you now.

You drew in a shaky breath. "I just realized... it's really hard for me to share my life with others. Even with people I love. Even with you two."

Jake didn't rush you, just let his hand smooth down along your waist in slow strokes, thumb tracing small circles like he was quietly urging you to go on.

"I know you and Jay... you'd introduce me to your families tomorrow if I asked. Like it's nothing. Like it's natural," you said. "But I couldn't stop thinking about it when I went home. I sat there at dinner, thinking about how I wanted to tell them. Tell them about you. About Jay. About us. And I didn't." You laughed softly.

Jake's hand stilled for a moment on your waist, then continued its gentle motion.

"I guess," you swallowed, "I started thinking that maybe... maybe I'm the one who doesn't belong here. That I shouldn't be in this. That, you know, three's a crowd."

Jake shifted, just a little, enough to slide his other arm around your hips so he could hold you properly now, his head still in your lap but his gaze completely focused on you. He took a long breath, then shifted again—just enough to sit up, turning his body to face you properly. One hand reached for yours, the other cupped your cheek.

"Baby," he murmured, "you're not taking up space. Okay? You belong here."

You looked at him, your throat tight, vision already beginning to blur at the edges. His eyes didn't waver, and before you could blink away the sting behind your lashes, he leaned in and pressed a gentle kiss to your forehead.

"We love you," he continued softly, "because of who you are. Not because of what you do, or how easy it is to explain you to other people. You don't owe anyone your story until you're ready to share it."

A single tear slipped down your cheek. Jake caught it with his thumb, brushing it away without a word.

"And I don't care how long it takes," he whispered. "You've already shared yourself with us. That's more than enough."

You let out a shaky breath, one hand still clinging to his. "I know this relationship isn't... normal," you said after a moment, your eyes dropping to your lap. "Not the way people expect love to look. I watch other couples making plans—talking about weddings, houses, kids. And I wonder if we'll ever get to have that, or if people like us... always have to fight just to be happy."

Jake didn't interrupt. He just listened, his thumb now gently stroking the back of your hand.

You kept going, because once it started, it felt impossible to stop. "I think about the future, and how there's this path laid out—what everyone thinks is the right way. And I wonder if we even can fit into it. Or if one day... you'll both get tired of trying. Because we'll always be the ones people don't understand." Your voice cracked slightly at the end.

Jake leaned forward, his brow pressing gently against yours. "You're right," he said. "This isn't the kind of relationship most people are used to. It's different. But that doesn't make it less real. It doesn't make it less ours."

He pulled back just enough to look at you. "We want all of that too," he said. "The commitment. The life. The forever kind of thing. We just get to write the rules together. And yeah, it's scary sometimes. But it's also kind of beautiful, don't you think?"

You nodded slowly, a tear sliding silently down your cheek. Jake caught that one too.

"We've been together for a year, baby," he said quietly. "We don't have to follow anyone else's path. We get to make our own. Just us."

You nodded again, letting your head rest against his shoulder. Jake leaned his head against yours too.

"Jay's planning to start his master's soon. You are too," he said softly. "Once I graduate, I'm gonna become an engineer. Then we'll buy a big house."

You let out a breath of a laugh, the smallest smile tugging at your lips. "Oh, yeah?"

He grinned, proud of himself. "Huge backyard. Real quiet neighborhood. Sunoo will live next door, but we won't tell him that's not a coincidence."

You chuckled, and Jake grinned wider, encouraged.

"We'll get dogs—three, no, five. You can name them. And then..." He paused dramatically. "How many kids do you want? Seven? I can give you that."

You pulled back just enough to look at him, eyebrows raised. "Seven? Are you out of your mind?"

He shrugged, mock serious. "I'm just saying. I have range."

You laughed properly then, the sound shaking loose the last of the heaviness in your chest. Jake's smile softened, eyes crinkling at the corners as he watched you.

"I don't care how many," you said eventually. "As long as it's with you. With Jay."

He leaned forward, pressing a kiss to your forehead, then one to your cheek. Jake wrapped his arms tighter around you.

You rested there for a while, wrapped up in each other. The future still felt uncertain, but it didn't feel so scary anymore. Not when you knew love could be quiet and messy and not look like anyone else's—and still be yours.

You and Jay passed the licensure exam. Together.

Sunoo had passed too, his proud shriek over the group call still echoed in your memory. Sunghoon aced the nursing boards, and Wonyoung, unsurprisingly, had done the same. There'd been celebratory dinners, messy group selfies, and a lot of ugly crying—Sunoo's, mostly.

Jake, meanwhile, was still deep in the trenches of college life. Balancing lectures, labs, and papers while hopping between part-time jobs, and on top of that, helping with his family's business whenever he could. It was exhausting just watching him move but somehow, he made it work, flashing his usual grin with "I'm just built different."

Jay, of course, had offers left and right. Hospitals, clinics, even research institutions. The kind of attention you weren't surprised by. You, on the other hand, didn't have a waiting line of clinics calling your name. And that was okay. You never expected to be him. You started where you could—sending out resumes, attending interviews, building your confidence one step at a time.

Still, it stung a little when you didn't get placed with him. Again.

You kicked the gravel beneath your feet, hugging yourself closer to Jay as the two of you walked side by side outside the exam center where you'd just finalized your paperwork.

"We're on different clinics. Again," you muttered, leaning into him dramatically.

Jay chuckled, wrapping an arm around your shoulder and pulling you in. "It's not the end of the world."

"It's the end of our synchronized lunch breaks," you huffed, resting your head against his chest.

"You just want to steal my snacks."

"You have better snacks," you mumbled. "And hotter coworkers. It's not fair."

He laughed quietly, pressing a kiss to the top of your head. "You're the only one I flirt with at work, you know that."

You looked up at him. "Oh, so you do flirt at work?"

Jay smiled. That crooked, boyish smile he only gave when he knew he was pushing your buttons on purpose.

You rolled your eyes, but your grin betrayed you. The wind tugged at your hair, but Jay's hand reached up to tuck a strand behind your ear.

"I know it sucks," he said quietly. "Starting from different places. But it doesn't mean we're going in different directions."

You looked at him, heart softening.

"I want you to take your time," he continued. "Find a clinic that feels right for you. Not just the one that happens to be next to mine."

You bit the inside of your cheek. "I guess I just... wanted to keep walking this part with you. Like we did before."

"You still are," he said, his thumb brushing over your knuckles. "Just on your own lane. Doesn't mean you're not right beside me."

You leaned into his touch, warmth settling in your chest.

"And hey," he added with a gentle nudge. "At least now we'll have stories to share over dinner."

"Only if you bring the snacks."

"I'll bring you the whole damn pantry."

EPILOGUE

You learn a lot as you grow older.

Not just the kind of learning that comes from books or exams or degrees but the quiet kind. The kind that sneaks up on you in the middle of doing laundry, or while you're watching someone you love stir sugar into your tea exactly the way you like it.

As someone who graduated in the field of Psychology, you'd always known the theories—Maslow, Erikson, Skinner, all the frameworks for understanding behavior, emotion, trauma. But living it? That was a different education.

And love, in its realest form, had taught you as much as any textbook ever could.

Jay taught you patience not the kind that's passive, but the kind that waits with intention. He showed you how to pause, breathe, and choose your words instead of reacting. How to say "I'm sorry" without defensiveness. How to sit in silence when you needed to, and how that silence could say, I'm here. You don't have to rush.

Jake taught you joy. Not just happiness, but real joy, the kind that dances around a room with no music and makes jokes even when things are hard. He reminded you that you didn't have to be polished or perfect to be worthy of love. That vulnerability wasn't a flaw. That laughter could be healing in a way few things could.

And you... you learned that your role wasn't to be the center or the glue, but the space between—the breath before the storm, the bridge between Jay's quiet logic and Jake's loud, chaotic warmth. A stabilizer. A mirror. Over time, you stopped wondering where you belonged because you realized you weren't just part of it.

You were what made it whole.

The three of you sat on the floor that evening, legs tangled in blankets, surrounded by the half-unpacked mess of your shared apartment. A movie was playing quietly in the background.

"Do you remember when Jay used to get all sour around you?" Jake laughed suddenly, tossing a marshmallow in the air and catching it in his mouth.

From the kitchen, Jay's voice rang out. "Stop bringing that up!"

Jake only laughed harder.

You grinned, poking a marshmallow onto a stick before lowering it into the tiny tabletop burner you were using like a makeshift campfire.

"And what about our first big fight?" Jake continued, more softly this time. "When Jay and I got into it, and you tried to step in, and we just... turned it on you. God, we were assholes."

You nodded, laughing a little under your breath at the memory. It wasn't a good fight—messy words, hurt feelings, doors closed a little too hard. But it taught you something.

Jake leaned closer, wrapping his arm around your shoulder and resting his chin on top of your head. "You didn't get mad at us," he said. "Even after all that. We said stuff that wasn't fair. But you never yelled. Why?"

You looked at him, brows raised in mock offense. "You think I didn't want to throw both of you into the hallway?"

He grinned, but waited for the real answer. You sighed softly, looking down at the marshmallow as it turned golden in the firelight.

"I had a part in it," you said. "I confronted you both at the wrong time. Too soon. When emotions were still too high."

You glanced over at Jay, who had now joined you on the floor.

"We learned this in school, remember?" you said, the corners of your mouth lifting. "It's in our nature, when we're overstimulated, emotionally hijacked—our brains go into fight or flight. Logic takes a back seat. We say things we don't mean because we're trying to protect something inside ourselves."

Jay reached out and brushed his thumb over your hand.

"And I realized," you continued, "it's not about avoiding conflict. It's about knowing when to approach it. Timing matters. So does tone. So does intention."

Jake hummed in agreement, then shot a look at Jay, eyes gleaming with mischief. "Even though Jay's taking his master's, sometimes he forgets he's not a robot."

Jay looked up from where he was refolding a blanket, unimpressed. "Excuse me?"

Jake grinned. "You isolate your feelings like you're submitting them for peer review."

You laughed, tugging both of them closer until their shoulders bumped yours on either side. The warmth of being between them never got old.

"It's true, though," you added, resting your chin briefly on Jay's shoulder. "When Jay bottles things up, it builds. So when he does get upset, it's like—boom."

Jay rolled his eyes, but the smile tugging at the corner of his mouth gave him away.

You slipped your arm around his waist, squeezing gently. "But he's working on it. Right, baby? Remember our promise?"

Jay didn't say anything at first, but the glance he gave you was soft. Then he sighed dramatically, leaning into your side with mock defeat.

"I remember," he muttered. "Self-awareness and emotional regulation.

Jake gave him a proud pat on the back.

Love isn't perfect. People aren't either. But love doesn't require perfection. Only presence and growth. The choice to stay and try again, even when things get hard.

It was Jake's graduation day.

You were in the shower when he opened the door without warning—completely naked, grinning.

"I'm going to wash your back," he said, stepping in, water misting his skin. "And you can wash mine too." He wrapped his arms around you from behind, pressing a soft kiss to your shoulder.

Before long, your bodies were tangled together, steam rising as he thrust into you, your legs wrapped tightly around his waist. The sound of your moans echoed against the bathroom, mixing with the splash of water and heavy breathing.

A knock at the door snapped the spell.

"Jake! You're gonna be late to your own damn graduation!" Jay's voice came through.

Jake sighed, forehead resting against yours. "I'll be quick."

Later, as you stood in front of the mirror doing the final touches on your makeup, Jay appeared behind you. His hands found your hips, and he leaned down, brushing his lips against your neck.

"You're glowing," he murmured.

You turned to face him, teasing, "You're just horny."

He smirked, guiding your mouth to his. The kiss deepened fast, he lifted you onto the counter and soon enough, you were breathless all over again.

By the time you arrived at the ceremony, your legs still trembled faintly under your dress. Jake found you in the crowd and grabbed your hand.

"Hey," he said, eyes hopeful. "Is it okay... if I introduce you to Mom? As my girlfriend?"

Your heart skipped. It had been three years of your relationship, you'd spoken to his parents plenty of times at their family shop, but never like this.

"S-sure," you said, then quickly added, "Unless you're not ready—"

"I'm ready if you are," Jake said softly.

You smiled, interlacing your fingers with his. "Tell them I'm yours."

As you walked toward his family, your chest tightened. Jay stood beside you, his palm smoothing over your lower back in a calming, familiar gesture.

"Congratulations, my boy!" Jake's mother exclaimed, kissing his cheek. She greeted both you and Jay with cheek-to-cheek kisses.

"Engineer Sim Jaeyun. Sounds official," Jake's brother said, fist-bumping him.

Conversation buzzed around, full of laughter and pride. Jake pulled you closer, one hand resting on your waist.

"Mom," he said clearly. "This is my girlfriend."

The group went quiet. Your mind rushed with a thousand thoughts. They'll judge you. They'll think you're a slut. They'll ask why both sons are wrapped around one girl.

Jake's mother looked down, eyes catching both Jake's and Jay's hands on you. "We know," she said gently. "Even Jay's father knows."

Both boys froze.

Her gaze turned to you. "Thank you for taking good care of my sons," she said, reaching up to tuck a damp strand of hair behind your ear.

Emotion caught in your throat. Your eyes stung. "I-I..." you tried to laugh. "They're the ones taking care of me, ma'am."

"You silly girl," she laughed, pulling you into a light embrace. "I know the stress of managing two men back and forth."

Her voice was teasing, but kind. And in that moment, the tightness in your chest, the quiet anxiety that had been sitting there all day finally softened.

You let yourself lean into the hug, if only for a second, and thought about your own family.

Would they react like this? With ease, with lightness? With kindness, even if they didn't understand?

You didn't know. Because you hadn't tried.

And maybe you weren't ready yet. Not today. Maybe not for a while.

But that was okay. Some truths take time. Some stories need space. And when you're ready, you'll tell it in your own way, on your own terms.

Until then, love doesn't stop growing just because it's quiet.

Jake’s family had invited the three of you to a formal dinner. You sat between Jake and Jay at the long table, surrounded by his parents, a few cousins, and an uncle who occasionally asked the waiter for another bottle of wine.

It wasn’t long before the discussion shifted to futures—careers, plans, and everything in between.

Jay was answering questions about his master’s program, explaining something about clinical data and research work. Jake jumped in right after, talking about his final year, his capstone project, and his tentative plans to help expand his family’s business once he had more experience under his belt.

“And then,” Jake added, grinning, “we’re thinking about buying a house, one with a good view, and I want a big yard.”

“A home for the three of you?” his cousin asked, a little curious. Jake just smiled. “Eventually.”

There was laughter, clinking glasses, someone said something about property taxes, and the conversation flowed easily.

Then Jake’s mother turned her gaze toward you with a warm smile. “And what about you, dear? You’re not taking your master’s yet?”

You smiled politely, meeting her eyes for a second before looking back down at your plate. You cut into your steak,  giving yourself a breath before answering.  “Maybe soon, ma’am,” you said gently. “But I’ve changed plans.”

“Oh?” she asked, curious but kind.

You nodded, glancing toward Jay and Jake, then back to her. “I want to teach.”

“I thought a lot about continuing on the clinical side,” you explained, “but lately, I’ve been drawn to education. To helping students find their footing the way I was helped. I think... there’s something powerful about shaping understanding, especially in psychology."

Jake’s mother’s expression softened, her hand folding neatly over her napkin.

“Well,” she said, “that sounds like exactly the kind of voice students need.”

You felt Jay’s fingers brush lightly against yours under the table. Jake, already proud, leaned back in his chair with a smug little grin, like your answer had personally earned him points.

“And who knows,” you added, a bit more lightheartedly now, “maybe I’ll take my master’s once I’ve had a classroom full of teenagers to humble me.”

There was soft laughter around the table, and the conversation moved on—back to housing prices, travel plans, the dessert menu. 

“I want to order something sweet,” Jake whispered, leaning over to you. You were still staring at the dessert menu, half-reading, half-dreaming. Jay leaned in on your other side, his curiosity piqued as he peered over your shoulder.

“There’s no corn there,” Jake teased, bumping Jay’s arm.

You giggled. Jay, unamused but barely hiding his smirk, reached over to pinch Jake’s shoulder.

You pointed at the menu: Strawberry cake.

Jake sighed with awe. “You’re such a softie.”

“You’ll thank me later,” you replied.

And he would. He always did.

The night ended softly.

The three of you returned to the apartment in quiet contentment, no one talked much. You changed out of your formal clothes, brushing your teeth half-asleep, moving in sync the way people who know each other too well do.

And when you finally collapsed into bed. You just lay there, all of you staring up at the star stickers you’d stubbornly stuck to the ceiling months ago. Most had stayed. A few had fallen. The glow had faded, but not completely. It was faint, but still there.

“I love the both of you,” you said, voice soft. 

Jay shifted first, curling closer, his arm wrapping gently around your waist. Jake, as usual, flopped without ceremony, resting his head on your chest and letting out a content sigh.

There was a long pause.

“…Did the dessert have something in it?” Jake asked suddenly.

You snorted and tugged lightly at his hair in warning. He laughed, Jay did too, muffled against your side.

They say love is supposed to follow a pattern. Meet someone, fall, build a life. A straight line—clear and recognizable. Love that fits neatly inside boxes, easy to explain, easier to accept.

But your story was never built that way.

They say love like this shouldn’t last. That it’s too unconventional, too complicated, too much to hold. But you’ve learned that the best things in life rarely follow a script. 

"We don't have to follow anyone else's path."

It stuck with you. And he was right. This love—yours, Jay’s, and Jake’s—it was never meant to fit into the lines drawn by someone else.

Love, you’ve learned, is not about being easy. It’s about being worth it.

And this—this messy, gentle, beautifully unexpected life you’ve built—is more than just worth it.

Unwritten. Unconventional. Undeniably full.

And maybe, just maybe… too sweet.

end.

— AUTHOR's NOTE:

Here’s a quick but important sex ed reminder:

This is fiction. That means some of the things the characters do aren’t meant to be copied in real life. One important example: going from anal sex to vaginal sex without cleaning in between is not safe.

Why? Because the anus and the vagina have totally different bacteria. The rectum naturally contains bacteria like E. coli, which, while usually harmless in the gut, can cause infections if they get into the vagina. This can lead to issues like bacterial vaginosis, urinary tract infections (UTIs), or even more serious complications.

So in real life, always clean up before switching between anal and vaginal sex — either by using a new condom or thoroughly washing first. Always, always practice safe sex.

[oldermenfucker]

Love your work!!! Fic or headcannon request where Jack's wife/girlfriend has insomnia and just shows up with a plate of cookies or a fully cooked meal in the middle of his shift at least once a week

Aaaa thank you so much lovey!!!! I’m so glad you like my work🥹🥹🥹 THANK YOU for sending this really cute request!!!! Lets goooooo I hope you like this💕✨

It is another sleepless night; you go to bed a few hours after Jack left for his shift at The Pitt but then wake up around two in the morning.

You try to go back to sleep, you really do, but just like always, it is as if there is no trace of drowsiness in you while you are exhausted.

You toss and turn in the bed, burying your face into Jack’s pillow in hopes of his scent calming your racing mind and lull you into a dreamless sleep.

Wrong. It doesn’t work.

You drape his blanket on yourself, pulling it up to your chin as you cuddle his pillow, humming in delight as the warmth of it seeps into your body and eyes.

Wrong. Again. You don’t fall asleep, and the ticking of the clock is not helping either. So with a very tired groan, you kick the blanket off and sit up on the bed.

This isn’t something new to you. You experience this a few times a week when you don’t take the pills, but tonight? You did take them and they still didn’t work.

Your mind wanders to Jack; your poor boyfriend having to work with barely sleeping five hours, you just know he must be hungry and tired.

You halt in your step when you stand up to go the bathroom, head striking by a pretty great idea.

After your quick trip to the bathroom, you bolt to the kitchen, shuffling through the cupboards to find the ingredients for Jack’s favorite cookie.

You don’t know when you start and when you finish, all you can remember is that you are walking to your car at four in the morning with three bags filled with stored cookies and sticky notes on each lid.

The car ride is uneventful; the roads are clear and streets are quiet, and you get to your destination in ten minutes.

As soon as you step inside the triage, a nurse you have met before spots you and waves at you, rushing to help you with the bags.

You duck your head as she helps you through the doors, trying to stay invisible when a man shouts ‘Why is this woman going there—‘

“Look who’s here!” Parker grins, nudging Shen with her elbow before she meets you halfway, pulling you into a quick hug, “What are you doing here? Are you hurt? Y’know Jack’s gonna flip out if he—“

“I’m totally fine, I just… couldn’t sleep and decided to be useful!” You bring one of the bags you are holding up, “Cookies for all! Chocolate chip with a sprinkle of sea salt.”

“If he doesn’t marry you immediately, I will—“

“Finish that sentence and you’ll find a tube down your throat.”

There he is, your protective secretly jealous old man. You smile at him when turns his head to look at you, making his way towards you to cradle your head to his chest.

“Honey, what the fuck are you doing here?” Jack cups your face in his hands, his brows furrowed as he searches your face for any sign of bruises or swelling.

“Jack, I’m fine! I swear!” You smile, resting your hands on his, “Couldn’t sleep so I brought your favorite cookie!”

“At four A.M.? Seriously?” And it finally dawns on him that the medicine didn’t work tonight, “I need to make you a very strict sleep schedule. Can’t have you running around the city with bags of cookies for anyone but me.”

“Don’t worry, I brought something super special just for you, baby,” you lean up to kiss his cheek, reaching for the bag on the Nurse’s station, shuffling through the plates before you pull his out, “Brownies for the most handsome doctor of The Pitt.”

“Sugar coating it won’t make me go easy on you,” he glares at you playfully, but reaches and opens the lid, taking a bite from the brownie before moaning and shaking his head, “You know what? It probably will make me go easy on you— these are fucking delicious.”

“Glad you like it,” you beam at him and he just can’t resist it— he leans down, pressing his chocolate-covered lips to yours, totally forgetting the entire floor is watching the two of you.

“Didn’t peg you for a PDA type of guy, handsome,” you tease him, wiping his mouth with a napkin you pull out from your bag, “Easy, this has to keep you fed until you come back home.”

“Fine, but—“ he points his finger at you, his face twisting in worry before he shakes his head, “Call me when you can’t sleep. Don’t come running into the ER, okay?”

You do exactly what he told you not to do.

Next time, you can’t even get a blink of sleep. So what better way to spend another four hours up to make full trays of Fettuccine Alfredo for your favorite night owls?

“Where do you think you are going?”

This time, Jack spots you instantly in the ER before you can sneak out, making you groan and turn around, only to be met with your very scowling boyfriend who has his hands on his hips, ready to scold you.

“Home?” You reply sheepishly, biting your lip when he sighs and pinches the bridge of his nose.

“It’s one in the fucking morning,” he says, his tone laced with worry and affection as he crosses the floor to reach you, his hand flying to your lips to pull you closer, “I told you what to do, what pills to take, but I bet you forgot.”

“I brought Pasta?” You try to dodge the question, and you sigh in relief when Jack just rolls his eyes affectionately before he kisses your forehead and leads you to the Central, already finding Shen and Ellis elbow deep inside one of the plates.

“Maybe we should hire her because goddamn-“As soon as Ellis wants to bring a fork to her mouth a trauma barges inside the floor, making her groan and glare at Shen who shrugs and doesn’t stand up from his seat, “Fuck you, man.”

“I’m your attending, now go save that poor guy while I finish my dinner.”

“Stop eating and go supervise the case,” Jack snatches Shen’s fork from his hand and pulls him up, “Go.”

You watch as the young doctor follows Ellis into the room with a loud whine, and Jack takes this chance to help you on the chair, handing you a clean fork before he sits down next to you as well.

“This tastes like heaven,” he whispers, swallowing a mouthful of the pasta while you watch him. He frowns when he notices you not eating anything, twisting his fork as he gathers a large bite of the fettuccine before he brings it to your lips, “Open up, sweetheart.”

“I’m not hu—mmf,” your eyes go wide when he pushes the fork past your lips, smirking when he watches you finally chew on the meal you have cooked.

“This is the first dinner we’re having together after a few weeks, enjoy it.”

“You’re not gonna scold me for not sleeping?” You pull your chair closer to his, resting your head on his shoulder.

“Nope,” he kisses your head after he wipes his mouth with a napkin, “Listen, if it helps, you can sleep with me in the mornings, like you’re doing night shifts.”

“Yeah, I think I can fall asleep if you’re with me.”

[snottyped]

can you write an imagine where the orc chieftain takes notice of fem!reader after they raided a village and he starts courting her in ways she's not familiar so she's just ignoring him. he got annoyed with being ignored, so one night, he got so drunk and ended up at her place, he saw her, just finished taking a shower, towel wrapped on her body, he started mumbling how annoyed he is and she just stares at him. then in the middle of it, throws up and ended up sleeping at her couch. she let him, but gets uneasy knowing the chieftain is just outside her room. she approaches her in the middle of the night and starts touching his form. he wakes up, grabs her hand and kisses her. then he confesses his feeling and he ended up railing her so hard she wakes up with bruised cervix. plsss help a girl out

you smell like mine

orc x female reader nsfw

They raided your village three weeks ago.

The orcs didn’t kill. Just stormed through, took supplies, territory, control. Your home was spared, your life untouched — but everything was different now. Especially him.

The chieftain.

Eight feet of brute muscle and warpaint, tusks gleaming, eyes like stormclouds—who, for some gods-forsaken reason, had decided you were the one he wanted.

At first, you thought it was a joke. Then came the “gifts”: bones carved into jewelry, dried meats smoked and left on your doorstep, pelts so soft they made your bed feel royal. Every time you stepped outside, you’d catch him watching. Silent. Expectant.

You ignored him. How could you not? He was an orc. A chieftain. You didn’t even understand his idea of courtship.

Apparently, neither did he.

Because tonight, he showed up at your home—drunk off his ass.

You’d just finished showering when the knock came. Wrapped in a towel, still damp, you opened the door to find him swaying in the moonlight, pupils blown, chest heaving.

“Why—” he slurred, towering over you, “do you keep ignoring me?”

You blinked. “…Chief?”

He stepped inside uninvited, muttering in a deep rumble, “I brought you meat. Furs. I didn’t take a single mate this season. Do you know how many offers I refused? And still. Nothing.”

You stared, speechless, clutching your towel tighter.

“I even cut down the human who touched your wrist at the market,” he mumbled, stumbling toward your couch. “Didn’t even bleed right. Disgusting little thing. Smelled like fish.”

He stopped.

Swallowed.

And promptly threw up on your floor.

You gasped, half-horrified, half-frozen. The chieftain, war-hardened, respected, feared—vomiting on your rug like a wounded animal.

“Sorry,” he slurred, before collapsing face-first onto your couch and passing the fuck out.

You just stood there.

Towel. Orc. Vomit.

What the hell.

You cleaned up after him. Cursing. Blushing. Checking that he wasn’t dead. He snored like a wild beast, huge body stretched across your sofa, so big his legs hung off the side.

You should’ve been furious.

But instead?

You couldn’t sleep.

Not with him just outside your room. Not with his scent lingering in your space — warm earth and smoke and wild musk. Not with how small you’d felt next to him when he’d stood in your doorway, drunk and frustrated and aching.

And worse—now you couldn’t stop thinking about him.

So you got up.

Midnight air brushed your skin as you padded out of your room, heart pounding. He was still there, sprawled out, half-covered in a pelt he’d probably brought you himself.

You crept closer.

You didn’t know why you reached out. Maybe to wake him. Maybe to reassure yourself he was real.

But your hand brushed the edge of his chest—warm, scarred muscle—and he stirred.

And then, suddenly, he was awake.

Eyes open.

Hand snapping around your wrist in a grip so firm it stole your breath.

You gasped. “I—I didn’t mean—”

He didn’t growl. Didn’t snarl.

Instead, he kissed your palm.

Rough lips, reverent touch. His eyes burned into yours.

“I can’t take it anymore,” he rasped. “The waiting. The ignoring. You look at me like I’m a beast and never a man.”

You couldn’t answer. Didn’t have the air.

“I dream of you. I starve for you,” he whispered. “Let me show you how orcs love.”

You whispered, “Will you show me, truly?”

“I will.”

That’s all it took.

He lifted you, carried you to your bed like your never mattered. And to him? It didn’t. His mouth devoured yours—hungry and desperate. His hands left fire on your skin, trailing down your sides, tugging your towel loose until you were bare beneath him.

“Tell me to stop,” he breathed, voice hoarse. “Tell me now.”

You pulled him in closer.

He growled like a man unleashed.

What followed wasn’t gentle.

Split you wide open on his cock, made you feel every inch—his hands gripping your hips, his teeth nipping your shoulder, fucking you through the mattress with the force of someone who’d waited too long to have you.

Your legs trembled. Your back arched. Your vision blurred with every thrust. Tear clogggin your vision as his fat fucking cock split you open every time he moved.

He whispered praise between curses—“mine, so soft, perfect, my mate, mine”—and each word made your cunt clench tighter around him until he snapped, knot swelling, hips jerking.

You’d never felt full like this.

Not until he had you pinned beneath him, thick arms caging you in, his hips grinding forward in slow, brutal thrusts that felt like they reached your soul. His cock dragged deep—too deep—stretching you wide, kissing your cervix every time his knot slapped against your dripping folds.

Your nails dug into his back, barely anchoring yourself.

“You take me too well,” he growled into your neck, voice ragged, drunk on your scent. “Like your body was made to be filled by me. Only me.”

He gripped your thighs, pushed your knees higher, spreading you open so he could rut deeper, harder, relentless now—flesh slapping, the bed creaking, headboard knocking the wall like a drumbeat to your moans.

And gods, the sound of it—the squelch of your soaked cunt every time he bottomed out, the primal snarls he let loose when your pussy clenched around him—it had you right there, again, legs shaking uncontrollably.

“I can feel it,” he groaned, sweat dripping onto your chest. “You’re close. Gonna come for me again?”

You nodded, tears in your eyes. “C-Can’t—”

“Yes, you can.” He leaned down, fangs brushing your throat. “Give it to me.”

He slammed into you once, twice—angle perfect, pressure blinding—and then he rolled his hips with a growl, grinding his cock deep against your g-spot.

You shattered.

Your mouth fell open on a silent cry, your back arched—and then you squirted, gushing around him, the sheets drenched instantly, thighs trembling with the force of it. His eyes widened, then darkened, and he growled like a beast unchained.

“My good girl.”

He didn’t stop. Not when you squirmed, not when you gasped from overstimulation. He held you there, fucked you through it—groaning as your release soaked him, as your cunt fluttered wildly around his cock like it never wanted to let go.

Thick and sudden, locking you in place as he groaned your name into your throat and emptied himself inside you, filling you so deep your belly ached.

You collapsed beneath him, boneless. Wrecked. Wet.

He didn’t let go.

“You’re mine now,” he whispered. “And I’m never letting you be dry again.”

When you woke the next morning?

Bruised.

Sore.

Your cervix complaining.

And beside you, his arm slung over your waist, holding you in place like his life depended on it.

Because to him?

You were already claimed.

[gay-dorito-dust]

Can I request something with the Void where reader wakes up in the middle of the night and gets jumpscared when she sees Void standing right beside their bed? He just wants to cuddle with his partner

You felt like you were being watched, like something ominous was having over close by, knowing you had been awake for a while with how unconvincing your act was but was willing to play the long waiting game if it meant you cracking first; biding it’s time as if it had plenty to spare and was in no rush as your room seemed to have gotten even colder, almost frigid.

Something that did indeed end up happening as you opened your eyes only to be met by a pair of pinprick white eyes staring back at you through the darkness of your own room, his silhouette was hard to make out even when you did squint, just barely making out his figure as you were quick to realise what was going on and sigh.

‘Jesus Void, you couldn’t have just woken me up like a normal person…shadowy entity or whatever.’ You said as you tried to calm the racing of your heart as the entity only chuckled deeply at your supposed fright, finding a weird sort of entertainment as though he were a larger predatory playing with his food until he remembered that he was hungry, and the prey wasn’t so entertaining to play with anymore.

‘You were awake, little dove,’ Void began as he reached a hand out to caresses your cheek, making a noise of amusement when you seemingly enjoyed his touch and leant into it, ‘I merely just waited for the opportunity to see you open your eyes.’ He adds before pulling his hand away, forcing you into opening your eyes once more to glare at him halfheartedly, hating how he could easily take his affection away as he could give it to you, making you feel as though you were constantly making deals with a silhouetted devil but you’d rather it be the devil you knew rather then a devil you didn’t.

‘Liar you just wanted to cuddle didn’t you?’ You teased.

Void scoffs, crossing his arms as he looks elsewhere in your room, more specifically the multitude of pictures you had of your fellow teammates doing stupid shit that you didn’t want to not immortalise in picture. ‘Why should a god want such human things, cuddles are far beneath a being like me.’ He stats, trying to come across as intimidating but you weren’t buying it and most would call you insane for entertaining him, but you couldn’t help it as Void was quite frankly easy to tease and get under his skin.

‘Really? No late night cuddles with your partner even if they ask really nicely? How cruel of you.’ You pout as you pulled aside the bedcovers, patting the space next to you, looking at him through your lashes as though you were truly hurt that he would dare turn down the offer to cuddle you, yet you were fighting a smile as you saw his pinprick eyes dart back to you then to the space made available for him. You could see his shoulders slump as he begrudgingly yielded to your whims and burrows himself next to you, allowing you to cover him up before you watched with humour as the all mighty, all powerful shadowy entity made you cuddle up to him with a guiding hand behind your head to rest against his chest as his arms kept you there for the rest of the night.

‘Happy now?’ He asks as though the idea of cuddling you was your idea alone that you’ve forced him into doing, but you felt him tighten his grip on you and how he became comfortable the second he got into your bed, felt how he eagerly reached for you with the intention of hogging you all to himself. You knew he was full of shit and you knew that he knew this too himself as his hands began to rub up and down your back as though it was second nature for him.

‘Very happy.’ You replied softly as you kissed his chest, smiling to yourself as you allowed yourself to finally get back to sleep before you were rudely awoken by your somewhat clingy partner, but you weren’t going to complain especially if it meant being held with such closeness and affection that only seeped out at the deadest of night; indulging yourself in feeling him kiss the top of your head which only had you melting further into him with complete faith that Void will only continue to hold you as though you were some sacred treasure.

‘Whatever my little bird wants they get.’ Void replies as he kisses your head a second time, interlocking his legs with yours as you eagerly cling onto him tightly as though poetically being squished against him wasn’t nearly enough for you, much to his amusement as he’s never known someone so fearless yet so careless in his presence like you before; someone who held him to their chest like a teddy bear during some previous nights. Void didn’t need sleep as much as you did, so he would more then likely keep watch over you as you slept, but he was content and at ease with this ordeal as it meant that he could keep your shadows and your own void at bay while he kept hold of you possessively.

He would keep your nightmares away by becoming a much larger nightmare himself, one where you’d be protected and slept without a line of worry to grace your face, all the while he rubbed your back and utter soft words now and then to encourage a deep sleep within you. Void didn’t mind as long as his beloved got the rest they needed, even going so far as to bring your bed back down to his chest should your body wake you for no reason at all, and hush you back into slumber and continuing with his actions until he couldn’t bare to leave you alone in the land of dreams for any longer; before joining you in a light nap as he still holds you as though you were the last thing keeping him real and tangible.

‘Sleep well my little bird, you deserve it.’

[blchwaaaan]

You know that tomorrow is the day you die. You heard your wife conspiring with her lover that they will kill you and inherit your wealth. You did not marry her for love. You knew that her parents made her marry you, for status, for connections, and both of you were your families' puppets since you were born.

You never resented her. The mansion is so big that you didn't see her for days at a time. You've only met her at the gate sometimes, and when you had to visit your elders. You lied and said that you're trying for a child, just to please her parents and your parents, and your wife sat by your side and held your hand for as long as she was expected to. She had confessed on your wedding night that she couldn't have children even if she tried, and didn't say why. You left her to her own devices. Your marriage bed was left untouched. You didn't care who'd inherit the fortune that you didn't do anything to earn.

Most of your days are uneventful. You've never had to work one day in your life. Your butler manages your estate. Your butler hires people to manage your farm, and your factories, and all you ever do is own things. You pay your butler well. You ask him to pay everyone who works for you well, and you choose to trust him like your father trusted his father. You don't mind if he takes more money for himself without telling you. If he steals anything, he already deserves it.

He's the one who tells you that your wife has taken a lover. He is sorry for you, but you feel happy. You have never seen her smile, but when you approach her side of the mansion, you hear laughter. Her joy echoes in the walls. Her handmaidens giggle to themselves. She wears colorful dresses and puts roses in her hair.

Today your wife is running through the hedge maze with her lover. You hear their laughter and playful cussing and other noises that you know you're not supposed to hear. Your wife doesn't know that you come here to read and that you like when the butler calls your name and fetches you from the middle of the hedge maze then scolds you for making him worry. But today you don't hear the butler's voice. Instead, your wife's lover says, "we'll kill him tomorrow, then we'll have all of this to ourselves."

She agrees with him, but her voice is uncertain. You listen a bit more and it's so easy to tell. How could you have missed it. He coerces her and she just wants to be loved. He has no love to give, only greed.

You wait until they're gone, then make your way back to the mansion. Your butler is surprised that he doesn't have to go out and fetch you. But he is glad and doesn't dwell on it for long. Stacks of paper tower over him and he reads through each one, signs some and puts others into envelopes. His eyes are brown and there are bags underneath them. You know this, because you see him everyday. You tell him to rest for the week. He doesn't need to be here when it happens. And you don't want to risk your wife's lover killing him for fear of witnesses.

The butler is astonished. He tells you no, these papers are important. Everything is important. He scolds you for not knowing anything about your businesses then apologizes for stepping out of line. But he is right. You wish that you could help him. Instead you slip into the kitchen and make little chocolate tarts, because you know they are his favorites, and in your infinite boredom you decided to learn this for him one day, and you did. You eat some of them with him and he feels guilty for scolding you still. But he thanks you and retires for the night.

You go to bed in your soft blankets and silk sheets. You wonder if your wife and her lover will come for you in the morning or in the afternoon, or perhaps in the night. You don't mind. Your fortune, everything you own, none of it matters. It was passed down to you and someone was bound to inherit it at some point. But then you are plagued with worry for your wife. Her lover will kill her next, no doubt.

You regret not watching over her, letting her fall prey to such a man. Perhaps you can bargain with her and make her see the truth. But does it matter? You don't have anything to live for, not even her. Not even...

The butler sleeps a few doors down. You remember his tired eyes. They are so clear to you. You could draw them from memory if you wanted. You could draw his hands smoothing down the edge of an envelope before applying your seal. The little smile that he does when he's divided the shares of the harvest and everyone's got enough for the winter. The frenzy of panic he'd go into whenever a worker was hurt. Today was the last good day for him too. Or maybe your wife will leave her lover and your butler will be safe. Maybe everything will be alright once you're dead. Your butler will no longer have to scold anyone for being late to dinner.

In the night you wish he came to fetch you one last time. You wish you could get him to rest until the bags under his eyes disappear, and that you knew enough to help him with the piles of work he does in your stead. You hope that if your wife's lover comes for him, he'd be smart enough to find an escape. He should be. You know he is. You've never trusted anyone more, after all.

In the morning you look into your coffee. Its color is nothing unusual, nor its taste. You drink it and nothing happens. Your butler is dressed the same as yesterday and the day before. His stack of paper hasn't gotten any smaller. You go to the hedge maze because your wife and her lover don't know that you spend your days there, and it may buy you time. You hear their voices eventually, then your wife's lover says, "we'll kill him tomorrow, then we'll have all of this to ourselves."

She agrees in the same uncertain tone, and you wonder about all of it. Have you hallucinated the entire thing? are you hallucinating now? You run back to the mansion and your butler is happy to see you come back early in the day, then worried when he sees your shaking hands. He tells you to sit down with the cats but you are restless. In the end you sit by his side and read through the letters he's writing, if only to have something to do.

His handwriting is neat and pretty but has quirks that you remember, the Rs look like the Ss sometimes, and you can tell when he's made a conscious effort to make them look different. You make him tarts like the night before and he accepts with a thanks. "Are you hiding something from me," he asks with a grin. He thinks you're apologizing for something. You laugh. You tell him again that he could take the week to rest and he waves you off all the same.

You go to sleep and try not to think about anything. Perhaps this is all a fever dream. Your wife has already poisoned your coffee this morning and you're bedridden and hallucinating. How nice it is that in your fever dream you sat at the butler's side and read his business letters. And that you went up to make him the chocolate tarts that he likes. Perhaps this is it. Or maybe your wife and her lover decided to wait another day, and they're coming for you tomorrow.

The day comes and again, your wife's lover tells her the same words in the hedge maze. Her voice is too low for you to hear. This time you wait till the butler comes to fetch you, and he does, he is exasperated but not angry. He is never angry with you, he is too fond of you to be upset. You have counted his lashes once, just for fun. You look at him and they're all there, every single one, and this couldn't be a dream. You are trapped into something beyond your understanding, repeating the same day. In the real world you must have already died, and this is the afterlife you are trapped into.

In the beginning you counted the days. Every morning you asked your butler what day it was, and he gave the same answer, April 1st. You lose track of your count because what does it matter anymore. Everyday is the same chilly air, the same rain falling at dawn. Everyday you barge into the study and pluck the butler from his precious paperwork, he is reluctant first but he says he'll indulge you today, and only today. You make him run with you in the fields then sit in the sun like cats. Maybe go for a swim, or sneak into the kitchen and make him try out all the new things you've learned to cook because he might like them.

Some days you almost have the courage to tell him how much he means to you. It's difficult to put into words. The world could burn and you wouldn't care as long as he is happy. But it is such that he needs the world. He is happiest when he's making sure your workers are looked after. His contentment comes from his work, so after the day loops around enough times for you to understand this, you let him be. You sit by his side and help him with his stacks of papers. He is astonished but teaches you what you need to learn. Ten loops later he is also astonished, at how much you know, which he doesn't remember teaching you.

The days loop around and maybe now they have meaning. You muse this as you take in the smell of paper and heated wax seals. Your butler took you to meet the managers at your factories and they were so human, so normal in ways you could never fathom, their lives so far away from yours yet so much more real. At the mansion your wife and her lover conspire in their bed and none of it matters, tomorrow repeats again.

You wish he would remember, but he never does. You got to know him so much, you told him secrets you've never told anyone, and every morning he wakes up a new man and you bear the burden alone. You gather your blankets and show up at his room in the night. You tell him you can't sleep, which is true, and he lets you snuggle up to him. You want so much more but you cannot ask. To him you are a benefactor, the one he serves. At most, if he was being generous, a childhood friend. It would be most shameful and unfair to ask him. You imagine how he would look at you, trapped, unable to say no, and unable to love you in return. You cannot subject him to such power imbalance. The days have meaning now indeed. The meaning is the pain you have to endure.

The morning after you do not approach him. He does not find this strange and of course he wouldn't, he remembers nothing while you suffer alone. You go to the hedge maze and decide that even if he calls for you, today you will not answer.

You expect your wife and her lover to have that same conversation where they plot your demise. You think about confronting them, perhaps they will kill you then and there and you would be free. Except that today only her lover's voice rings into the distance, calling out for her, so lovingly. A little after, the sound of running, then there's your wife bleeding from her arm. She is frozen in shock when she sees you, then walks over to you and takes your hand. She leads you to hide into an opening in the tree growth, and her lover passes by, unknowing. When he is gone and she leads you back to the mansion, what she says is enough to knock the air out of your lungs.

Her days have been looping the same as yours, and she is perpetually stuck in April 1st. She had known about your ordeal for sometime, but couldn't reach you. Everyday her lover tries to kill her and she runs from him. Whether he kills her or not, she wakes the next morning in the same day.

So, you and your wife are trapped. You stare at her, helpless, desperate for an answer. She then says, "it's all for the butler. It is him who must die."

You are stuck in a time loop, but you have no intention of ever breaking out of it. After literally millions of resets a new person appears in the loop and asks you why you are still in the loop.

[yena-enha]

𝐇𝐞𝐚𝐫𝐭𝐛𝐞𝐚𝐭 - 𝐏𝐉𝐒

⋆｡˚☽˚｡⋆──────────────────────────────⋆｡˚☽˚｡⋆

Warning - Major character death, pregnancy complications, grief, emotional trauma, hospital scenes, blood, implied postpartum depression

Note - MDNI (MINORS DO NOT INTERACT)/INTERACT AT YOUR OWN RISK/NSFW ANGST Content

Genre - Angst, Tragedy, Family, Emotional

Pairing - Idol!Jay x Pregnant!Wife!Reader

Song Inspiration - “From the Dining Table” by Harry Styles

Word Count - 2,225 words

⋆｡˚☽˚｡⋆──────────────────────────────⋆｡˚☽˚｡⋆

Jay was in love.

With your laugh, with the way you clutched your stomach when your daughter kicked, with your sleepy voice over late-night calls.

But most of all, Jay was in love with the life the two of you had created—a baby girl, slowly growing in your womb, curling up beneath your ribs and stealing more of your heart each day.

He was in love with you. And yet, he was never there.

---

You had learned to smile for him.

Even on days when your vision blurred, when your legs trembled just walking from the bedroom to the kitchen. Even when blood coated your thighs in the middle of the night and you had to lie to the emergency line just to convince them not to call your husband because “he’s busy—he’s an idol.”

You always said the same thing when Jay called:

"I’m okay."

Even when you weren’t.

Even when your hands shook trying to make a meal, your back felt like it would snap under your own weight, and your body screamed for help.

You wanted him to be proud of you.

You didn’t want to be a burden.

You were six months pregnant, and the only thing louder than the baby’s heartbeat was the silence that followed after every call ended.

---

Jay would FaceTime during breaks.

He’d press his face close to the camera, eyes tired, but smile wide and boyish. “Hi, baby. Show me the belly.”

And you’d sit on the floor, biting your lip to hide the pain, and aim the camera down at your bump. It was bigger now. Stretched thin. Heavy.

“She kicked today,” you whispered, your voice weak.

His eyes lit up. “Really? She’s strong like her mom.”

You smiled, nodding. But you didn’t say how the kick had left you breathless and dizzy. How you had to hold onto the wall to keep from falling.

“Jay,” you said softly that night, “I’ve been feeling weird. Like… dizzy. And my legs hurt. I couldn’t stand earlier without losing balance.”

He frowned. “You went to the doctor, right?”

“I didn’t have a ride.”

“I can send a manager or—”

You shook your head. “It’s fine. I’ll go tomorrow.”

“I’ll come home next week. Just a few more days of rehearsals, okay? Hang in there, baby. You’re the strongest woman I know.”

You swallowed the lump in your throat. “Okay.”

But inside, your body was crumbling.

---

It happened on a Sunday. Quiet, gray, forgettable—until it wasn’t.

You woke up with a sharp pain in your stomach, but you had grown used to pain by then. You slid your legs out of bed, palms bracing against the wall. Your vision danced, blurred at the edges.

“I just need water,” you whispered to yourself. “Just the kitchen.”

You made it halfway down the stairs when your legs gave out.

Your body twisted mid-air, your arms desperately reaching for a railing that wasn’t close enough. You landed hard.

Head.

Back.

Stomach.

A scream ripped from your throat—but no one was home to hear it.

Your hands instantly flew to your belly. Blood. There was so much blood.

“Please,” you whispered to the emptiness, “please don’t take her from me.”

---

Jay’s phone rang seven times before he answered.

He almost didn’t pick up. He was in the middle of rehearsing choreography.

But something in him knew.

The moment he saw Grandma Song’s name, his stomach dropped.

Her voice was shaking. Panicked. Breathless.

“She fell—Jay, she fell down the stairs—she’s bleeding—she wasn’t moving—ambulance took her—please, come fast—"

He dropped everything.

Didn’t change clothes. Didn’t tell staff. Didn’t grab his wallet.

He just ran.

---

The hospital was cold.

Jay didn’t remember how he got there. Whether he ran or flew. All he knew was that they wouldn’t let him in the ICU.

“Sir, she’s in surgery. Please wait here.”

“What happened to her?! What happened to my wife?!” he shouted, voice breaking.

“She’s sustained internal trauma. Placental rupture. Blunt force injury to the skull. She’s unconscious but—”

“But what?!” he roared, tears forming.

The nurse glanced away.

“…she woke up briefly before the anesthesia. Said to save the baby. No matter what.”

Jay stared at her, frozen. “What?”

“She insisted, sir. Begged, actually.”

---

He collapsed into a chair, hands gripping his hair, eyes stinging.

“She told you to save the baby over herself?”

The nurse nodded.

Jay let out a broken sob.

You were dying—and still thinking of your child before yourself.

The guilt clawed into his chest like a knife.

“I should’ve been there,” he whispered. “I should’ve been home.”

He didn’t feel the tears anymore. Just the aching.

“I left her alone. And now…”

He couldn’t even finish the sentence.

---

Hours passed.

The light above the ICU door glowed red.

Jay sat frozen in the hallway, head down, clutching the last photo you’d sent him—one where your belly peeked out beneath one of his hoodies, your smile tired but proud.

And then…

The light went out.

The doctor came out slowly. Face pale. Gloves stained.

Jay stood up. “Is she okay? Please, tell me she’s okay.”

The doctor took a deep breath.

“She didn’t make it.”

The air left Jay’s lungs.

“No,” he whispered. “No—no, that can’t be—”

“She lost too much blood. We did everything we could. But she went into cardiac arrest. She… she was gone before we finished the cesarean.”

Jay stumbled back. “But the baby…?”

“She’s alive. Tiny, but breathing. Fighting.”

Jay’s knees hit the floor.

You were gone.

And he hadn’t even gotten to say goodbye.

---

They let him see you one last time.

You looked peaceful. Too peaceful. Like sleep—but wrong.

Your hands were cold. Your lips blue.

Jay leaned over you, sobbing so hard his body shook.

“I’m sorry,” he cried, voice cracking. “I’m so fucking sorry, baby. I promised to protect you. I promised to come back. But I wasn’t there.”

He kissed your forehead. “You were all alone. I should’ve been the one to fall. I should’ve—God—I should’ve carried you through this.”

He clutched your hand, trembling. “I loved you more than anything. And now you’re—”

He couldn’t say it.

He couldn’t say dead.

---

When he saw the baby, he lost it all over again.

She was so small. Her body barely the size of his forearm. Wires taped to her chest. A nasal cannula feeding her oxygen.

“She’s strong,” the nurse said softly. “Just like her mom.”

Jay stood outside the glass for ten minutes before he dared enter.

When he held her, she didn’t cry. Just blinked slowly. Breathing.

Alive.

“You’re here,” he whispered. “You made it.”

He bent down and kissed her soft forehead.

“You’re all I have now.”

---

He named her Jayeon—meaning natural grace.

The name you scribbled on a sticky note months ago and stuck to the fridge.

Jay kept that note in his wallet now.

He moved the crib to your bedroom—his bedroom now. But he still slept on your side of the bed, curled around your pillow, as if you might come back one day.

Jayeon cried often in those first months, but Jay never complained.

Not once.

Because her cries meant she was alive.

And every time he held her close, he’d whisper:

"Your mommy gave you her heartbeat."

---

Jayeon was four when she found your photo book.

Jay walked in to see her sitting in the hallway, flipping through old polaroids. Her little hands traced your face over and over.

“Daddy?” she asked, eyes big. “Was Mommy beautiful?”

Jay knelt down beside her, voice catching in his throat.

“The most beautiful person I’ve ever known.”

“Where is she?”

Jay smiled gently, tears stinging. “She’s in the stars now, baby. Watching over you.”

“Did she love me?”

Jay’s lips quivered.

“She died loving you.”

He pulled her close, holding her tiny frame against his chest.

“Mommy gave you everything. And I promise… I’ll give you the rest.”

---

You left the world with empty arms, but you left behind a heartbeat—a daughter Jay would spend the rest of his life holding tight, so she’d never know the silence that took you away.

⋆｡˚☽˚｡⋆──────────────────────────────⋆｡˚☽˚｡⋆

CRY GUYS

«Masterlist || Introduction»

Taglist» (open) @strxwbloody

⋆｡˚☽˚｡⋆──────────────────────────────⋆｡˚☽˚｡⋆

[athenamikaelson]

Klaus Mikaelson X Soulmate!Reader x Elijah Mikaelson Ch. 30

Word Count- 3.7k

Warnings- Swearing, violence, blood, puking

“Up and down, not side to side you fucking freak,” Theo’s agitated voice comes from behind Elena and I as he and Jeremy paint their side of the room.

“That’s what I’m doing!”

Elena chuckles at Jeremy’s response.

“Going darker, huh?”

As if today couldn’t get any worse.

I don’t even turn around because right now I’m not in the mental state to deal with yet another vampire I have a vendetta against. Which means my vampire hate count is up to 4 right now, not including dead vampires such as Mikael and Trevor. 

“It’s the only color we had,” Elena says to Stefan with a smile, and I roll my eyes.

“That’s what happens when you decide to paint your guardian’s room that she shared with her now-dead boyfriend in the middle of the night,” Jeremy retorts and slightly glares at his sister.

I turn over to look at Theo, who is glaring at Stefan, who, as I glance at him, tries to give me a small smile, which I don’t return.  

“I don’t suppose anyone tried to talk you guys out of doing this so soon?”

“We have to keep moving, otherwise we’ll start thinking and we don’t want that…”

My birthmark feels like it’s burning as I listen to Elena’s words, and I rub it in reaction. 

“You good?’’

I jolt back slightly as I turn to see Theo right next to me now. He takes his hand and places it on mine, removing it from rubbing my mark.

“We’re not thinking about it, right?”

Theo sends me a saddened look, but Elena wraps an arm around my waist.

“That’s exactly right. Today we’re just existing. No bad thoughts, just painting and enjoying each other’s company. We’ve all been away from each other for too long.”

I give Elena a raised eyebrow, which results in her lightly pinching my waist and then dropping her hand and going back to her painting. 

She’s been like this since we got to the Gilbert residence last night, overly touchy and affectionate. I know it’s because she’s just trying to fill her time with something else instead of thinking about Alaric, but, holy shit, I forgot how touchy this girl was. For the first few hours we got back, we spent in her room with Jenna watching comedy movies and horror movies to distract ourselves from the actual horror movie we are currently living in. That entire time, I also spent dodging calls and texts from Klaus and Elijah. At one point, Klaus even showed up at the front door, and Theo had to go down and threaten to spray him with the hose if he didn’t leave. Rebekah had called me and apoligized for what happened, mentioning how she had no idea what my birth mark meant and that if she wasn’t body snatched by her own mother she would’ve been there to kick her older brother’s asses. 

“Do you need any help?”

I roll my eyes at Stefan’s question.

“You know how to pant?”

I turn to my brother, wondering why he’s making conversation with a guy he hates.

Stefan perks up, “Ya, I guess it’s not hard.”

Theo taps his chin, “Huh, and here I thought all you knew was how to run girls off the road in your ugly ass Prius,” Theo turns to Jeremy, who wears a smirk, “The more you know!”

For the first time all day, I feel a small smile twitch onto my face.

Stefan’s face morphs into one of shame, “It’s actually a Poshe…and Y/n, I-”

Theo moves in front of him, “You no talk to her- Got it,” He points a finger at the vampire's face.”

Stefan sighs but still nods. 

“Anyways,” Jeremy interrupts, “Are you two together or something?”

The question is aimed at Stefan and his sister, who both instantly start shaking their heads and deny it. 

“I was just checking up on you guys. Seeing how you were doing…after everything.”

Jeremy glares at him, “We’re fine. But if you are trying to be the good guy again, why don’t you do the right thing and give us one day? Just one day without any vampires in it.”

“That sounds nice,” I mutter to myself. 

Jeremy huffs and then storms out of the room, Theo of course following after, but not before making an “I’m watching you” finger motion to Stefan.

“He didn’t mean that,” Elena says to Stefan.

“Ya, he did,” I reply, and Elena shorts me a look, and I shrug before putting down my paintbrush and following after the boys. 

“Y/n?”

My shoulders deflate at Stefan’s voice, but I still pause.

“I am really sorry. What I did on the bridge…and what I said after it wasn’t me. It wasn’t how I truly feel. And I know you won’t forgive me today, but hopefully one day we can get back to where we once were in our friendship.”

I look over my shoulder at him and nod, a look of relief pushes onto his face momentarily...that is until I open my mouth. 

“Any chance of us ever being friends died the night you tried killing me and then called me a waste of space, but thanks for the apology. It means nothing.”

With that, I turn and walk out of the room. As I head down the hall, I hear Elena’s quiet voice say something about giving me time and how I’m going through a lot right now. 

Understatement of the fucking centuary. 

Not only did I find out I’m a goddamn werewolf yesterday, watch my history teacher die because of a bitchass witch, find out my soulmates have been lying to me the entire time I’ve known them…I also had to tell everyone the fact that my father wasn’t actually my father and that Theo and I are actually half-siblings. So that cat is out of its bag. 

“Kol wants to come over and play Modern Warfare,” I hear Theo’s voice come from Jeremy’s room. 

After the conversation Elena and I had about our brothers yesterday, I’ve been watching how they interact more closely. So like any nosy sister, I hide beside Jeremy’s door and listen to their conversation. Sue me. 

“You do realize he tried to kill me, right?”

“Kol didn’t try to kill you…he tried to kill Damon. And honestly, y'all should’ve let him. The world would be a much better place without him in it.”

Jeremy’s quiet for a moment.

“Ya, you’re probably right. But…”

“What is it?”

“It’s nothing, I just…wanted to hang out with you…y’know, just me and you. Like old times or whatever.”

My face softens at Jeremy’s nervous voice.

“Oh..”

Seriously, Theo, “OH”.

“Oh?”

“I don’t mean Oh,” Theo quickly says, “Not like Oh Oh, but just like Oh. Y’know?”

This dumbass.

“Not really, Theo.”

“Right…well, what I mean is that I’m cool with just us, y’know, hanging out like bros do.”

“Ok…cool.”

“Cool…”

I hate these two. Jesus Christ. 

“Y/n?”

Oh shit!

I just slightly and see Jenna approaching me. Her tear-ridden face and red, puffy eyes send a tight pain to my heart. 

I move away from Jeremy’s door so they don’t hear us.

“Hey, Jen. I thought you were napping in Elena’s room?”

Jenna swallows a lump in her throat and tightens the blanket she has wrapped around her, “I just needed some fresh air.”

I nod, trying not to be awkward, but I’ve never been one to know how to console others.

“Are you hungry? Do you want me to make you something?’’

I frown at Jenna’s words, “Aren’t I supposed to be the one asking you these questions?”

Jenna huffs out a sad laugh, “Ya probably, I just…I guess I could use the distraction.”

Oh.

“Ok, then I guess I could eat if you are also making yourself something.”

“I’m not hungry,” She tries to deny, and I shake my head.

“I’m not eating unless you do too.”

Jenna reaches over and squeezes my shoulder, “Fine. Then how does waffles sound?”

“Wait, did someone say waffles?”

I whip around to see Theo with his head poking out of Jeremy’s room and the other boy peeking behind my brother.

“Yes, I was going to make your sister and me some. Do you both want any,” Jenna responds.

Both boys eye each other before nodding and practically hopping out of the bedroom. Theo moves over to Jenna and wraps his arm around her shoulder, to which Jenna gives him a small smile, the first one I’ve seen from her all night. Theo just has that kind of power. 

“I personally prefer mine with brown sugar, but if you guys don’t have that, I can make do with…” 

Theo continues to drone on about waffle mix as he drags Jenna and Jeremy down the staircase, with me following behind. 

I make it to the final step when the doorbell chimes. 

“I’ve got it,” I say to the group, and they continue their way into the kitchen.

I grab the door handle and- oh shit.

“We’ve got a problem,” Damon says as he holds a bleeding Bonnie to his side. 

—-

“What do you think they’re talking about?’’

I shrug as I dip my paintbrush into the green paint. 

“Beats me.”

After I opened the door to find Damon and Bonnie, Stefan came downstairs to let me know he could handle it, and I don’t exactly want to deal with any vampires today, so I let him and went back upstairs to help Elena. 

The sound of a phone ringing turns my attention to Elena. I watch as a look of confusion morphs onto her face as she reads the caller's info.

“Elena, who is it,” I stand up, and my breathing halts as I read the caller's name.

Alaric. 

“That’s fucking sick.”

Elena shakes her head and presses the answer button, “Whoever this is, it’s not funny.”

“Who else would it be?”

No way. Not possible. 

At the sound of the supposedly dead Alaric’s voice, Elena and I both shoot each other fearful looks. 

“Listen closely, I’m at the school. I have Caroline, and if you want to keep her alive, I need you to get into your car and come down here…and bring Y/n with you, I know she’s with you. If you tell anyone where you are going, I will kill her.”

—

“Never thought I’d get murdered by my history teacher, but here we are,” I mutter to myself and Elena as we stand at the entrance of Mystic Falls High.  

“He’s not going to kill you, Y/n. I won’t let him.”

“As much as I appreciate the effect, Elena, but well…he’s kind of an Original so and you’re well… you.”

I look at Elena, who sighs in defeat.

“We got this, together,” She grabs my hand and sends me a look, and at this point, I’m so numb that I just laugh.

“Right, let’s go defeat the big bad Original with the power of friendship!”

—

The sound of painful groans makes me cringe as Elena and I run down the hallway to find a very undead Ric sitting all-American Psycho in his classroom. Caroline has a cloth wrapped around her face to keep her from talking, and oh… two pencils impaled into her hands. 

“Let her go, Alaric,” Elena says the the man. 

He smirks at us, “Free her yourself.”

“Oh ya, I’m sure he’s going to let you do that,” I say sarcastically, but Elena still runs to Caroline and tries to pull the pencils from her hands. 

As Elena is about to pull out the pencil Alaric speeds over to them and shoves the pencil back in, making me take a protective step forward even though there aint shit I can do.

“What have I told you, Elena? Stop trusting vampires!”

—

I watch with a painful look as Alaric dips Caroline’s gag into a glass of vervain. Her cries fill the room, and I find myself abruptly standing up to help her.

“Stop, Ric!”

But before I can get over to my friend, a sharp pain hits the side of my face, and then I feel myself bang the edge of my head off one of the student desks. 

Through a loud ringing in my head, I hear Elena yell and a muffled cry from Caroline. 

“I don’t want to hurt you, Y/n. I truly don’t. But you must understand what you mean in all of this. So sit down and shut up,” He leans down to my level on the floor, and I flinch as I catch a glimpse of his fangs. 

He stands up and then pauses. He proceeds to sniff the air and then glare down at me, “You should probably clean that up. Wouldn’t want you to bleed out…just yet.”

The ringing still hasn’t subsided, so I’m still incredibly confused…until a wet feeling falls down my face. I bring my fingers up and swallow a throatful of bile as I see my fingers covered in blood. 

Deja vu much?

—

“Why are you doing this?”

Elena’s angry voice asks Alaric as he paces the small classroom. 

Elena runs a hand up and down my back soothingly as I lay my pounding head on the cool desk. Over the past 15 minutes, I’ve tried to keep up with the back-and-forth arguing between the Original and my friend, but I’m just really tired. 

“Because you need me. Because you’re an 18-year-old girl, without parents or guidance or any sense of right and wrong anymore,” Alaric harshly says. 

“She’s got Jenna,” I softly say as my eyes flutter closed. 

“Keep your eyes open, Y/n.”

I groan in annoyance at her request, but with enough resilience, I peel open one eye to glance at her, which seems to relieve Elena. 

“Look at you,” Elena then turns to Alaric, “How is this right,” She gestures to Caroline and then to me.

“She’s a murderer. She told me she killed someone and liked it. Now, how is that right? And her,” He points to me and I use whatever strength I can muster to lift my hand up and show him my middle finger, “It’s only a matter of time before she starts murdering people just like the people she’s mated to,” He walks over to Elena,  “Listen, Elena, your parents led the council. It was their life's mission to keep this town safe. They weren’t dead six months before you went and undid it all.”

Elena, I think, goes on to deny him, and they argue some more, I think. I’m not exactly paying attention. Fuck, I need advil. Or vodka. Or both. 

A loud scream makes me open my eyes, eyes I hadn’t even realized I had closed.

“Take Y/n and get help!”

Who’s taking me?

I groan in pain as I feel strong arms wrap around me, and next thing I know, I’m being dragged out of the room. I try to struggle out of their hold.

“Y/n, it’s me, stop.”

Oh. Care. Never mind, take me away.

Caroline drags me some more before we stop. 

A hand pressing to my mouth makes me jolt, but the overwhelming smell of something woodsy makes me relax. 

Klaus. 

“I’ve got you, my love. I’m not going to get to you. You’re safe,” I find myself leaning into his touch and I almost fucking moan when he runs a warm hand down my face. 

“We’re going to save Elena,” His voice is no longer soft, and I look to see him staring at Caroline, “Get her and yourself out of here.”

We?

I fast movement catches my eye, and I see Elijah standing a few feet away from us, his eyes running over my body frantically, he’s surprisingly not in a suit. Or maybe he is, and my head injury is just so bad I’m imagining things. 

“Come on, Y/n,” I feel a tug and groan in annoyance.

“We’ll be coming out right after you, Elskan,” Elijah’s dark voice fills my ears, and I close my eyes as if to savor it.

“Take her and heal her.”

—

I’m going to barf. 

A wave of nausea flows over me as a blinding light hits my eyes. 

“She’s coming back now,” An old scratchy voice says from above me.

God?

“No dear, not God,” The voice says.

Am I saying things out loud?

“Yes, you are,” A younger voice chimes in.

I let out a groan as I peel open my eyes slowly, and take notice of the blurry figures in front of me.

“Go slow, Elskan,” A warm voice fills my senses, and I find myself giggling. 

“Such a pretty voice.”

A loud laugh makes me cringe in pain, and then I hear a yelp.

My vision finally starts to come together, and I can make out an old woman sitting above me, Elijah standing beside her, and Kol and Alastiar standing farther away. 

I go to sit up, but the old woman, presses her hands to my shoulders, “Easy, young lady. You took quite the spill. Just lie back.”

“What…who…”

Ya, I’m definitely going to barf.

“Ew, someone get it a bucket.”

“Kol,” I hear Elijah’s stern voice.

“Fine.”

A split second later, Kol returns with a blue bucket and puts it in front of me with a grossed out look. 

And another split second later, I’m pushing the old woman out of the way and I’m barfing into the small bucket, or at least trying to aim for the bucket. 

I feel a hand rub my back soothingly, and then I feel my hair being pulled away from my face, “That’s it, Elskan.”

—

I then proceeded to throw up for the next five minutes. Kol left 2 minutes in with a gag of his own. Alastair still stands by the door with a solemn expression, the old woman has been doing whatever old people do, and Elijah has not left my side.

For the past five minutes, he’s been holding my hair, whispering soothing words to me, and just being so kind, it almost makes me forget I hate him. 

Almost. 

“What the hell happened?”

Elijah grabs a tissue from the side table of the bed I’m currently lying in and wipes my mouth. I try to grab it from him but he won’t budge. 

“Alaric took you and…” He pauses as his jaw tightens and he grits his teeth, “You hit your head. Your blonde vampire friend healed you, but you remained unconscious, so I called in a nurse to come look over you.”

“You must’ve had a nasty spill,” The woman says, and I realize from the glazed-over look in her eyes that she must be compelled, “I stuck an IV into you to get some fluids into you.”

My eyes look down towards my arm, and like she said, a small IV is implanted. Its tube is connected to a walkable IV stand, which is next to my head. 

“Oh.”

“Oh? That is all you have to say,” Elijah’s tone is slightly harsher than before as he shakes his head.

“Your work here is done,” He turns to the woman, “Go home and forget this happened. A check will be sent to you.”

The woman then grabs her bag and leaves the room, leaving only Alastair, Elijah, and me. 

“You are dismissed as well, Alastair.”

“I’m fine right here, Sir,” Alastair says, not taking his eyes off me. 

Elijah turns over his shoulder to glare at the younger vampire.

“He’s fine, Elijah. I want him here.”

“We need to talk,” Elijah tries to argue.

“Anything you have to say to me, you can say in front of him,” I try to glare at him, but too much movement is making me nauseous. 

Elijah must take notice because he instantly loses the dark facial features and places a cool hand on my face. 

He’s like a fucking ice pack.

“We can talk when you’re better,” He says softly and leans forward to place a kiss on the top of my head. 

A thought quickly crosses my mind, and I straighten up, “Where’s Elena?”

A grim look passes over Elijah’s face, “The Salvatores and Klaus are still at the school fighting Alaric. Niklaus and I thought it was best if I made sure you got to safety before anything else. But, they’ve got a plan to help her, so just sit back and get some rest.”

“Will you stay with me,” I say through a yawn.

Elijah gives me a soft smile, “Of course.”

I shake my head, “I was talking to Alastair.”

—

“AHHHHHH!”

A sharp pain flies through my body, and I quickly sit up.

“Y/n, what is it!? What’s going on?!”

I stare wide-eyed at Alastiar, who is nearly by my bedside, watching me frantically. 

I clutch my chest, “I…I can’t…”

“Can’t what?!?”

“Breathe, I can’t breathe!”

A loud crash fills the house, and Alastiar quickly takes a defensive stance in front of me. Alastair stares at the door like a guard dog, ready for attack in case someone walks in. I grabbed his hand for support, and he clutched it in his. 

“Just try to take deep breaths, Y/n. I’m sure one of the Mikaelsons will figure this out.”

The door handle jiggling catches our attention, and Alastair takes a defensive step forward, dropping my hand. 

 “Y/n?’’

If I could sigh in relief, I would as I see Elena pull herself into the room. She holds herself on the door frame and I frown as I see Damon standing behind her with s solem look on his face.

“What’s happening?”

—-

I clutch my knees to my chest as Theo sits wordlessly at the end of my bed. 

We’ve been sitting like this for 2 hours, or at least since he drove me home from the Mikaelsons. 

“What’s going to happen?”

I don’t respond to my brother. 

“Y/n?”

“Y/n?!”

I glance up at my brother. 

“Klaus is gone. There’s nothing to do.”

[paincest]

some excerpts from the life of odysseus who returned early and his spoiled 10 year old son:

in the first few days of his arrival, odysseus was feeling really down because he thinks his son hates him till one day, telemachus drags him to a field and introduces him to all his friends who are SOOO IMPRESSED with him

"WOAHHH DID YOU REALLY FIGHT POSEIDON" and telemachus goes "OF COURSE HE DID!!!!! HE'S MY DAD!!!!"

odysseus is just so so happy that his son is actually proud to call him dad that he had to punch himself to stop himself from crying in front of these kids. he spends the rest of his afternoon telling his son and his friends about his journey

their first real dad-son bonding experience is when penelope forces telemachus to go with his dad to some meeting and some asshole made a disrespectful joke about penelope. the kill mode switch INSTANTLY activated within the both of them

telemachus keeps acting like he knows what his dad and mom are talking about all the time so odysseus would just start making things up to see what telemachus would say. sometimes he does it as an 'aha! you little liar!' moment but other times, he just wants to test his son's creativity

odysseus: oh and i fought a varkagrog. you know what that is? telemachus: o-of course! the flying fish... thing... that turns into an uh, giant owl. odysseus who literally just jumbled random words together: yep. that one. you're so smart! telemachus, puffing his chest smugly: cause mommy teaches me everything and she's super smart!

odysseus and telemachus fights over who gets to hug penelope at night. mind you, penelope sleeps in the middle so obviously, they could just share her, but odysseus likes to tease telemachus.

telemachus on the other hand is genuinely Fighting For His Life here

it's all fun and games till telemachus actually starts crying and penelope scolds odysseus. no cuddles for the big man tonight

whenever telemachus is angry at odysseus, he draws on odysseus' face when he's asleep but it doesn't really work because odysseus just gets super happy about it, lifts him off the ground and kisses him all over the face and walks around the whole day with his face all smeared till penelope forces him to take a bath

whenever odysseus and telemachus return home from an outing or if penelope went out and just got back, they race each other to see who gets to kiss penelope first. telemachus is leading the scoreboard

(telemachus doesn't seem to realize that his dad is letting him win most of the time)

during odysseus' absence, telemachus would draw himself, his mom and dad all together but after a few years, telemachus stopped believing his dad is alive or even wants to come home so he ripped odysseus out of all his drawings but when ody finally comes home, telemachus secretly tapes it back together. odysseus pretends like he doesn't wanna cry whenever he sees the obvious rips that telemachus clumsily tried to mend

epic au where odysseus comes home 10 years earlier but that means meeting his son when he was just an immature spoiled mommy's boy who can't accept that his gorgeous elegant queen mother is dating this Rat covered in dirt and blood

[mintyys-blog]

SCREAM FOR ME 8 | mark variants x reader

MINI SERIES LIST

The night sky was quiet, the stars scattered like glitter across velvet. Eight shadows soared through the dark, fast and unseen—each of them cutting through the clouds with perfect precision as they followed the digital map glowing from Y/N’s phone in Prisoner Mark’s hand.

It didn’t take long to reach the property.

They slowed as they neared the stretch of trees that framed the lake, the reflection of the moon rippling across the water like liquid silver. The air smelled like pine and fresh earth. And there, nestled just beyond the tree line, was the house.

Or rather—the house-to-be.

It was empty. A shell. The real estate photos didn’t do justice to the size of the lot. The house had potential, sure, but it was still modest. A clean structure, but worn with age, paint peeling slightly. Plenty of room to build… if you knew how. Or if you had the powers of a god.

They landed silently in the front yard.

Sinister Mark walked up to the porch first, kicking at a loose board. “Charming,” he muttered.

Mohawk Mark looked toward the lake, nodding a little. “She picked a good spot. Quiet. Secluded. We can fly in and out without anyone noticing.”

Viltrumite Mark scanned the tree line. “Still too open from the east side. We’ll need to plant something. Or build a barrier.”

Omni Mark floated up a few feet into the air again, looking at the roofline. “And she’s going to need more space. This won’t hold us all.”

“She said five bedrooms,” Prisoner Mark said, scrolling through the listing again. “We’ll probably need double that if we don’t want to murder each other.”

“She gets her own wing,” Full Masked Mark added, voice calm.

The rest of them looked at him.

“What?” he shrugged. “She’s letting us live. And feeding us.”

“I’m not disagreeing,” Target Mark said, smirking. “I just didn’t expect you to say it.”

Sinister Mark opened the screen door, letting it creak loudly before stepping inside. “I call first pick on rooms.”

“You’re not even paying rent,” Mohawk Mark called, following him in.

“None of us are,” Maskless Mark added dryly.

Inside, the house was old but solid. Hardwood floors, worn by time. Tall ceilings. The kind of house that needed love—or eight superpowered war criminals with a lot of stolen money.

“Imagine it furnished,” Prisoner Mark said, looking around.

“Imagine it with a gym,” Viltrumite Mark muttered.

Omni Mark tilted his head. “She’s going to want something personal. Soft. Homey.”

They looked around the empty house in silence for a moment.

Then Sinister Mark piped up, “So, IKEA?”

A low groan passed through the group, but no one objected.

“Let’s grab the basics,” said Full Masked Mark. “Just enough to surprise her.”

“She’ll cry if we actually pull this off,” Mohawk Mark said, amused.

Target Mark cracked his knuckles. “Then let’s get to work.”

And just like that, eight versions of Mark Grayson launched back into the sky, aiming for the nearest IKEA—and ready to commit the most polite home furnishing heist in history.

Inside IKEA—at three in the morning—eight grown superpowered men stood in the middle of a showroom surrounded by mock living rooms and fake kitchen sets. The air smelled like sawdust, cinnamon rolls, and fluorescent lighting.

Mohawk Mark held up Y/N’s phone, squinting at one of her saved Pinterest boards titled “Dream Home 😩✨.” He tilted the screen toward Sinister Mark. “This one. Obviously. It’s got personality. Look at the color palette.”

Sinister Mark scoffed, tugging the phone toward himself. “That’s tacky. She saved that in 2022, it’s outdated. Look at this one—clean lines, soft neutrals. Minimalist but cozy.”

“That’s boring,” Mohawk Mark shot back. “She liked it because it had a giant beanbag in it.”

“She saved it for the beanbag, not the design. You have no taste.”

“Excuse me? I am taste.”

“You look like someone gave a Red Bull to a raccoon.”

“Oh, you wanna go—”

“Enough,” Omni Mark said, barely raising his voice. It was calm. Final. All the other Marks, who had been pretending not to watch, immediately turned away and went back to loading flat-pack furniture into oversized carts.

Full Masked Mark was already walking with perfect efficiency, his arms stacked with shelving units and pillows Y/N had liked. Target Mark pointed to a faux fur rug. “She had that exact one pinned. Throw it in.”

Viltrumite Mark was checking the frame of a reading chair like he was inspecting alien tech. “These will break under us. We’ll need to reinforce them at home.”

Prisoner Mark was busy scanning the lighting section. “She wants dimmable everything,” he said, flicking through her phone again. “Something about ‘ambience.’”

Back in the sofa section, Mohawk and Sinister Mark were still circling two displays like predators, both clearly committed to their favorite choices.

“She literally saved a post that said ‘I want to sink into my couch like a defeated Victorian ghost.’ This one does that,” Mohawk insisted, flopping dramatically into a deep, overstuffed sectional.

Sinister rolled his eyes. “And she also saved a post about organizing her throw pillows by seasonal color palettes. This one has structure. It’s elevated. It’s tasteful.”

“You sound like a magazine ad.”

“You sound like a child who thinks beanbags are furniture.”

“Oh yeah? At least I don’t—”

“WE’RE GETTING BOTH,” shouted Omni Mark from across the warehouse.

They both shut up immediately.

“Y/N gets the final say,” Full Masked Mark added without looking up from a stack of kitchenware. “We’re just moving it.”

They grumbled in unison but relented.

By the time they made it to the checkout area—which they obviously bypassed—they had loaded up on beds, nightstands, lamps, bookshelves, two full sofas, a coffee table, a ridiculous amount of throw pillows, and at least one questionable novelty lamp shaped like a mushroom.

“She liked it,” Target Mark defended, holding it protectively.

Omni Mark didn’t argue.

They took off into the night again, the IKEA bags clutched under their arms like mismatched birds carrying nest material.

They didn’t speak until they reached the lake house again, setting down the haul on the empty front lawn.

Mohawk Mark looked around, eyes flicking to the house, then to the boxes. “So… we build it now?”

“Let her sleep,” Prisoner Mark said. “Tomorrow.”

“…Then can we finally use that beanbag?”

Omni Mark sighed. “Yes.”

Mohawk Mark fist-pumped. Sinister Mark scowled.

And as the sun started to creep toward the horizon, the house behind them remained dark and peaceful—completely unaware of the absolute chaos that would turn it into a dream home before the week was out.

Y/N jolted awake, sunlight pouring in through her window far too brightly for how late it clearly was. Her eyes snapped open.

“Shit!”

She scrambled out of bed, her foot catching on the blanket as she tumbled to the floor with a thud. Groaning, she wrestled herself free and bolted upright, rushing around the room like a headless chicken.

She threw on jeans, grabbed her bag, brushed her teeth in under twenty seconds, and launched herself down the stairs—only to freeze mid-step.

She blinked.

The living room was… different. Not just tidied-up different. Not just vacuumed or reorganized.

Gone were the hand-me-down, duct-taped disasters she called furniture. No more wobbly couch leg. No more coffee table with chipped corners.

In their place stood crisp, sleek IKEA furniture. A brand-new couch with perfectly fluffed pillows. A modern coffee table. A fuzzy rug that didn’t smell like cat pee.

Her gaze swept the room slowly, eyes wide. On the wall was a minimalistic art print she distinctly remembered pinning last month. A lamp she bookmarked. Even the mushroom-shaped one she’d saved as a joke.

“…Is this my Pinterest board?” she muttered, dazed.

She turned in a circle, taking in more additions: cozy blankets, bookshelves half-assembled, little potted plants staged neatly in corners. An unopened box labeled ‘Vanlig Hylla’ sat by the stairs.

“What the hell…”

Then she heard rustling from the kitchen. The faint sound of someone opening a toolbox and mumbling in frustration.

She squinted suspiciously.

“Never mind that,” she said to herself, shaking her head. “No time. No time no time no time—”

Y/N turned on her heel and darted for the door, slamming it behind her with the speed of a woman late to meet someone terrifyingly competent.

“I have to meet Debbie!” she yelled, probably to no one, as she ran down the sidewalk.

Inside, the noise paused.

Omni Mark stood in the kitchen doorway, screwdriver in one hand, eyebrows raised. “She noticed.”

Mohawk Mark peeked around the corner with a smug grin. “She liked it though. I saw the face.”

Prisoner Mark nodded solemnly from where he was piecing together a dining table. “That was a ‘my children just surprised me with breakfast in bed’ face.” He crossed his arms, “She kissed me on the cheek for washing a pan,” he added under his breath.

Sinister Mark strolled by holding a curtain rod, rolling his eyes. “Don’t let it go to your head, Romeo.”

They all went back to work. The clock was ticking. If Y/N was meeting Debbie, it meant one thing: the move was coming fast.

And this time, they were going to build her something better than any Pinterest board ever could.

Y/N spotted Debbie near the sleek, open house entrance, clipboard in hand and sunglasses perched atop her head. The moment their eyes met, Y/N rushed forward and pulled her into a tight hug.

“Debbie! It’s so good to see you.”

Debbie smiled warmly, hugging her back just as tight. “Y/N, sweetheart, it’s great seeing you too. God, I thought—well, Mark said no one could find you. We were worried sick.”

Y/N’s smile faltered just a little, her hands fidgeting behind her back. “Yeah… I just needed time. I was in the hospital for a while—coma, long recovery. It’s… a lot.”

Debbie’s expression softened. “I’m so sorry. I can’t imagine what that was like.” She glanced around the quiet, tree-lined property. “Though… you’re clearly making a comeback.”

Y/N gave a sheepish laugh. “Trying to. You know. New house, new energy.”

Debbie arched a perfectly skeptical brow. “I noticed Mark hasn’t mentioned seeing you yet. Does he know you’re okay?”

She chewed the inside of her cheek. “He… yeah. Kind of. I’m just taking it slow for now. One step at a time.”

Debbie gave her a long, knowing look, arms crossed, head tilted. “…Taking it slow is buying a mansion?”

Y/N flushed and looked toward the gorgeous five-bedroom house behind them. “Okay, technically, it’s not a mansion. It’s a reasonable estate with practical backyard space and—okay, yeah, it’s huge.”

Debbie smirked. “You were always ambitious. Guess that hasn’t changed.”

Y/N laughed nervously. “Is that the polite way to say ‘dramatic’?”

“Very.”

She bumped Debbie with her shoulder playfully and turned toward the house, rubbing her arms. “I just… want something that feels safe. Private. Enough space to breathe. Maybe—maybe to not be so alone.”

Debbie’s face softened again, her eyes scanning the lake in the background. “Well. Let’s see if this place is worth the fresh start you’re chasing.”

As they started walking toward the front porch, Debbie flipped through her clipboard. “Tell me what you want—open layout? Big kitchen? Secret underground bunker?”

Y/N muttered, “Actually, that wouldn’t be the worst idea…” under her breath.

Debbie blinked. “I was joking.”

“Right. Me too.”

The moment they stepped inside the house, Y/N’s hopeful energy was doused like a cheap candle.

The interior was… rough.

A chunk of drywall was missing near the staircase—like someone had punched through the wall and left it to rot. The hallway smelled faintly of mildew, the trim around the doors looked like it had been chewed on by raccoons, and there was floral wallpaper from the 1970s peeling off in sad, wrinkled waves.

Y/N stared blankly at the yellowed kitchen walls. “Okay. That’s… a bold color choice.”

Debbie sighed, flipping to another page on her clipboard. “Yeah, I was afraid of this. The listing photos were very strategic.”

They passed through what was supposed to be a den, but the paint was cracked, uneven, and flaking, and there were visible scuff marks shaped suspiciously like shoe prints halfway up the wall.

Y/N narrowed her eyes. “Who fights on walls?”

Debbie winced. “College kids lived here for a few years. That’s probably all you need to know.”

Y/N huffed, hands on her hips. “Alright. It’s not perfect, but the bones are good, right?”

Debbie nodded, tapping her clipboard. “Foundation’s solid, plumbing isn’t ancient, and the wiring was updated six years ago. Everything else is… well, cosmetic.”

Y/N looked around again. The space had potential. The living room was big, the bedrooms were decent-sized, and the lake view out back really was to die for. Plus, the distance from neighbors was a huge plus.

She turned to Debbie. “Hey, quick question—how hard is it to get permits to expand this place?”

Debbie’s pen paused mid-note. “Expand it? You want more space?”

Y/N shrugged, giving a casual smile that she definitely did not feel. “Dream big, right?”

Debbie glanced around the already sizable home. “I mean… it’s a five-bedroom.”

“I like options.”

Debbie gave her a slow side-eye but said, “Alright, I’ll have to contact the municipality and check what’s allowed for this zone. You might need to get an inspection or two first, but I’ll get back to you.”

“Thanks, Deb. You’re a lifesaver.”

Debbie chuckled. “You say that now. Wait until the paperwork starts.”

Debbie stayed for a while longer, walking Y/N through the usual maze of paperwork, explaining property tax reassessments, inspection windows, and all the boring—but necessary—steps. Y/N nodded along, mentally checking out after the fourth mention of “municipal variance forms.”

Eventually, Debbie patted her on the shoulder. “I’ll handle this end. Just focus on cleaning up and getting a few quotes for repairs. And if you do end up expanding—maybe don’t knock out any walls without asking first, yeah?”

Y/N snorted. “No promises.”

They hugged goodbye, and Y/N stood alone in the half-depressing, half-promising skeleton of a home that could one day be hers.

She exhaled, glancing around. “Okay… time to fix a house for eight superpowered men and myself. Totally normal. Totally doable.”

⸻

Back at her current home, chaos had taken on a new form.

Sinister Mark was balanced on a chair, trying to hang up a mirror—while arguing with Mohawk Mark about whether it looked “aesthetic” enough. Prisoner Mark was sweeping the floor, scowling every time someone tracked in dirt. Target Mark was angrily measuring furniture angles and adjusting frames that were a quarter inch off-center.

Full Masked Mark was in the kitchen, assembling IKEA shelves with the ruthless efficiency of someone who’d already mastered the art of hex keys and numbered instructions. Viltrumite Mark was helping—but mostly just crushing the boxes down with a disturbing amount of force.

When Y/N stepped inside, everyone paused.

“You’re back,” Omni Mark said simply, glancing up from where he was inspecting the baseboards. “How’d it go?”

She blew out a breath, setting her bag down. “We’ve got a place.”

A few whoops echoed across the room.

“But…” she added, “it needs work. A lot of it. Walls are wrecked, paint’s bad, and the wallpaper is sentient and probably cursed. Also—Debbie’s checking on permits for expansions.”

Mohawk Mark raised a brow. “Expansions? For what?”

She tilted her head and gave him a look. “There are eight of you.”

“Yeah,” he said with a smirk. “But I assumed I’d just share your bed.”

She threw a shoe at him. He dodged.

“I’m going to start cleaning it out tomorrow,” she continued, ignoring the laughter. “But for now—we start planning who gets what kind of room. I want this place to actually feel like a home, not a frat house made of broken furniture and testosterone.”

Target Mark crossed his arms. “Then you’ll need more than Pinterest.”

“I have mood boards.”

Omni Mark actually groaned. “God help us.”

“God isn’t the one living with you,” she muttered, already pulling out her laptop again.

They all watched her sit down on the couch—well, the new couch—and open up a spreadsheet with tabs already labeled: Furniture Wishlist, Room Assignments, Budgeting (Criminal), and Soundproofing Ideas.

Sinister Mark leaned over her shoulder. “Are you actually organizing our future?”

“Yeah,” she said without looking up. “One of us has to act like an adult.”

There was a pause. Then Target Mark muttered, “Bold of you to assume it’s not me.” She didn’t even dignify that with a response. But she did type faster.

The following week she signs the paperwork, officially becoming the owner of the new house.

“Ok, guys, we can now move in! But before we move the furniture I think we should repair the house first, no?” She suggested.

“Absolutely,” Maskless Mark said, arms crossed as he glanced at the photos she’d pinned to the fridge of the new house’s interior. “No offense, but if I have to live in a place where the wallpaper looks like it’s gonna peel itself off in the night and smother me in my sleep, I’ll pass.”

“It did feel alive,” Sinister Mark muttered, shuddering slightly.

“Not to mention the walls,” Omni Mark added, leaning on the counter. “Whoever punched them clearly had rage issues.”

“You literally punched one when we toured it,” Y/N shot back.

He didn’t respond. Just looked vaguely proud.

“Right. So, repairs first,” Y/N repeated, pulling out a checklist. “I wrote down everything we’ll need to fix before moving in—walls patched, trim replaced, floors cleaned or redone, paint, and maybe knock out that weird divider in the kitchen. It makes the whole space feel cramped.”

Mohawk Mark leaned back against the island. “You mean we’re doing manual labor?”

“You’re superpowered aliens. It’s not labor, it’s light cardio.”

Maskless Mark smirked. “She’s got a point.”

Prisoner Mark already had a toolbox in hand, cracking his knuckles. “Just tell me what to smash or fix.”

“Fix,” she emphasized. “This time, we’re fixing.”

“…Less fun, but alright.”

Target Mark stepped in with a clipboard he’d stolen from somewhere—probably her desk. “I’ll be managing the schedule and work assignments. Efficiency is key.”

Y/N narrowed her eyes. “You made yourself the foreman?”

“I am the emperor.”

She sighed but didn’t argue.

Viltrumite Mark hovered behind her, glancing over her shoulder. “What color are we doing the walls?”

“Oh,” she perked up, grabbing swatches. “I was thinking something warm and neutral. Greys, soft beige, olive tones maybe—”

“Gray,” he nodded. “Minimalist. Efficient.”

Mohawk Mark groaned, “We’re not doing another boring gray spaceship aesthetic—”

“Majority vote, maybe?” she offered.

A chorus of “no” and “gray” and “I vote whatever she wants” echoed around the room.

Full Masked Mark silently pointed at the olive green swatch, which made her smile.

She clapped her hands together. “Alright! Everyone grab your gear, because starting tomorrow—we renovate.”

“And then we move in?” Sinister Mark asked, hopeful.

She grinned. “Yes. And then we move in.”

The group scattered into light chaos—arguing about who would handle what, who got to choose the paint rollers, and whether or not taking down a load-bearing wall just for the vibes was worth it.

Y/N stood in the middle of it all, her clipboard in hand, heart full.

They were getting there. Home wasn’t just a dream anymore.

It was finally real.

Y/N yanked another stubborn strip of yellowing wallpaper from the wall, her nose wrinkling as the old adhesive peeled back with a sickening squelch. Target Mark stood beside her, holding a steaming mug of black coffee like it was the only thing tethering him to sanity.

“Smokers definitely lived here,” he muttered, grimacing as he tore at a particularly grimy patch. “It fucking stinks.”

“No kidding,” she coughed, flinging a crumpled sheet to the floor. “I think this paper’s older than I am. Why is it crunchy?”

“I swear it crumbled like ash in my hand. That’s not normal.”

She peeled another corner, and a puff of dust and God-knows-what flew into her face. She recoiled with a groan, waving her hand in front of her nose. “Okay, new rule. Masks on. Not the cool kind, the dust kind.”

Target Mark sighed and set down his mug. “I conquered three star systems and I’m about to be taken out by nicotine walls. This is humiliating.”

Y/N snorted, “Welcome to real estate.”

From the hallway, Prisoner Mark popped his head in. “Need reinforcements? Viltrumite Mark found a rat skeleton in the crawl space and nearly dry heaved. I think he needs a win.”

“Send him in,” she said, grunting as she pulled another strip free. “He can suffer with us.”

A moment later, Viltrumite Mark entered, sleeves rolled up, gloves on, expression grim.

“Smells like a graveyard.”

“Thanks for the vivid imagery,” Y/N muttered, handing him a scraper. “We’re going to bleach everything when this is done.”

“You better.”

They all worked in semi-gross silence for a while, the air thick with dust and old smoke. Occasionally someone gagged or cursed, usually Target Mark when he found another yellowed corner that squished a little too much.

“This is the worst battle I’ve ever been in,” he groaned.

“And yet, you’re not losing,” Y/N teased.

“I’m barely winning.”

By the time they finished the room, they stood back to admire their work—bare, cracked plaster and exposed studs, but somehow it already felt fresher. Cleaner.

Y/N leaned on her scraper, sweaty and smiling. “One room down. Five more to go.”

Target Mark drained the last of his cold coffee. “You’re lucky I like you.”

She bumped her shoulder into his. “I know.”

Viltrumite Mark cracked his knuckles. “Let’s burn the rest of that wallpaper pile before it comes alive.”

“Deal.”

She walked into the kitchen and immediately stopped in her tracks.

The old, rotting cabinets were gone. In their place stood sleek, modern ones in a soft sage green with matte black handles. The countertops were a clean, bright white quartz that made the whole space feel brighter, almost airy despite the construction chaos. Dust still clung to the corners, and the scent of sawdust lingered in the air, but it looked like something straight off her Pinterest board.

“Wow…” she breathed, stepping further in. “Guys, this looks amazing!”

Prisoner Mark looked up from where he was leveling a cabinet door, a smug smile curling at the corner of his mouth. “Glad you think so, princess. You were right about the color. Makes the room look bigger.” He nudged the door closed gently. “I hate to admit it, but you’ve got good taste.”

Omni Mark, crouched near the floor and adjusting the final drawer slider, gave a short nod without looking up. “The design’s functional. Efficient.” A pause. “And… aesthetically tolerable.”

“Wow,” she teased, folding her arms with a grin. “Was that a compliment, or did you just glitch?”

Prisoner Mark snorted. “Don’t push your luck.”

She laughed and leaned against the doorframe, watching the two of them work with surprising harmony. It was easy to forget sometimes how dangerous they could be—here, they looked almost domestic, like two brothers finishing a kitchen remodel on a Saturday morning HGTV special.

“You guys seriously nailed this,” she said, softer this time. “Thank you.”

Omni Mark glanced at her. “Don’t thank us yet. You haven’t seen the backsplash.”

She raised an eyebrow. “Should I be worried?”

“No,” Prisoner Mark grinned, “you should be impressed.”

She laughed, light and bright, before leaning in and planting a kiss on Prisoner Mark’s cheek, then turned and did the same to Omni Mark—who froze mid-movement, clearly not used to the gesture.

“Don’t get soft on me,” she teased.

Before either of them could react, she snatched Omni Mark’s water bottle from the counter, spun on her heel, and bolted toward the hallway with a victorious, “Thanks for the hydration, boys!”

“Are you serious?” Omni Mark blinked, staring at the now empty spot on the counter. “She just stole my water.”

Prisoner Mark chuckled under his breath, watching her disappear around the corner. “Better get used to it.”

Omni Mark wiped his cheek absently, brow furrowed. “She kissed me.”

“Yeah,” Prisoner Mark said, grabbing a screwdriver. “You wanna call the empire and report it, or you gonna finish the drawer?”

Omni Mark gave him a long, irritated look. “…Shut up.”

From somewhere down the hall, her laughter echoed, followed by the sound of a door slamming.

“Worth it!”

She walked toward the stairs, noticing Mohawk Mark standing proudly by the newly installed railings. The sleek metal bars gleamed under the soft light filtering in through the windows, a sharp contrast to the worn-out banister they’d ripped out just days ago.

“Look at that,” Mohawk Mark said with a smirk, arms crossed like he’d just single-handedly built the Great Wall of China. “Strong enough to keep you from falling—again.”

She rolled her eyes, stepping up to run her hand along the smooth surface. “Nice job. I might actually trust these.”

Mohawk Mark grinned. “Told you, nothing but the best. Who else could turn a railing into a weapon if needed?”

She raised an eyebrow. “You’re really proud of that, huh?”

“Damn right,” he said, flashing a cocky smile. “Watch your step.”

She chuckled, climbing the stairs carefully while he followed behind, the quiet confidence in his stride making her feel a little less overwhelmed by the chaos of the renovation.

“Thanks for doing this,” she said quietly once she reached the top. Mohawk Mark shrugged, but his eyes softened. “Wouldn’t let anyone else handle it.”

Maskless Mark emerged from one of the bedrooms, his clothes splattered with streaks of paint in every direction. He looked like a walking art project gone rogue.

“I did all the bedrooms you asked,” he said with a hint of pride, his voice rough from concentration and a touch of exhaustion.

She laughed, stepping closer, “Maybe you should go wash your face—you’ve got paint on your cheek.”

He grumbled under his breath, reaching up to wipe at the stubborn smear with the back of his hand. The paint just smeared more.

“Great,” he muttered, pulling his sleeve across his face. “Guess I’m going to bed looking like a toddler finger-painting.”

She smiled warmly, shaking her head. “Well, it’s a nice battle scar for the renovation war.”

Maskless Mark gave her a crooked grin, “I’ll take that as a compliment.”

She stepped outside with a relieved breath, letting the fresh air clear the haze of paint fumes from her lungs. The porch was cool and quiet compared to the chaos inside, and for a moment, she let herself just breathe.

Then something caught her eye.

The yard. It was… shockingly pristine. The grass was neatly trimmed, not a weed in sight. The garden beds—which had been a mess of overgrowth and cracked stone—were now lined with fresh mulch and carefully arranged flowers.

She blinked. “Wait—”

Down on his knees in the dirt, sleeves rolled up and gloved hands gently patting down soil, was Sinister Mark. Of all people.

Her jaw nearly hit the porch.

“Since when do you garden?” she asked, walking over in disbelief.

He glanced up, a trowel in one hand and a pair of tiny pink gardening gloves stretched ridiculously over his fingers. “I don’t. I just watched a YouTube video—it’s a lot easier than you think.”

She stared at him.

Then stared at the daffodils he was planting with surprisingly delicate precision.

“You literally vaporized a car last week.”

“Yeah,” he shrugged, tucking another bloom into the soil. “But have you seen how satisfying it is when everything’s lined up perfectly? Besides, weeds are just invaders. I’m purging them.”

“…That’s the most villainous way anyone’s ever described gardening.”

He gave her a smirk. “Gotta stay on brand.”

She laughed, a genuine belly laugh, and shook her head. “Well, Mr. Villain, the flowers look beautiful.”

He paused, looked down at the neat little rows of petals, then back at her. “Thanks,” he muttered, before quickly returning to his work like the compliment hadn’t warmed his entire soul.

It took two full weeks of non-stop chaos.

Between ripping out old flooring, repainting walls, installing new countertops, building furniture (and then rebuilding it when Mohawk Mark got “creative” with an Allen key), and figuring out how to divide the rooms so seven superpowered clones wouldn’t murder each other in their sleep—Y/N was exhausted.

But it was worth it.

The house was finally a home.

The chipped wallpaper and water-damaged baseboards were gone, replaced with clean, fresh walls painted in warm, earthy tones. The kitchen gleamed with new countertops, matching appliances, and actual storage. Bedrooms had been customized depending on the Mark assigned to them—some with punching bags, others with shelves of books, or blackout curtains for those who needed quiet. It wasn’t perfect, but it was theirs.

And most importantly—there were no more weeds in the garden. None. Sinister Mark had declared war on them and won.

Y/N stood in the front yard, the midday sun warming her shoulders as she looked at the now spotless porch. She held a clipboard, double-checking the paperwork for the expansion.

The good news?

The inspector had confirmed this morning that the land could support expansion. Even better, she was already approved for the permits.

Which meant… they could build.

She grinned to herself and tapped the paper. “Phase Two, here we go.”

Inside, a few of the Marks lounged on the sofa—Omni Mark scanning through the blueprints she left on the coffee table, while Prisoner Mark watched a cooking show with a level of concentration that was slightly alarming.

“We still on for the house check-in later?” Maskless Mark asked, stretching as he came down the stairs, fresh from a shower.

“Yep,” she nodded. “They’ll be here in a couple hours to do a second walkthrough for measurements. After that, it’s hammer time.”

Mohawk Mark snorted from the kitchen. “If I hear one of you say ‘Bob the Builder’ again, I’m putting someone through a wall.”

“You did play the theme song on loop for like three hours,” Sinister Mark muttered, watering his flowers with a little too much aggression.

“Vibes are important,” Mohawk replied smugly.

Y/N just smiled to herself as she walked inside, knowing it was only going to get weirder from here. But for the first time in a long time, she felt something she hadn’t in months—

Hope.

Mark blinked. His heart skipped a beat.

He and Eve were walking down the sidewalk near campus, coffee cups in hand, mid-conversation about something utterly forgettable—until her words hit him like a punch to the gut.

“Wait… what?”

Eve slowed to a stop, turning to look at him fully. “Y/N,” she said, eyebrows raised. “Why do you sound so surprised?”

Mark stared at her. “Y/N is alive?”

Now it was Eve’s turn to blink. “Are you messing with me right now?”

“No! I—I thought she died! That she disappeared during that thing with the dimension breach—no one had seen her in months!”

Eve’s expression shifted into something unreadable. Her mouth opened, then closed again. She took a step closer, voice cautious. “Mark… I saw you two. At the mall. A month ago. You were helping her carry a giant teddy bear and arguing over smoothie flavors.”

Mark shook his head, confusion washing over him. “Eve… that wasn’t me.”

Her brows knitted. “What do you mean ‘that wasn’t you’? He looked like you. Sounded like you. Acted like—wait.” Her eyes widened slightly. “Wait, wait, no—Mark, that wasn’t you?”

“No!” he hissed. “I haven’t seen Y/N since she disappeared! I thought she was dead!”

Eve stared at him, lips slightly parted. “Then… who the hell was that?”

Mark’s stomach twisted.

He took a step back, heart pounding. “Eve. I think I need to find her. Now.”

Mark and Eve flew toward the neighborhood at full speed, barely exchanging a word as they landed in front of Y/N’s old house. Mark’s feet hit the pavement hard—too hard. He was already moving, storming up the walkway like he expected her to open the door with a smile.

But something was wrong.

Very wrong.

The lawn was overgrown. The windows were bare. And taped to the front door was a bright red “FOR SALE” sign, with a smaller one underneath that read, “SHOWINGS BY APPOINTMENT ONLY.”

Eve landed behind him, eyebrows furrowed. “Mark… what the hell?”

He pounded on the door anyway. “Y/N?!”

Silence.

He tried again, more desperate this time. “Y/N, are you in there?! It’s me!”

Eve stepped up beside him, peering into the window. “The place is empty.”

Mark’s chest rose and fell with harsh, uneven breaths. He moved to the window, cupping his hands around his eyes. She was right—no furniture, no pictures, no signs of life. Just blank walls and a faint echo of what once was.

“She’s gone,” he said quietly. “Everything’s gone.”

Eve tilted her head. “You said you hadn’t seen her since the breach, right?”

Mark nodded stiffly.

“Then… whoever I saw that day wasn’t you. Which means…” She trailed off, eyes narrowing in suspicion. “Someone’s been impersonating you. Living with her. Enough to convince me.”

Mark clenched his jaw, hands tightening into fists.

Someone took his face.

Someone moved into Y/N’s life.

And now, she was gone. Again.

But this time? He wasn’t letting it go.

“We’re finding her,” Mark said, voice low. “Whoever’s behind this—they messed with the wrong person.”

Mark’s phone buzzed in his pocket the second his boots hit the sidewalk.

He barely glanced at the screen before answering. “Cecil?”

“Get to the GDA. Now.”

Cecil’s voice was clipped. Tense. Not a good sign.

Mark frowned. “Why? What’s going on?”

“They’re back.”

That stopped him cold. “What do you mean ‘they’—”

But the line had already gone dead.

Eve looked at him. “Problem?” He nodded grimly. “Yeah. A big one.”

They took off into the sky without another word, leaving behind the empty shell of Y/N’s house.

When they arrived at the GDA, it was quiet. Too quiet. Even the usual hum of command center chatter was gone. The few agents they passed barely acknowledged them, eyes glued to their terminals.

Cecil stood waiting at the center of the room, jaw clenched, hands folded behind his back.

He didn’t even say hello. “They’re back,” he repeated, motioning to the monitors behind him.

Footage flickered across the screens—grainy security cam feeds, news reports, eyewitness footage from phones.

Eight versions of Mark Grayson. Robbing banks. Walking out of IKEA with full carts. Flying off with giant bags of money and home decor.

Eve squinted. “Are those… curtains?”

Cecil ignored her. “These guys are dangerous. We barely survived last time. And now they’re back, and apparently, they’ve developed a taste for Swedish furniture and armed robbery.”

Mark took a step closer to the screen, trying to process what he was seeing.

His voice was quiet. “How? I thought we closed all the rifts.”

“Yeah, well, apparently someone reopened one,” Cecil snapped. “And unless you want a multiverse-level migraine on your hands, you better figure out where they are and stop them before someone important gets vaporized.”

Eve stepped forward. “We don’t even know where they are.”

Mark’s gaze darkened. “Y/N.”

Eve turned to him slowly. “You think…?”

“It would make sense,” he said. “You saw me—him—with her at the mall. They fooled you. Which means they’re close enough to pass as me. Close enough to get into her life.”

Eve frowned. “But why would they even stay with her?”

Mark didn’t answer. Because he didn’t know. But deep in his gut, he knew one thing for sure. If they were with Y/N… she was in way more danger than she realized.

Mark and Eve flew straight back to his house, barely exchanging a word on the way.

His stomach was in knots. Not just from the idea of his variants running wild again—but from the creeping realization that Y/N might be harboring them. Willingly.

When they touched down on the back porch and stepped inside, the smell of something homey hit them—garlic, herbs, maybe chicken.

Debbie was in the kitchen, stirring something on the stove while Oliver sat at the table, lazily peeling an orange and asking a million questions about dinner.

“Mom,” Mark said, stepping in. “Have you heard from Y/N recently?”

Debbie turned, eyebrows raising. “Y/N? Yeah, I sold her a house a few weeks back.”

Mark blinked. “Wait—you what?”

“She bought one of the lakefront listings I was handling. Gorgeous place. Needed a little work, but I was surprised she could afford it. Why?”

Eve grabbed Mark’s shoulder, squeezing tightly. “How the hell can she pay for a mansion?”

Mark paled. “That’s why the variants stole the money. They weren’t just looting for the hell of it… they were funding her new life.”

Debbie frowned, spoon frozen in mid-air. “What are you two talking about?”

Mark and Eve snapped their heads toward her like deer caught in headlights.

“Nothing!” they both blurted at the same time.

“Uh, thanks, Mom,” Mark added, already backing away. “We’re just gonna—uh—head upstairs.”

“Yeah!” Eve nodded too quickly. “We have to… do superhero stuff.”

Debbie squinted, clearly suspicious, but said nothing as the two bolted upstairs.

Once the door to Mark’s room shut behind them, Eve turned to him, arms crossed.

“She’s hiding them. Helping them. That’s why she disappeared. That’s why she never came back to college. She’s not a hostage, Mark—she’s in on it.”

Mark rubbed his face, frustration pouring off him. “I don’t know if it’s that simple. But I need to find her. Fast.” He looked toward his laptop. Because if Y/N really was protecting them… He wasn’t sure if he’d be able to stop her.

She threw her head back, a soft moan escaping as Prisoner Mark and Omni Mark moved with a rhythm that left her breathless. The tension of everything—her debts, the stolen money, the chaotic whirlwind of the last weeks—seemed to melt away in the heat of the moment.

Prisoner Mark’s steady strength grounded her, while Omni Mark’s presence was electric, wild but careful. Together, they created a balance she didn’t know she needed. Her hands tangled in omni marks hair, her heart racing—not just from desire, but from the sheer relief of feeling alive again.

For a while, there was only the three of them, lost in the quiet chaos of the night. Her moans breathless as her orgasm approached for the fourth time that night.

Before she could catch her breath, the bedroom door slammed open and Mohawk Mark’s voice cut through the heavy air like a thunderclap.

“Fuck sakes! Can you keep it down?!” he barked, arms crossed and an exasperated scowl plastered across his face.

Prisoner Mark froze mid-thrust, Omni Mark pulled back slightly, and Y/N couldn’t help but laugh breathlessly, clutching the sheets.

“Seriously, dude? You had your fun last night, and no one interrupted you.” she teased, cheeks flushed from both the scene and his unexpected intrusion.

Mohawk Mark rolled his eyes dramatically, “Some of us actually need sleep, you know.”

Omni Mark smirked, “Guess the party’s over.”

Prisoner Mark shot Mohawk a warning glare, but even he was struggling to hide a grin. Y/N shook her head, still laughing softly. “You’re impossible.” Mohawk mark grumbled and left.

She slipped into her clothes, the fabric cool against her skin after the warmth that had just filled the room. The atmosphere softened, the intensity fading into a comfortable quiet.

Omni Mark tugged up his pants, shaking his head. “I still think it’s dumb we can only have you on certain days.”

Prisoner Mark stretched, letting out a low groan, “Agreed.”

Y/N sighed, smoothing the hem of her shirt. “Yeah— I know. But that’s what we all agreed on. Everyone gets one day per week, and since there are eight of you, two people have to double up on a day.” She glanced at them both with a gentle smile.

Omni Mark leaned against the doorframe, grinning, “Doesn’t mean I have to like it, beautiful.”

Prisoner Mark smirked, “Yeah, but we’re all playing by the rules. For now.”

Y/N let out a soft, tired sigh as she stood in the doorway, watching the two Marks start to settle down. The adrenaline from the day was finally fading, leaving behind a comfortable exhaustion. She ran a hand through her hair, loosening the few strands that had stuck to her forehead.

“Alright, you two troublemakers,” she said with a playful smirk, “get some rest. Big day tomorrow, and I want you both sharp and ready.”

Omni Mark grinned, sliding his pants up a little higher as he leaned against the wall. “Good night, beautiful,” he teased, his eyes sparkling with that familiar mischievous glint.

Prisoner Mark stretched with a slow, deliberate ease, his voice dropping into a softer, quieter tone. “Sleep well,” he said sincerely, a faint smile tugging at the corner of his lips.

Y/N chuckled softly, the sound warm and light in the quiet room. “Thanks. You guys too. And seriously—don’t cause too much chaos while I’m gone. I don’t need more reasons to have to clean up after you all.”

Omni Mark raised an eyebrow, mock-offended. “Hey, chaos is our middle name.”

Prisoner Mark shook his head, the faintest smirk still playing on his face. “You’re the chaos, not me.”

She laughed, pushing the door fully open and stepping out into the hallway. Before closing it gently behind her, she turned back for one last look.

“See you in the morning. Don’t forget—tomorrow’s plan is full of heavy lifting and probably a lot of swearing.”

“Wouldn’t miss it,” Omni Mark called after her.

As the door clicked softly shut, Y/N felt a small rush of warmth—grateful for this strange, chaotic little family she was building, and for the unexpected sense of peace she found with them around. Then, with a steady breath, she headed down the hall toward her own room, ready to finally collapse into some well-earned sleep.

TAG LIST: @sweethoneyblossom1 @curlzlamb @heiankyonoeiyuukun @redz0mbie @thoughtfulbelieverstrawberry @rayaaa4444 @weponxwrites @kelly-bopbou @innies-goth-gf @localdepressedvampire @0ut0fsweets @sweet77kellia @froggityer @septemberscryingchild @septembersharvest @irlandajacquelinne-blog @zzumy @cosmiiwrites @wartofart @pookiei-bookie e @domoxd @gaychaosgremlin @strawbe10y @blankface333 @meowx1 @onlybatsyy @teriyakiitae @archanghell @sliverklaus @dkddkdkdkdkd @cav-wav @0hname

[bubbleggum444]

hiya I was wondering if you can do a jason todd x wife ex league of assassin reader.

Reader and Jason fight crime together.

Most of time the younger batfamily members like to crash at reader and Jason's apartment to relax after patrol or just for dinner. also reader helped raised and trained Damian during her time at the league.

sorry if this doesn't make sense.

— ❝HIS WIFE❞

𝑐𝑜𝑛𝑡𝑒𝑛𝑡𝑠 jason todd x female!reader, wife!reader au, angst comfort n fluff, 2k + wc

𝑠 𝑦𝑛𝑜𝑝𝑠𝑖𝑠 jason's wife taking care of his adoptive brother + jason being himself

𝑎/𝑛: this was requested as a story of how jason's wife and he fight crime...well...i turned into them comforting damian when he needed it. don't know how i missed the actual request. 🥲 will write the correct one later on.

Before Jason could even comprehend why his younger brother was at his doorstep at three in the morning—in the middle of a raging storm—his lovely wife pushed past him, taking the shivering boy into her arms.

She led Damian to the living room, settling him near the furnace, wrapping blanket after blanket around him, whispering soothing words, and motioning for her husband not to bombard the boy with questions.

Now, Jason had nothing against the little demon visiting. He'd always known—even in his early resurrection days—just how much Damian depended on his wife.

Besides being a complete menace with a rifle, having a nasty right hook, and killer karate skills, Jason’s wife was like a second mother to Damian. Even Talia had doted on her back when she was still in the League.

Damian had practically grown up as her shadow. If he loved his actual mother, then he absolutely adored his figurative one—Jason’s wife.

One thing to note: ___ was infertile. It had been a cruel blow to her self-esteem. She wanted kids. She wanted to be a mom.

No matter how many times she forced a smile and reassured Jason that it was okay, he could see through it. Each time she looked down at another negative test, he knew it wasn’t okay. It hurt her. And it hurt him too.

So when Jason had wished for a miracle—a little bundle of joy for them—he hadn’t expected it to come in the form of his little brother showing up for the nth time that week.

"Dami… What happened?" His wife’s soft voice pulled Jason from his thoughts. He glanced down at the younger hero.

"Just… my… Dad's been tough on me. I'm sorry for… being an inconvenience…"

Oh. That actually hurt. A lot.

Jason felt a sharp sting in his chest. He knew how tough Bruce could be—how tough he had been on him. Even if Bruce’s intentions were good, the effects often lasted longer in ways that weren’t always for the better.

His wife's eyes met his, silently pleading. Jason just nodded. That was all the permission she needed to scoop the eight-year-old into her arms and take him to the bathroom for a bath.

"So… Wayne’s been tough on you, Dami?" she asked gently as she washed his hair. He only nodded, his small hands gripping his knees, his tears held back but obvious.

"Did he yell?" she asked, carefully choosing her words.

Damian shook his head. No. She sighed in relief.

"You can sleep here, okay? And��and you can stay as long as you need until you feel ready to go back to your dad. That sound good, dear?"

Another nod.

After the bath and drying his hair, she tucked him into her and Jason’s bed. That earned her a disapproving glance from Jason, but she ignored it. It wasn’t like he was actually mad.

Jason sighed, climbing into bed. He barely had time to relax before he felt his little brother cling to him.

Damian was rarely vulnerable—especially with him.

So, even though Jason had planned for a peaceful night alone with his wife, he didn’t mind. Not this time. Because somehow, Damian being there felt like exactly what his wife needed to get through this hard time.

Whether Damian was helping them, or they were helping him, Jason didn’t know. But he was grateful for it.

___ turned off the lights and slid into bed, pulling the covers over them. And that was that. Damian, squished between them, seeking their warmth, and the two of them accepting it without hesitation.

Though… Jason figured he should get something off his chest too. Y’know, keep the sentiment going.

"I farted."

"GROSS—"

"JASON—"

➽──────────────❥

𝑏𝑢𝑏𝑏𝑙𝑒𝑔𝑔𝑢𝑚444©

𝐥𝐢𝐤𝐞𝐬 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐫𝐞𝐛𝐥𝐨𝐠𝐬 𝐚𝐫𝐞 𝐠𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐭𝐥𝐲 𝐚𝐩𝐩𝐫𝐞𝐜𝐢𝐚𝐭𝐞𝐝 <𝟑

[bigdumbbambieyes]

He’s rushing because he’s late and he’s late because his power went off in the middle of the night and reset his alarm clock.

Pushing through the morning crowd, Billy clutches the strap of his backpack he’d slung over his shoulder, his breath coming out in harsh little pants as he breathes in the cold New York air.

It had rained last night, so the morning is chilly, but it’s not like he can feel anywhere but his flushed cheeks.

He rushes into the subway station near his apartment and rushes his way through it all, his calves aching from the quick steps he’s taking, apologizing to a girl he pushes as he steps into one of the cars.

A misstep has him colliding with the metal bar in front of him, his free hand grasping it with a rush of air from his lungs, his blue eyes wide as he comes face to face with big brown eyes.

And there’s a familiarity there, like Billy’s seen them before, making his heart almost stop as his gaze flicks over the other’s face — dotted with beauty marks, an angular jaw, long and thick brown hair pulled back into a little bun, a few pieces framing his pretty face, a pair of dark sunglasses atop his head.

Looking into those eyes, Billy can smell the sweetness of sunscreen and cologne, he feels the hot metal of a muscle car under his fingertips, feels his stomach twist in anxiety before it’s soothed by a memory of gentle kisses and soft words exchanged in the night.

The guy stares back at him, his lips parted and eyes wide, surprised — almost like he knows Billy, too.

But. He doesn’t know him. Billy’s never seen him before.

“Sorry,” he breathes, breathless.

“S’okay,” the guy nods, moving over to make room for Billy beside him.

The car fills and fills, pressing them together, and Billy catches the scent of the guy’s cologne.

A flash of water a lake in his mind, familiar laughter echoing through the car and his ears, making him glance over to his right, the sound so distant yet so close. Like a memory.

The car begins to move and Billy worries his bottom lip between his teeth, feeling the urge to say something, feeling like he’s slipped into someone else’s body, but he doesn’t.

He reaches down for his phone in his pocket, fighting the nervous twisting of his stomach, but realizes that it’s not there. It’s at home, on his kitchen counter, where he’d left it in his rushing. Fuck.

He glimpses at the guy from the corner of his eye and finds him staring back.

It startles him, makes his mouth twist in a smirk as he glances away, huffing in amusement.

“I’m sorry,” the guy beside him laughs gently, the sound making Billy look to him again. Those big brown eyes are gently crinkled in the corner with a smile stretching that wide Cupid’s bow, “I just…I feel like I’ve seen you before.”

Billy feels his shoulders drop in relief, nodding in agreement as he reaches up to brush his hand through his short curls, “Yeah, no, I…I get it.”

“Same school?” The guy offers, quirking a brow.

“Columbia?” Billy asks.

The guys shakes his head, “NYU.”

Hm.

They stare at each other for a moment longer, trying to figure it out, but Billy’s coming up short.

“You from here?” The guy asks, tilting his head a little.

“Yeah,” Billy nods his head, “Born and raised. You?”

“Oregon.”

“Ah,” Billy nods. Definitely never have met before.

And yet, he remembers a warm palm against his, the touch so soft and familiar, even as no one holds his hand now.

“Steve,” Steve says with a smile, holding his hand out, “My name, I mean.”

Billy takes that hand in his and gives it a squeeze, mirroring the small, curious smile on Steve’s face as he says, “Billy.”

“Billy. That’s a nice name,” Steve hums, not pulling his hand away, “Kinda like a bad boy in a 80s movie, or something.”

Billy huffs a laugh, his smile growing, “Yeah, well, you can thank my mom for that.”

“Maybe I will,” Steve replies, playful.

“You wanna meet my mom?” Billy grins, amused at the flirting, already imagining Steve meeting her. She would adore him, probably. She’s always had a weakness for brown eyes.

“I mean, that would be kinda fast, but…why not?” Steve bites his lower lip a little, angles his head just so that his eyes are so doe-like that it makes Billy weak in the knees.

It’s…easy, talking to Steve. Like they haven’t just met. Like Billy’s known him in another life.

“You’re crazy,” Billy chuckles, shaking his head in disbelief.

“Too crazy to get your number?”

Billy looks at him again, sees the shy smile on Steve’s face, so goddamn cute. He can taste ice cream on his tongue then, feels a strange chill through his body as he does.

“Nah, not too crazy for that,” Billy’s smile softens, flattered and endeared.

Steve hands him his phone and Billy taps his number onto the screen, feeling his stomach twist and turn, excited.

The car slows to a stop just as Steve sends him a text, his eyes flicking up to the stop before he looks at Billy with that same shy smile, “This is me. Text me back, okay?”

He doesn’t want him to leave. Not yet.

“Yeah,” Billy nods, feeling the last bit of air in his lungs rush out as Steve does, stepping out of the subway car and throwing a look back at Billy, still smiling, before the doors slide shut again.

His grip on the metal bar tightens as the car begins to move again, feeling that strange familiarity on the nape of his neck like a guiding hand.

“Steve,” he murmurs to himself with a small smile, feeling the name roll off his tongue like he’s said it a thousand times before.

[ineedpaigebuckets]

more than a mistake

paige x reader

synopsis: they meet at a bar, your boyfriends off with some girl- so paige lets you know what it's really like, and at a party the next week, you get to return the favor

an: like smut ISH but like not really just like buildup i guess

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

you didn’t want to come out tonight.

but your boyfriend insisted. “it'll be fun,” he said. “we need a night out,” he said. little did you know there was no "we" it was just him.

so now he’s at the other end of the bar, practically drooling over some blonde in a miniskirt, while you’re standing here with an empty drink, your arms crossed, your jaw locked.

you don’t even realize someone’s next to you until she speaks.

“he's not even subtle about it.”

you turn. it's a girl—tall, confident, jeans that actually fit, one hand wrapped around a glass of something dark. paige bueckers, you know her, or know of her, of course you do- everyone does. she's watching your boyfriend with a smirk like she’s seen this scene play out a hundred times and already knows the ending.

you raise an eyebrow. “excuse me?”

“he's trying to impress her with that laugh,” she says, nodding toward him. “the one that sounds like a dying dolphin? classic.”

you blink. the , involuntarily, you laugh- a real laugh, unlike his.

she looks at you for the first time- and she really looks at you- and it’s like her gaze rakes over every inch of you in one slow, unapologetic sweep.

“not to be rude,” she adds, “but what the hell are you doing here with that when you could be doing… literally anything else?”

your mouth opens. “wow. uhm- ”

“too much?” she says, sipping her drink, completely unbothered. “i can dial it back.”

you don’t want her to dial anything back, not one bit.

you glance toward your boyfriend. he's still not looking for you, not even noticing that you now have your own blonde on your arm.

you look back at her. she hasn’t stopped watching you. it's not subtle. her eyes drop to your lips, your collarbone, your waist. they linger.

you feel heat crawl under your skin.

“you always like this?” you ask.

she shrugs. “only when i know i'm right.”

you roll your eyes, but your pulse betrays you.

“let me guess,” you say. “you're gonna tell me i deserve better or some shit.”

“no,” she says. “i was gonna tell you i am better. at least in the ways that matter right now.”

your stomach tightens. you shouldn’t like how that sounds.

but you do.

she tilts her head, voice low now. “you want it- i can see it in those pretty eyes of yours.”

you don’t answer.

she leans a little closer. “he doesn’t know you, does he?”

you inhale, sharp. “you don’t know me either.”

she smiles, slow and sure. “i know how you’re looking at me right now.”

you hate that she’s right.

you hate how your skin is buzzing, how your legs feel a little too warm, how you’re already imagining what her hands might feel like on your skin.

she watches you for a second. “i'll say it plain, since you don’t seem like the type to play games- i want to fuck you.”

your breath catches.

“and i think you want to let me.”

you swallow hard. you look away- once- toward your boyfriend still pretending you don’t exist.

you turn back.

you don’t say yes.

but you don’t say no.

she grins. “come on,” she says. “lemme go remind you what it’s supposed to feel like.”

you follow her into the bathroom without looking back.

the door shuts behind you with a soft click.

you don’t move right away. you're standing in someone else’s space, in the middle of someone else’s night, with your breath shallow and your body already humming like it knows what’s coming.

paige just looks at you.

not like she’s waiting for you to speak. like she’s waiting for you to feel it. all of it.

and god, you do.

your chest is tight. your pulse is loud in your ears. your boyfriend has never made you feel like this- like you’re a storm, like you’re seconds from doing something you’ll never take back.

and maybe for the first time in your life, you don’t care.

she steps forward, slow and deliberate. her fingers trace the edge of your jaw. her touch is gentle, but her eyes are anything but. you feel seen, somehow. like she’s already undressed you with her eyes and she’s still not satisfied.

“you okay?” she asks, low.

“no,” you whisper before you can stop yourself.

it's not even a lie. you're not okay. you're so far from okay you don’t even know where that version of you went. you just know she doesn’t live in this body anymore.

and then paige kisses you.

no hesitation. no awkward buildup. just mouth on mouth- hot, open, and real. she kisses you like she’s starving and you’re the thing she’s been hunting for.

your knees go soft. your hands find her shoulders, her neck, her hair- you don’t know what you’re holding onto, only that you need to hold onto something.

she walks you backward until your spine hits the wall. her hands are under your shirt, then lifting it up. she strips you slow, like she wants to remember the look on your face when each piece comes off.

and you let her.

you're not thinking. you're just feeling. and for the first time you feel free.

she pulls her shirt off, and it’s not like the movies. it's not choreographed or slow motion. it's fast and greedy and honest. her skin is warm, her mouth hotter, her breath against your throat enough to make you whimper.

you've never made that sound before.

when she drops to her knees, your heart stutters.

“wait,” you breathe, unsure if you’re trying to stop her or just catching your breath.

she looks up at you, steady. “we can stop.”

you shake your head. “that's not-.”

she just waits, still holding your hips, her thumbs brushing the bare skin there like she’s reminding you you’re real.

“i've never—” you start, then stop. you can’t finish that sentence. you don’t even know what the end of it is.

never wanted someone like this.

never needed someone like this.

never looked at another girl and thought, i want her to break me open.

paige leans in and presses a kiss to your stomach. “let me make you feel good.”

you nod.

she does.

she pulls your panties to the side, underneath four skirt that's hiked up your stomach, and she requires your entire brain.

her mouth is sin and salvation. every flick of her tongue, every slow, deliberate movement, every sound you make- she drinks it in like proof. you lose yourself in it. you stop thinking completely. you forget your own name.

and when you come- loud and shaking, thighs clenching around her- you cry out hers.

you feel wrecked. and remade. and fucking perfect.

when she finally pulls back, your chest is heaving. your hands are still in her hair, and your brain is a blur of what the fuck was that and do it again.

she climbs back up your body, her lips brushing yours again. you kiss her like you’re drowning. her hands fix your outfit without even thinking, lips not hesitating to stay against yours.

“i don’t know what just happened,” you whisper into her mouth.

she just smiles, breathless. “it's okay. you don’t have to know yet.”

you stare at her, dazed. “i didn’t think i could feel like that.”

she presses her forehead to yours. “that's ’cause no one ever wanted to make you feel like that.”

and you know she’s right.

you let out a shaky laugh, still half-drunk on the feeling. “you're dangerous.”

“i know,” she says, kissing you again, softer this time.

you don’t know what this is.

but for once, you want to find out.

you don’t say much afterward.

you slowly fix yourself up. neither of you rushes, but neither of you lingers either. there's a strange silence- not uncomfortable, just sharp. like the air between you is still hot, still buzzing, and neither of you knows what to do with it.

you glance at her while fixing your hair in the mirror by the door. she's sitting on the edge of the toilet, one leg bounced over and over, shirt rumpled, still looking at you like she knows exactly how you taste and how you look when you fall apart.

you hate how much you like that.

“i should go,” you say, not quite looking at her.

paige doesn’t move. “right. boyfriend.”

you flinch a little, but she says it without judgment. just fact.

“he's probably wondering where i am.”

paige tilts her head. “is he?”

you shoot her a look. she smirks like she knows she’s getting under your skin and doesn’t plan on stopping.

“you don’t have to explain,” she adds. “i know.”

but something in the way she says it makes your chest tighten. like maybe you both don’t know. not really.

you nod, trying to shake it off. “still. i should go.”

she walks you the extra 3 steps to the door. you're halfway through it when you hesitate- hand still on the handle, brain scrambled, heart pounding with something that feels suspiciously like regret.

“i'm going to this party next week,” you say, casual. too casual.

paige raises an eyebrow. “you are?”

“yeah. a few friends. just a small thing.”

she leans against the doorframe. “you inviting me?”

you shrug. “if you want.”

she grins, just a little. “i want.”

you look at her for a second longer than you should. you're already picturing her showing up. you're already thinking about what you’ll wear, what you’ll say, what you won’t say. you're already fucked.

“give me your number,” you say, pulling out your phone.

she taps it in without hesitation. her name appears on your screen- just Paige, no emoji, no last name. but the weight of it is enough.

“text me,” she says, voice low, right before you leave. “or don’t. but i think you’ll want to.”

you want to.

you leave anyway.

next thing you know, you're at some random apartment, the music is loud, but not too loud- someone’s shitty bluetooth speaker on the counter blaring early 2000s throwbacks, and there’s half a case of white claws on the kitchen table. you recognize maybe five people. you smile at none of them.

because paige is here.

she showed up like she wasn’t sure she would- hands in her pockets, calm, unreadable- but the second she saw you, something in her face softened. you hadn’t even realized you’d been holding your breath until then.

and now, hours later, you’re still pressed to her side on the couch like it’s the only place in the world you want to be.

because it is.

you broke up with your boyfriend this morning. it wasn’t dramatic. it wasn’t even a fight. you just said, i'm done, and he said, figures, and that was it.

you haven’t let go of paige since she walked through the door.

she hasn’t seemed to mind.

she's got one arm draped over the back of the couch, and you’re tucked under it, knees pulled up, leaning into her like gravity decided you belong there.

“you okay?” she murmurs into your hair.

you nod. then shake your head. “no idea.”

she chuckles. her fingers brush the curve of your arm. it's a small touch, but it makes your stomach flip.

“i feel like an idiot,” you admit. “you're barely touching me and i'm already half obsessed or something.”

paige glances at you. her smile flickers. “only half?”

you groan and hide your face against her shoulder.

she smells like clean skin and something vanilla. you want to crawl inside her shirt and stay there.

“i'm being clingy,” you mutter. “you can tell me to back off.”

“i could,” she says. “but i'm not gonna.”

you lift your head, just a little. her hand brushes your thigh. not sexual, just warm. steady.

“i keep thinking about that night,” you say, voice lower now, more careful. “what you did. how i felt.”

a pause.

“and?”

you look at her fully now. her eyes are on you, wide open. she's not teasing. she's not smug. she's just waiting.

“i want to make you feel like that.”

paige's breath catches.

you sit up a little straighter, shift closer, your hand trailing along the inside of her arm. your fingers slide under the hem of her shirt. just barely.

“i want to know what your face looks like when you fall apart,” you whisper. “i want to hear how you sound when you stop pretending nothing gets to you.”

her eyes darken. Her throat bobs. “you sure?”

“no” you say. “but i still want to.”

she kisses you- hard and fast this time, like she’s surprised by it, like she couldn’t not do it. and then you’re tugging her hand, leading her down the hall into the first empty room you can find, heart pounding, skin burning.

you push her down onto the bed.

and you take your time.

you kiss every inch of her like a map you’re learning by heart. you get her shirt off and your mouth on her chest, her stomach, the soft inside of her thighs. you don’t stop until she’s gasping, arching, gripping the sheets like she’s trying to keep from flying apart.

you watch her come with wide eyes, stunned at how much it does to you.

after, she pulls you down beside her, cheeks flushed, hair messy.

“i underestimated you pretty girl,” she says, breathless.

you grin. “good.”

you're both still half-naked, half buzzed, laying on your sides, noses almost touching.

“can i ask you something?” she says.

“yeah?”

paige hesitates. then, carefully, "go out with me. like… really. not just this. not just—” she gestures vaguely to the bed, to the party beyond the door, “whatever this is.”

you blink.

“i want to take you to dinner,” she adds, quieter now. “hold your hand and take you somewhere we don't have to sneak off to. be the person you don’t have to hide.”

your heart does something weird in your chest. like it’s trying to fold into itself.

you nod before you even realize you’re doing it. “okay.”

“yeah?”

“yeah,” you say, and you kiss her again.

and it feels less like a mistake this time.

more like something you've been looking for your whole life and just now found.

[alexrogers-kazansky]

Bucky presents him in a random day, saying that he is his husband ("he is steve barnes" "hi, i'm steve barnes") and he needs to stay in the Watchtower for a few weeks because their house is renovating.

This is how i think each one finds out and the order:

Bob looks like someone who has insomnia problems, so, a night he goes to the living room and sits on the sofa. Thirty minutes or so later, Steve goes downstairs (he is thirsty) and sees Bob there and worries about him because he's a damn mother hen. He sits next to Bob and the two of them talk until at one point Bob is leaning on Steve's shoulder almost dozing off while Steve is telling one of the many stories with the Howlies ("and then we were in Austria without much food, in the middle of the forest and in winter" "hmmm"). The two continue, neither of them telling anyone Steve tells Bucky because they share every second of their lives with each other. Four nights later, reading an article that pays homage to the 107th Infantry (Fourth of July or something), Bob realizes where he knows the names of the stories that Steve tells.

Alexei finds out in the example above, but it was during a clean-up in the living room (he doesn't look like someone who would mind the noises). He was watching a soccer match on TV, excitedly letting popcorn kernels fall to the floor and carrying on a one-sided conversation with Steve about the game. Suddenly, he felt himself getting lighter and a few seconds later the sofa rocked and made a slight noise as it came into contact with the floor. It was as if something clicked in his head. After that Alexei stands still and is careful not to let any kernels of popcorn fall, intimidated.

Yelena and Ava discover together. It's morning, they're in the kitchen talking to Steve who's cooking breakfast. Yelena isn't quite awake, with her hand resting on the side of her face, so the conversation is just between Steve and Ava. She interrupts the conversation when her eyes find Bucky's worn copy of The Hobbit on the kitchen island and comments: "What an old thing, why doesn't he just throw it away?"

Steve stops what he's doing to look where Yelena is looking and laughs when he sees the book "I think it has more sentimental value than anything, there are even some words that are illegible" *picks up the book and runs his fingers over the faded cover with sudden nostalgia* "I bought this book for him, you know?"

Ava stops and stares at Steve, half-doubting, half-disbelieving, half-shocked that she hadn't noticed before (she's had this conversation with Bucky before so it was easy to connect the pieces), but Yelena doesn't understand (she's sleepy) so she replies: "Oh yeah?". Steve nods and gestures to the living room, handing the book to Ava: "Put it on the shelf, please? Thank you - yes, that was me. I bought it right at the launch, stood in line for hours and almost froze, and had one or two asthma attacks, I don't remember exactly. I thank God to this day for the serum that freed me from that damn disease."

Yelena frowns "Asthma? How...?" Ava, still holding the book in her hand, stares at her deeply as if trying to send a telepathic message. The thought takes a full minute and is visible on Yelena's face. She stares at Steve as if he were a completely different person.

John grew up with images of Captain America, as a child he replayed over and over again the commercials and movies Steve made, he became a military man because of this guy, he accepted the post of Captain America because of this guy. So when he and Steve are arguing about who's going to carry the packages to their floor (they've gone to buy furniture or food) and John wins the argument, he freezes when Steve turns, winks at him and says: "Okay, go ahead, Johnny" in that voice he always heard in those movies and commercials and accompanied by that brilliant smile from the various advertisements.

i just love the idea of steve casually being in the tower with the new avengers team but nobody really recognizes him/pays attention until he lifts the fridge without strain while he's vacuuming or something