outerworldscans

[gravitcat]

[yutaholic]

codename: viper (M)

PAIRING: Yuta (NCT) + reader (female)

SUMMARY: ten years ago, Yuta walked away from a life of villainy to be a husband and father, but when an enemy comes lurking, he is ready to protect his family by any vicious means necessary...

WARNINGS: mild language; violent scenarios with mentions of blood; dialogue related to pregnancy and childbirth; explicit sexual content

NOTES: 17k words; this is part of my villain series, beast mode

There was nothing like the view of your house after a brutal day at the office. The sun had long set over the neighborhood as you drove down a street of identical houses. Hiding in plain sight, your husband called it.

Parking in the driveway, you gathered your bag and your high heels, which you had kicked off the moment you got into the car. It had been a grueling twelve hours, the majority spent in court. You walked up the path through the yard, the cold pavement soothing on your bare feet, and opened the front door quietly.

Your babies would be in bed by now, unfortunately. And you didn’t want to wake them.

The moment you stepped into the house, the savory smell of hot food wafted into your nose and your stomach growled, hitting you with hunger pains. “Yum,” you muttered to yourself, dropping your high heels beside the row of shoes by the front door. The sight of two small pairs of sneakers always made you smile.

Yuta was in the kitchen, stirring something on the stove, and at the sound of your approaching footsteps, he turned and greeted, “Hello, District Attorney Nakamoto.”

You grinned, marching right over to your husband and slumping into his chest.

Yuta hugged you tight, kissed your temple, and asked, “Put away a lot of bad men today?”

“A few,” you replied, your energy running on empty, but with every second spent in his arms, you could feel yourself refueling. “Some bad women too.”

Yuta rubbed your back as you broke reluctantly from his hug, though you still clung to his waist, and teased, “I remember when you used to threaten to lock me up forever.”

You gave him a wry smirk. “That was just my way of flirting.”

“Or the times you grilled me in interrogation for hours. Handcuffs included.”

“That was foreplay.”

Yuta snickered. Then, he turned serious for a moment to say, “It’s been a pleasure watching you climb your way to the throne.”

You flushed a little, taken aback by the compliment. “Do you think I’m worthy to sit on it?”

Yuta was stern, as to be expected. “There’s no one more worthy than you.”

You sighed, all the tension breaking in your chest.

Yuta pressed a tender kiss to your lips, which you returned, overlapping your arms on his shoulders and deepening the kiss. It took the loud popping of food over the fire to draw your husband away from you.

“How are the babies?” you asked as Yuta prepared you a plate.

Your husband grinned from ear to ear and gushed, “They’re amazing. Together, they’re smarter than both of us combined.”

You pretended to wince. “Oh, dear. Make sure they never hear you say that.”

“My lips are sealed.”

“And no sign of any…”

Powers.

Yuta shook his head. It was around this age his abilities had fully surfaced. He studied the twins intently, painstakingly, every day. They were his children; it was likely he passed the gene to them, but there was a chance your genes could have defeated his.

You dropped the subject. It was no secret Yuta hoped his children hadn’t inherited his gift. And given they were five years old now, there was a strong chance he’d gotten his wish. It was bittersweet, to say the least.

“I hate when you work late,” Yuta mumbled, walking over to the dining table with your plate in hand.

“I know, but we’re spread so thin right now,” you told him tiredly as you took the seat he pulled out for you.

Yuta sat beside you, keeping you company while you ate your dinner. Propping his head on his hand, he smarted, “No one wants to work for the justice system? I’m shocked.”

You chuckled as you chewed your food, but sadness seeped into your voice when you said, “We get some really good people, especially the younger ones, but the system breaks them eventually. It’s stacked against all of us.”

“No wonder villains choose to play by their own rules,” Yuta said snidely under his breath.

You gave him a look. It wasn’t the first time he’d made that kind of comment and it wouldn’t be the last. Yuta fully supported the work you did, but a life of villainy had shaped him in ways you would never understand.

“Humanity has to have laws that separate us from the animals.”

Yuta whispered darkly, “Some of us are animals, my love.”

You cocked your head and flirted, “Not you, Viper.”

Yuta smirked. Then, his expression shifted and he caught himself staring at you with admiration. You were the only woman that had ever embraced his darkness. You never punished him for his past, but you pushed him toward a healthier future.

“I want a better world for our babies too,” he whispered, reaching over to tuck some of your hair behind your ear. “If anyone can do it, it’s you.”

That meant everything to you. If Yuta was in your corner, believing in you, you knew you could do anything. You leaned toward your husband and kissed his cheek, which made Yuta blush. He was a sucker for affection.

“This is delicious, babe,” you said a moment later, dabbing at your lips with the napkin. “You’ve outdone yourself.”

Yuta retorted, “The spawn have been begging for steak for days. Daddy is getting pretty good with the grill.”

You snorted back a laugh. You still remembered the days Yuta could barely cook noodles without setting the house on fire. Not to mention the time he put both of you in the hospital with food poisoning for accidentally cooking well-expired ham. To this day, you and your husband still gave sideward glances toward ham.

Yuta made it a point to prepare home cooked meals for you and the kids. And after many, many classes (which you were forbidden from telling any of his friends about because he had a ruthless reputation to protect), he had gotten pretty good at it. Your husband’s newest favorite method was the grill on the back porch that you bought him for his birthday. He had grilled almost everything that could be grilled at this point, much to the delight of your children.

Speaking of the precious spawn, your twins came running out of their room, Suki practically sprinting and dragging Yuma by the hand behind her.

“Big news,” your daughter announced loudly.

Yuta shot them a glance and said, “The two of you are supposed to be sleeping.”

“Daddy, this is important,” Suki countered without missing a beat. She gave her brother a little push in your direction and said, “Tell them, Yuma.”

Yuma shifted nervously, his eyes on the floor. Holding eye contact was very hard for him. Your son was painfully shy. “I, um, I was thinking,” he started.

You and Yuta waited patiently, always prepared to give him the time he needed to put his thoughts into words.

Suki rubbed his arm in comfort. “It’s okay, Yuma. You can tell them.”

Yuma sucked in a breath and said, “I… want to be an artist.”

You exchanged looks with Yuta, both of you fighting back delighted smiles.

“That’s great,” Yuta said brightly.

You nodded emphatically. “I would love to see your art, baby.”

Yuma made a noise. “It’s not ready yet.”

“Oh.”

“Yuma wants to do art,” Suki said with excitement. “But he thinks people will say it’s stupid.”

Yuta snorted. “If anyone says your art is stupid, Yuma, then they are idiots with no taste.”

“Exactly,” you agreed.

Your son smiled, relieved. With the three of you on his team, he was ready to try.

Yuta lowered his tone to something mischievous and asked, “Now, be honest, did the two of you stay up waiting for Mommy to come home?”

“Yes,” the twins answered in perfect sync.

You quickly rose to your feet and exclaimed, “Then, you better get over here and hug me before Daddy takes you back to bed!”

Suki and Yuma rushed toward you, colliding into your chest and you enveloped them in your arms. Yuta let out a fake growl and held up his hands, chanting, “I’m coming to get you!”

The twins squealed and laughed as you raced through the living room with them in your arms, keeping them out of their father’s clutches.

Not long after, you met Yuta’s eyes and smiled contentedly. Suki and Yuma were nestled between you and their father, sound asleep. Yuta traced his thumb over your cheek as you drifted off.

Everything was right in the little world you shared with your family.

Only a few years ago you’d wondered if you would ever be where you were now.

“It’s killing me, Yuta,” you cried, on the verge of tears. “I wanna get pregnant. I want to have a baby with you.”

“I know,” Yuta sighed, level. He was reluctant to show you just how distressed he was, because Yuta was an empath where you were concerned. He tended to reflect your emotions. Especially when they were running high.

You paced in front of your husband, who was leaning against the doorway of the bedroom. Little by little, you’d stripped out of your clothes from work and Yuta had tossed you one of his shirts to wear over your naked body.

This was less of an argument and more of an unresolved conflict. And if there was one staple in your relationship with Yuta, it was that the two of you could talk through anything.

“But the work I do is important,” you continued, voice breaking with sadness and longing. How you could miss a baby you’d never met was beyond your understanding. “I can’t give up my job, but I’ll be damned if I let a stranger raise our kid.”

Yuta finally approached you, crooning, “Babe, calm down for a second.”

“It’s eating me up,” you whimpered, spinning your wedding band on your finger the way you always did when you were stressed.

You and Yuta had recently celebrated your second anniversary of marriage. The discussion of babies was coming up more often. You both wanted kids. It was something you talked about together even before you got married.

But everything in your career was falling into place. Your dedication did not go unnoticed by Hel’s brutal justice system. You were a fierce prosecutor, sorely needed in a city rife with both lawless villains and corrupt heroes.

You found yourself at a crossroads of your dreams - being Hel’s hammer of consequences and making your hometown safer or being a mom and having a baby with the love of your life.

Yuta called your name and said, “I’ll raise the baby.”

You stopped dead in your tracks, eyes wide. “What?”

Yuta nodded and said it again, “I will raise the baby. You can keep your career. It’s okay.”

You gawked, like your brain had short-circuited. “You’re okay with me being the breadwinner?”

“As long as there’s bread to eat, I really don’t give a fuck who wins it,” Yuta quipped.

“God, Yuta,” you groaned as he gathered you in his arms. “You keep setting the bar too fucking high.”

Yuta laughed at that.

You melted into him, stars in your eyes. He had the most beautiful laugh and smile you had ever seen. The sight still made butterflies dance in your stomach, even after all the years spent together. Your body was already on fire. It was taking all of your restraint not to pounce on him.

Yuta could tell and the corner of his mouth lifted in that trademark smirk of his. It was going to be a very long night of baby making, Yuta sensed, and he had a feeling you’d be calling out of work in the morning. Kneading at your hips, your husband asked, “What do you say? You bring home the bacon and I’ll cook it.”

Your heart was so full you thought it would burst at any second. “You’re gonna raise our baby?”

Yuta stole a quick kiss and said, “Gladly. It would be my honor to raise our children.”

You bit your lip, shivering as his hands ran up and down your back. Then, without another word, you walked over to the dresser and grabbed the packet of birth control pills, holding them up dramatically before dropping them in the trash bin.

Yuta kept his promise. After your babies were born, you went back to work, determined to make Hel a safer place.

Raising the twins was Yuta’s greatest pride. He loved watching them grow, enjoyed teaching them everything they needed to know about life. Every day, he would catch himself staring at Yuma and Suki in wonder.

How such beautiful, pure creatures came from him was a goddamn mystery.

It was early in the afternoon when Yuta returned with the twins after a few hours of kindergarten. Schools in Hel were a little different. The affluent could afford to send their kids to very secure private schools and you didn’t mind shelling out the extra money for that.

Regardless, Yuta tended to hover near the school until it was time to pick the kids up. Just in case. He had no idea how he was going to cope with the following year when they would be at school all day. Yuta was seriously considering getting a job at the damn school, but Suki would be opposed. She often called him out on his hovering, much to Yuta’s amusement.

Yuta drove home with the twins in the backseat, all three of them singing along to the radio. Suki belted her little lungs out while Yuma mumbled the words he knew here and there. Yuta constantly caught himself smiling until his cheeks ached.

Back at home, he set out snacks for the kids and Yuma made himself comfortable at the coffee table in the living room to work on his drawings. Since he told you and Yuta about his passion for art, Yuma’s pictures were beginning to collect on the walls. It was the boost his confidence needed.

Yuta’s hand shook with the urge to chuck the calculator against the wall. God, he hated balancing the fucking checkbook. One of these days he was going to hire one of his friends to do it. Someone good at math. Probably Jungwoo.

Suki finished her snack and walked over to the dining table where her father was slowly but surely losing the will to live and called, “Daddy?”

Yuta looked over his shoulder. “Yes, Suki?”

“I have a problem.”

Well, that was Yuta’s least favorite phrase. Nothing unnerved him quite like it. Setting down his pencil and turning to her, he asked, “Okay, do you want to talk about it or is it something I need to fix?”

Suki replied flatly, “I would like to talk to you about it.”

Yuta patted the seat next to him and said, “Alright. I’m all yours, baby girl.”

Suki clambered into the chair and began, “There’s a girl in my class.”

Yuta waited patiently.

“We held hands today.”

Yuta breathed a little easier, having expected something a bit more dire. “That’s nice,” Yuta said with a smile. “Did you want to do that?”

Suki nodded happily. “Yes, I liked it.”

Yuta fought a laugh. “Good. Okay.”

“I want to marry her,” she announced, very matter of fact.

“Oh. I see.”

“Is that okay?”

Yuta chewed over his words carefully before answering, “Well, I think it’s sweet you found someone you like, but Suki, marriage is a very big step.”

“Hm.”

“Do you think you’re ready for that?”

Suki’s face was filled with determination. Yuta’s daughter feared nothing and felt the world was hers for the conquering, and he’d be damned if anyone ever told her otherwise. “Yes. I love her,” she told him.

Yuta was grinning, trying desperately not to giggle. Judging by the look in her eyes, Suki had no idea the gravity of what she was asking. She was only five years old, after all. “And while I appreciate that, do you have money for a wedding?”

Suki thought about it, tallying up her allowance money in her head, and replied, “I have a little bit.”

“And a house? Do you have money for a place to live with the person you marry?”

His daughter grimaced. “I didn’t think about that.”

Yuta reached over to take her tiny hand and gave it a squeeze, explaining delicately, “That is why it’s important to go to school so you can get a good job one day and have a nice house for you and your partner. Because marriage is a partnership.”

“Like you and Mommy?”

Yuta smiled warmly at the thought of you and said, “Yes. Mommy works very hard to give us this nice house.”

Suki sighed and her eyes sparkled. “I love Mommy.”

“I do too.”

A thought struck Suki. She looked to her father expectantly and asked, “Did you want to marry Mommy when you held hands?”

Yuta bobbed his head. “Absolutely. Holding hands with a pretty girl triggers all the happy feelings in your brain.”’

Suki giggled.

Yuta peered down at his daughter with joy. She was the cutest thing in the world with her sweet smile and bouncy pigtails. She looked a lot like you while Yuma looked more like him, but Yuta could see himself in Suki when she was up to no good. She had his mischievous grin and his penchant for trouble.

Suki seemed content with the conversation and gave her father a grateful kiss on the cheek before sliding off the chair.

Yuta stopped her to ask, “One question, Suki. Did anyone say anything to you about holding hands with a girl?”

She seemed puzzled by that, brows furrowed. “No.”

“Good,” Yuta said. He would not hesitate to march into that school and give them a piece of his mind if necessary. Yuta was always in fight mode when it came to his babies. Fortunately, the school knew you were Hel’s biggest lawyer and went out of their way not to piss either of you off.

“Did I miss anything today?” you asked that night after finishing your dinner, following Yuta over to the sofa in the living room.

Yuta poured you a glass of wine and took the empty spot beside you, putting his own glass to his lips and replying, “Your daughter wants to get married.”

You lurched, almost choking on your drink.

Yuta was beaming, sidling closer to you as he added, “To a pretty girl in her class.”

“I’ll be damned,” you said, shaking your head with a laugh. “What did you tell her?”

“I told her that while marriage is admirable, it’s also very expensive,” Yuta quipped, draping his arm around your shoulders.

You downed another mouthful of wine and groaned, “God, why are they growing up so fast?”

“We’re gonna blink and they’ll be our age.”

“Don’t say that. I swear, I just birthed them yesterday.”

Yuta snorted.

You mulled it over and spoke like you were presenting closing arguments for a case, “Tell them they can’t get married until at least thirty. They’re ours. We don’t want to share them with anyone else for a long time.”

Yuta clinked his glass against yours. “I’ll be sure to tell them.”

You lowered your head, breathing out a sigh. Blinking rapidly, because your eyes had begun to burn, a tear escaped and rolled down your cheek. You did your best to quickly wipe it away with your hand, hiding the evidence as it were, but Yuta saw. He could feel your body tensing up.

“Baby, don’t do that to yourself,” your husband whispered. He knew you too well, better than anyone else on earth.

You sniffled and more tears followed when you cried, “I feel like I’m missing out on so much. What if I look back and I’ve missed everything, Yuta?”

“Come here,” Yuta crooned, tugging you close.

You buried your face in his chest and closed your eyes, dampening his shirt with your tears.

Yuta rubbed your arm, trying to warm you because he knew a cruel chill was working its way through your body. You were exhausted and burnt out, and for every criminal you put away, three more took its place. You were a warrior locked in an endless war with a hydra.

You hated working late, hated that the sweet beautiful moments with your children were few and far between, but you were determined to fix the system before they had to live under it.

There were days you wished you could live somewhere else, but the rest of the world had designated Hel the only sanctuary for those with powers. If they ventured anywhere else, they were hunted to the death. Regardless of Yuta’s abilities, you would never ask him to run forever.

Once you were spent of your tears, Yuta slipped his fingers into your hair and tugged your head back so he could search your face. You weren’t surprised when he kissed your wet lips, tasting the salt on his tongue.

The two unfinished glasses of wine were left behind on the coffee table as Yuta popped your legs around his waist and carried you into the bedroom. You disappeared with him into a haze of kisses and touches, lust and passion.

Yuta wasn’t satisfied until he broke you. Until your body was as exhausted as your heart and mind had been. Seconds blurred into minutes and minutes blurred into hours. You were covered in sweat, tangled in damp sheets. Tears of sadness became tears of pleasure as he took you again and again.

You screamed into his hand clamped over your mouth, because Yuta dared not let the sounds you made travel outside of the bedroom. You shook with orgasm, your body an unhinged livewire, and darkness rolled over your eyes like a blackout.

It was times like these you were convinced you and your husband were made only of ecstasy. And only for each other.

“Look at me,” your husband growled, clasping your jaw. He was propped over you, rocking his cock in and out of your core at a lazy pace.

You were sore and overstimulated, shivering each time he bottomed out inside. The slow strokes of his cock were too much and yet not enough. You held onto his arms for dear life and stared into his eyes, lips parted as you panted for breath.

“You’re a good mom,” Yuta told you gently, his voice low and husky. “They love you so much. Almost as much as I do.”

Fresh tears spilled from your eyes and you whimpered just as Yuta smashed his lips on yours, silencing all of your doubts and fears with his words and with a kiss.

You were lingering in that place between awake and asleep as Yuta lowered you into the hot bath he’d prepared. With your head on his shoulder, you closed your eyes, letting the heat seep into your bones while Yuta hummed along to a familiar tune. You barely remembered him drying you off and tucking you into bed.

“Goodnight, my love,” he whispered, leaving one last kiss on the corner of your mouth.

In the morning, you roused out of bed, careful to be quiet as Yuta still slept. You always envied him a little extra on Saturdays. Not only did he get to sleep in, he got to spend the day with the babies.

You showered and dressed, and walked over to the bed, propping yourself over your husband and kissing his cheek. “I love you so much,” you murmured, leaving one more kiss near the corner of his mouth.

Yuta garbled a vague “love you” in his mother tongue, still asleep.

You grinned that even in his dreams he could hear you and tiptoed away to another long day of putting down Hel’s worst criminals.

Sunday was the only day of the week you had off and they were without contest your favorite day of the week. You and your husband were reluctant to leave the bed at a reasonable hour, catching up on much-needed rest, and eventually the twins crawled in to cuddle. Rather than get up, Yuta put on a movie for them, the latest Pixar release, which they happily watched in the comfort of your bed while you and Yuta dozed a bit more.

The next time you woke up, your daughter was pushing on your shoulder. She jumped up and down on the mattress, chanting, “Wake up, Mommy. Wake up!”

You stirred, blinking to clear your vision, and snatched your daughter, bringing her in close for a hug. Suki was all giggles, hugging you back.

“Daddy made pancakes,” she told you hurriedly, trying to roll you off the mattress.

“I’m coming, baby,” you rasped, staggering out of bed. You wobbled over to the dresser, putting on some sweatpants to go with Yuta’s tee you were wearing, and followed your daughter out to the living room.

Yuta was holding your son over the counter and you watched as Yuma scattered chocolate chips onto the pancakes. Your husband glanced up and flashed you a grin. “Hey, Mama. Finally out of hibernation, are you?”

“And whose fault is that?” you shot back playfully.

Yuta stuck out his tongue. The images of you howling his name into the pillow and scraping your nails down his back were still fresh in his mind.

“I’ll get my revenge tonight,” you murmured under your breath, stealing a chocolate chip from the bag and popping it into your mouth.

“Mommy,” Suki whispered quietly, tugging on your shirt.

Discreet, you handed her a few chocolate chips which she crammed into her mouth with a victorious grin.

The four of you sat at the table and ate your pancakes. Laughter echoed through the house. You couldn’t put into words how much you enjoyed eating with your family. After a week of solitary dinners, nothing warmed your heart than when the four of you were together.

Suki was a riot of personality. You and your daughter went back and forth, arguing facetiously over the most mundane things. Yuta was already making jokes about her following in your footsteps as a vicious lawyer.

Yuma was just like his father. In the tiny lulls between you and Suki’s fast-paced conversation, he let monotonous comments pass. The epitome of Yuta’s dry humor. Your son was hilarious without trying. Yuta would throw his head back and laugh, chiming in as well. It was only when with his family that Yuma defeated his shyness.

Where Suki had Yuta’s mischief, Yuma had your balance. While Suki had your snark, Yuma had his father’s wit. Yuta often said the twins inherited the best parts of you and him.

With breakfast finished, you gathered the plates and took them into the kitchen to clean. You had to chase Yuta away more than once, insisting he relax on the couch. It wasn’t often you got to actually wash something. Yuma and Suki came to help you, but more or less ended up just keeping you company.

In keeping with Sunday tradition, the four of you went to the park not far from your neighborhood. It was a nice, breezy walk, your fingers intertwined with Yuta’s. Suki led the way, not surprising, and Yuma was a step behind her.

Once the playground was in sight, Suki took off running, rushing over to join her friends. Yuma stopped and turned to look at you, and you encouraged him forward. Your son meandered over to the swings, watching his sister who was gabbing away with the other kids as if she’d never left.

You sat comfortably on one of the benches, returning the waves of familiar parents nearby. Yuta traced senseless patterns on your shoulder, leaning his head against yours. The two of you were content to watch your kids play.

What was mundane to others was paradise to Yuta. His life had been chaos; absolute, utter chaos, but now, it was beautiful and calm. He wouldn’t trade it for anything in the world.

“Yuta?”

“Hm?”

You nestled deeper into his embrace and said, “I need to take a step back.”

Yuta made a tiny noise, as if in agreement, but without saying it outright.

“I miss them so much,” you whispered, then turned to him. “I miss you.”

“I’m right here, babe. We’re not going anywhere.”

You chewed on your lip. “I want to be home more. The kids will be in school full days next year. At the very least, I can try to stop working until night. That way I can see them in the evenings.”

“What will that mean for justice?”

“I won’t be able to pack in as many cases in a day as I usually do, but maybe that’s a price Hel will have to pay.”

Yuta was gleaming. “I support whatever you want to do.”

You smiled, happy, and turned your eyes back to your children. Their smiles warmed you down to your very soul.

By the time you returned to the house, Yuma was sound asleep in your arms and Suki was drooling on Yuta’s shoulder. You tucked them both into their beds and turned off the light, closing the door as quietly as possible.

“One minute past their nap time and they are out,” you joked, tying up your hair into a bun on your head.

“They don’t even realize they’ve worn themselves out until it’s too late,” Yuta added, standing before the television with the weather report on. His phone was in hand and Yuta viewed his unread messages. He liked to be kept up to date on the state of the criminal underground and the dangers on the city’s surface, but he never told you that.

You were better off not knowing that Yuta kept his fingers on the pulse of Hel.

Plopping down on the sofa, you let two whole seconds of quiet pass before whining, “Ugh, go wake them up. I miss them.”

Yuta chuckled and turned off the television. Setting down his phone, he made a beeline for you and you cried out in surprise when Yuta steered you onto your back on the couch and crawled over you, leaving playful kisses across your neck.

Your giggles shifted into moans. Yuta pinned you under his weight and stroked his clothed cock on your thigh, his hand down your pants. You sighed his name into his ear and arched your body into his, the two of you writhing together and getting each other off.

Yuta made you feel like a teenager again, sneaking off to hook up in the car or stealing a quickie in the bathroom. There was no end to his desire for you. You were his other half and the mother of his children. Every day, he fell more deeply in love with you.

And you with him.

Yuta’s breath was hot on your neck as he let out one final moan. Your husband clambered off of you and slumped back against the couch, both of you disheveled and panting. And buzzing with that post-coital surge of dopamine.

“Fuck,” you groaned, eyes fixated on your husband. His cheeks were red and sweat glistened across his collarbones. With your legs still around his hips, you flexed your thighs, intentionally trying to get a reaction out of him.

Yuta swallowed to wet his dry throat and smoothed his hand over the lowest plane of your stomach possessively. “Woman, you’re insatiable,” he growled, feigning annoyance.

“You satiate me just fine,” you purred, grabbing his hand and dragging it underneath your shirt until he landed on your breast.

Yuta instinctively squeezed your mound, teasing his fingers over your nipple, and asked lowly, “Think you can wait until tonight for more?”

“Yes,” you said, but the fire in your eyes betrayed your words.

Yuta bit his lip, raking his eyes down your body. Knowing your warm, wet cunt was right there, inches from his cock, made him start to heat up again. Your husband shifted, draping himself over you once more, and teased, “It would be just like the babies to come running out here as soon as I get it in.”

You laughed. “Like the six-week mark?”

Yuta dropped his head to the crook of your shoulder with a groan and his reply was mumbled against your skin, “How could I forget?”

Six weeks after you gave birth was the imposed limit for intercourse your doctor had given you. And god knew you were counting down the days. Yuta pretended to have far more patience than you did, acting unaffected by the lack of intimacy. Honestly, having two newborn babies was distraction enough.

But as the clock winded down, you and Yuta were doing a mating dance of frustration and downright insanity. It was endless flirting and touching and the most obscene sexts you’d ever seen. Or sent. On more than one occasion you messily dry humped each other to the finish line over the nearest surface. Not your proudest moment, but you had to take what you could get.

When six weeks came and Yuta called your doctor to make sure it would absolutely be okay for him to touch you again, the two of you nearly destroyed the house on the way to the bedroom.

And just before Yuta was about to cautiously sink inside you, the baby monitor burst with cries.

This pattern continued for two weeks. Every time you were about to get railed by your husband, your beloved twins let their feelings be known on the other side of the house, screaming for milk or a diaper change or just to be held. Which effectively ended the mood.

It wasn’t until Yuta’s saint of a mother offered to take care of the twins for a day that you and Yuta enjoyed twenty minutes of fucking around and then, hilariously, spent the remaining ten hours catching up on sleep.

“How was your nap?” Yuta asked your son as he dragged his feet out to the living room. You and your husband were sitting on the couch, cleaned up, and had been talking quietly amongst yourselves.

Yuma rubbed his sleepy eyes. “Good,” he finally said, remembering his father had asked him, and climbed into your lap, using your chest as a pillow.

Yuta smiled fondly and reached over, smoothing down Yuma’s fluffy dark hair.

Suki joined not long after, her face puffy and her eyes squinting. Unlike her brother, she was too tired to speak and merely collapsed into Yuta’s lap in the most dramatic fashion.

The debate was soon on for dinner. Yuta always ordered something rather than cooked, since it was the day of rest and all. Traditionally your husband and kids would play rock-paper-scissors to decide. You never played, because you rather sucked at it and always lost so why bother.

When Yuma emerged the victor, Yuta and Suki threw up their hands and whined over their defeat, much to you and Yuma’s amusement. Your son excitedly declared, “Pizza!”

Fresh, hot pizza was delivered to the door in twenty minutes. Yuta carried the big box to the dining table and called, “Come and get it, spawn!”

Your twins were already tripping over themselves to take their place at the table and you were a few steps behind. As Suki impatiently grabbed at the slice her father had put on a plate before her, Yuta made a disapproving sound and chided, “Wait a second, silly girl.”

Suki lifted her chin as Yuta tucked a large napkin into the collar of her shirt, protecting her clothes from the mess she was undoubtedly about to make. You did the same for Yuma, who rarely ever spilled, but he never wanted Suki to feel like she was the only one that had to wear a bib. Yuma was all about sibling solidarity.

The evening was defined by full bellies and endless laughter, much like the rest of your day. Suki decided to stand on her chair and regale the rest of you with a recap of the latest episode of Sailor Moon she’d watched. Yuma would calmly chime in here and there with major plot details she missed and Suki was ever appreciative. He was the only one allowed to interrupt her, on account of them sharing a womb and all.

As night fell, Yuta snuck away to prepare a bath and once it was ready, the twins followed you eagerly in. They played in the bubbles while you washed their hair and made sure to splash you right in the face. Yuma pretended he was a sea turtle, while Suki decided she was a walrus.

Everyone brushed their teeth and washed their faces. Suki treated both as if they were Olympic events and Yuma was content to watch you in the mirror the whole time, trying to imitate you. The twins dressed in their pajamas without much fuss, but Yuta knew better.

“I don’t wanna go to sleep,” Suki cried loudly, racing into the living room. “I wanna stay with Mommy!”

Yuta reminded, “Suki, you get grouchy if you stay up past ten.”

Yuma turned to you and asked, “Why is the weekend over?”

You snorted. “I ask myself that every Sunday, baby.”

Suki darted between Yuta’s legs, escaping his intentionally slow attempts to catch her, all the while yelling that she wasn’t tired.

Sensing both of your kids on the verge of a meltdown, you spoke firmly, “Suki and Yuma, come here to me. Now.”

No one dared contend with that tone.

The twins did as told, flocking to your outstretched arms. You hauled them up with you onto the sofa and steered your babies to lay their heads on your chest, as you’d always done since the day they were born. Pressing a kiss to each of their heads, you started to hum.

Yuma and Suki held each other’s hands in your midst and smiled at each other before closing their eyes. Listening to your heartbeat reminded them of the warmth and safety of your womb. You rocked back and forth a little, humming that familiar tune. Yuta braced his hands on the back of the couch, watching over you and your babies.

When you were pregnant, Yuta made a habit of talking and singing to your growing belly. It was hard for you not to join in even though you didn’t have a beautiful singing voice like he did. Yuta would beg to differ, but that was an argument for another day.

Around your eighth month, you were put on bedrest which almost made you lose your mind with boredom. As someone who was perpetually busy, laying around was the quickest and most effective way for you to go insane. Yuta was forever brainstorming ways to keep you occupied.

It also lent itself to fear. You had nothing to do but think and your brain decided to fixate on all the things that could go wrong with a twin pregnancy. Add hormones to that and you were a messy ball of nerves wound up so tight you thought you would snap.

Yuta cradled your face and pressed his lips to your brow, humming softly. Telling you to calm down would only frustrate you more, so he treated you like a fussy baby. And it worked. You sniffed back the tears and closed your eyes, letting him rock you back and forth with his hand on your big belly as he hummed that little tune he’d come up with for the babies inside you.

And here you were, five years later, soothing the twins with those same low notes. They had no meaning outside of your house, but for your little family, they were everything. Yuma let out a soft sigh and you knew he was dozing off. Suki fought sleep for the sake of her pride, but her little lashes batted heavier and heavier.

You kept humming as Yuta took your son carefully from your arms and you continued humming as you carried Suki into the bedroom behind him. You gave each of them a kiss on their foreheads and whispered, “Goodnight, my darlings. Sweet dreams only.”

Then, Yuta turned on their night light that shone a galaxy on the ceiling and closed the door behind you.

Yuta took you by the hand and led you with him to the bedroom. Just shy of the bed, he gave you a little spin, twirling you like at the start of a dance, before pulling you into his arms. You giggled, meeting his oncoming kiss.

“I wish every day was like this,” you sighed longingly.

Yuta hummed an agreement against your mouth, slipping his tongue between your lips. Seeing you hold those babies made Yuta out of his mind with love for you.

You kissed him hotly, running your hands beneath his shirt to palm at his warm skin, feeling the taut lines of his abs. When the kisses grew out of control, you braced your hands on his chest, cocked your head toward the bed and said, “Lay down.”

Yuta smirked at you and did as told, taking off his shirt and laying on his stomach over the mattress.

You climbed on top of him, straddling his hips and sitting squarely on his butt. Then, you started running your hands up and down his naked back.

Yuta let out a little moan. You could break every knot in his muscles until he was mush in your hands.

“No matter how hard I work, I know you work twice as hard,” you told him, massaging his shoulders. “You’re doing an amazing job with our babies.”

“I’m doing my best.”

You put forward more pressure, working away the tension in his muscles. Every now and then, Yuta grunted or moaned and you knew you were on the right track.

There were lines in his back. Battle scars, he called them. You often wondered how much evil Yuta had seen in his lifetime, but he never told you. He kept those secrets buried deep within. You knew your husband was a force to be reckoned with and that was part of the reason you slept so soundly in his arms.

You dragged your lips down his spine, kissing across his scars, making Yuta shiver beneath you. You pressed wet, open-mouthed kisses over his broad shoulders and tongued your way along the ridges of his muscles.

Yuta shifted, all the blood rushing to his cock. Your every touch was enough to drag him to the edge of ruin.

“You feel like getting pegged tonight?” you teased, licking your lips a bit hungrily.

“I’m not in the mood,” Yuta said, nonchalant.

“Oh?”

Yuta glanced at you over his shoulder and growled, “I’d rather fuck the shit out of you.”

You snickered. “You already did last night. Tonight, I wanna make you feel good.”

“You always make me feel good, baby.”

“Well, I’m ready when you are.”

Yuta turned over beneath you, grabbing your hips. He peered up at you in reverence and whispered, “I love you so much it hurts sometimes.”

“Babe, don’t talk like that,” you purred, running your thumb over his perfect lips. “I’ll suck the soul out of you and then there won’t be anything for me to ride.”

Yuta brought your hips down, grinding his hard cock into your clothed folds. The presence of pants between your bodies irritated him. “I’d get it back up for you in a heartbeat.”

“I know,” you said, bending down and kissing him.

You stripped each other naked between kisses. Slowly. Intimately. Like you had all the time in the world to explore and pleasure each other’s bodies with a familiarity belonging only to lovers that had been through heaven and hell together.

And not until you were begging him to take you did Yuta guide you further up his body to sit on his face.

“Mm, fuck,” you groaned when Yuta raked his tongue through your slit, teasing around your bundle of nerves. You were already throbbing with want and the lightest of touches made your body spasm.

Yuta looped his arms around your thighs, making you lower even more. He knew you were hesitant to put too much weight on him, no matter how many times he’d told you otherwise, but he was determined to have his way with you.

Your arched your hips slowly, almost barely at all, tentatively thrusting your sex closer to his mouth. Yuta worked you with his tongue, tasting your arousal and grunting lowly in the back of his throat at the taste of you.

“B-baby,” you stammered, threading your fingers through his hair. You dared not look down, because the sight of him sucking at your clit like his last meal would end you on the spot.

Yuta reached up to squeeze your breasts roughly before caressing his fingertips over your nipples until they were stiff to the touch. God, he loved your body so much he couldn't stand it.

You bit your lip to quiet yourself, but between his hands and his mouth there was no hope for you. You whimpered and whined, riding his face at a languid speed, just enough to keep his lips from getting ahold of your engorged clit.

Yuta knew that and he brought his palms to your ass. Then, he started tapping and drumming his fingers on your skin. It was a warning.

You picked up the pace, arching your cunt closer to his mouth. Gathering your bouncing breasts in your hands, you pressed them together and pinched your nipples.

That still wasn’t enough for Yuta. He reeled a hand back and landed a hard smack on your ass, making you jolt and squeal.

You sped up a little, feeling him tickling his fingers over your ass again. Reminding you how easily he could give you another spank. “Yuta,” you pleaded.

He parted from your dripping cunt to growl, “I know you can ride better than that. Just ask my dick.”

Your stomach clenched as you let him suck more intensely at your clit. The stimulation was almost too much. Your body began to shudder involuntarily.

Yuta let a hand slip from your ass, holding it at the ready, and he smirked against your lower lips as you rolled your hips frantically in response. The moment you shied away from his tongue, he brought his hand down on your ass, sending a loud slap through the room.

“I can’t, baby,” you choked out, craning your body back and bracing your hands on opposite sides of his waist.

Yuta pinched your hips in his hands and lifted his head, flicking his tongue mercilessly on your clit. You can and you will, he thought to himself, chuckling against your folds.

You fisted the blanket and panted, your breaths loud and downright pathetic. Eyes winched closed, you bucked your pussy into your husband’s face, seeking the wet warmth of his tongue while everything in your body tried to escape it.

Yuta tightened his hold on your hips as you came, grinning smugly at the lecherous sounds leaving your mouth. He could feel his fingers sinking into your flesh to the point of bruising, but he knew how much you loved that. All his energy was on his tongue, rubbing your sensitive clit until you begged him to stop.

Your legs were like jelly and your head was stuck in a fog. Yuta steered you back into position over his hips, rutting his hard cock against your soaked folds. You swallowed to wet your dry throat and ran a hand through your hair, peering down at your husband and shaking your head. “You’re a fucking god. I hope you know that.”

Yuta chuckled, draping his hands lazily on your thighs while he kept grinding into you, waiting. Your pussy coated his length in your juices, evidence of how hard he’d made you come.

Part of you, when things became serious in your relationship with Yuta, wondered if the fires between you would ever die down. Years of dating passed, then marriage, culminating with the arrival of your children and the answer was still no. Yuta still drowned you in his passion like it was the first time.

“You’re mine,” Yuta had hissed into your skin on your wedding night, crushing you in his arms as he buried his cock inside you. “Every inch of you is mine. Every breath you take is mine.”

With that memory fresh in your mind, you grabbed one of his hands and brought it to your neck to hold. Lifting your hips, you wrapped your fingers around his hard cock and guided him into your entrance, sinking down on him. You were so slick from orgasm, he pressed right in without resistance. But you still moaned at the girth of him stretching you.

Yuta squeezed your throat, clenching his jaws at the tight heat of you enveloping him. “Fuck,” he staggered out, abs flexing as he fought the urge to pound his cock into your perfect pussy.

Adjusted, you braced your hands on Yuta’s chest and started to ride him, moving in a way that he stroked deep inside you. You locked eyes with your husband, watching the pleasure on his face, and purred, “You’re mine.”

“All yours,” Yuta said, breathless.

You bounced on his cock until Yuta lost the last of his restraint. That was when he wrapped his arms around you, trapping you to him, and began to thrust up into you, hips slapping into your ass at inhuman speed. You held onto his shoulders and moaned desperately into his neck, enduring his brutal pace until another orgasm ripped through you.

The echo of your cries and the clamping of your cunt around his length made Yuta burst, stuffing his cock into you as deep as he could go and filling you with his load. He shuddered and groaned, fisting a hand into your hair and biting down on the base of your neck.

Utterly spent, the two of you slumped limply into the bed and held each other tight like no force on earth could ever tear you apart.

In the morning, you couldn’t bring yourself to get up for work after the third night in a row spent tangled with your husband. You called to let them know you would be coming in late and since you were technically the boss, no one could tell you otherwise.

Funny enough, your secretary applauded you for finally taking a little break.

The moment you tossed your phone back onto the nightstand and folded the pillow under your head, Yuta was on you. You hummed when he settled his weight on your back, trailing kisses over your cheek.

If you thought you would be getting extra sleep after presenting a rare opportunity of morning sex to your husband, you were mistaken.

Yuta glanced up at the clock and mumbled, “The babies won’t be up for a while.”

You smirked, closing your eyes and feigning indifference, but you lifted your hips, making your ass bounce into his stiff cock. Like intimacy with Yuta was all your body was capable of craving. Still naked from the night before, you arched your back into his body, moaning softly when his dick rubbed against your folds.

Yuta whispered filth in your ear as he pushed the blankets and pillows away from you. You held the edge of the mattress and cried out when Yuta steered you into position roughly, bending your leg up and pressing a hand into your lower back.

You wiggled your ass, enticing him to take you, and sucked in a breath when two fingers slipped into your hole.

“You’re still wet,” Yuta hissed, biting down on the bridge of your shoulder and pumping his digits between your folds to prepare you.

You taunted, “I stay wet for you. You know that.”

Yuta gathered a handful of your hair in his fist, yanking your head back to kiss and tongue at your throat while he withdrew his fingers from your pussy and guided his cock in, impaling you on every last inch.

“Yuta,” you moaned, your eyes rolling back. You gripped the edge of the mattress harder, your mouth gaping.

Yuta let out a noise of pleasure as he coaxed his cock deep into your cunt, the kind of sound that made you clench on him. “So fucking tight and swollen, baby,” he crooned in a tone meant to rile you up. “Does it hurt?”

You shook your head, biting your lip. His hands roamed over you, playing with your breasts and nipples, whilst Yuta sank his hard dick into you slowly, moaning in your ear at the warmth of you around his cock.

“I love you,” he sighed, stealing a kiss.

Rather than answer, you decided to goad him. You glanced at Yuta over your shoulder, arching your hips to meet his languid pace, and whispered, “I know you can fuck harder than that. Just ask my pussy.”

Your husband could and gladly would fuck you for an hour, but you were too sore for that. You wanted a quickie. Hard and fast.

Yuta chuckled, remembering his words from the night before, and used his grip on your hair to shove you face first into the mattress. You would definitely need to stifle the noises you were about to make.

You winched your eyes closed and held the mattress for dear life, eventually biting on the edge too as Yuta smacked his hips into your ass, throttling his cock into your pussy.

“Don’t wake them up,” your husband warned, pinning his hand to the nape of your neck. He had you whimpering and moaning like he’d fucked all the goddamn sense out of you.

“I’m coming,” you told him in a matter of minutes, squirming in his hold, trying to get yourself the rest of the way.

Yuta thrust into you faster and faster, at an almost inhuman speed. Almost. Sensing you at the edge, Yuta bore down on you with his weight, whispering dirty praises in your ear, and rammed his cock into your sweet spot until you came with a cry.

“I love you,” you chanted, because it was much less embarrassing than saying thank you over and over again for the mind-shattering orgasm he’d just ripped out of you.

Feeling your pussy try to push out his cock with the intensity of your climax, Yuta got a punishing grip on your hips and plunged his length into you, releasing with a mangled groan, finishing with one hard thrust after another.

You gasped to catch your breath, bouncing ever so slightly to milk his cock. Being fucked full of his cum made you arch your back and moan, wanting every last drop he had to give.

Yuta gave your ass an appreciative slap when he reluctantly drew his soft length from you, and said, “Atta girl.”

You lay there, your entire body thrumming and satisfied, and dozed off the moment Yuta finished cleaning you with a cloth from the bathroom.

Your husband dragged the blanket over your naked body and left the room quietly, knowing that if he stayed in bed with you, it would undoubtedly result in another round.

So instead, Yuta made himself comfortable on the couch and waited for the kids to wake up. He shook his head, thinking of you and your beautiful body. Fuck, he wanted to march back in there and drill you to another toe-curling orgasm.

Yuta fixed a pot of hot coffee, knowing you would want some when you woke, and blew the steam billowing from his mug as he watched the TV. The news was reporting a steady decline in city violence; a result of the new district attorney’s efforts to put away bad men and corrupt cops.

Seeing your picture on the screen unnerved Yuta. He didn’t want your face to be so widely known. Fortunately for you, however, Yuta still had friends in low places. They would keep it known that you belonged to someone that was not to be crossed. A venomous serpent slumbering in its den, as it were.

It was half past ten when you dragged yourself out of the bedroom, forcing yourself to get ready for work. To your surprise, you found both of your children waiting for you.

“Mommy, you look beautiful today,” Yuma greeted, smiling widely at you when you emerged from the bedroom.

“Thank you, darling,” you told your son, pressing a kiss to his brow. Then, you checked the time and remembered what day it was. “No school today?”

“Teacher work day,” Suki replied. She was seated at the counter and Yuta stood beside her, jotting things down on a list.

“Anything you need from the store, Mama?” Yuta asked, spinning the pen between his fingers.

“I can’t think of anything,” you said, looking between your son and daughter. “Are you going with Daddy to the store?”

“We always do,” Suki replied excitedly.

Sadness washed over you, but you hid it quite well on your face like any seasoned lawyer. You wanted to spend some time with the babies.

Yuta saw right through you, as only he could. Turning to the twins, he started speaking rapid fire Japanese, to which they giggled because they understood perfectly.

You scowled, though it was insincere, and whined, “That’s not fair. You know Mama is still working on her Japanese.”

“You’ve been working on it for ten years, my love,” Yuta teased under his breath, then he changed his tone. “I was just telling them how smart you are.”

“Bull… poop,” you started, quickly correcting yourself before using profanity in front of your children. Yuta grinned with amusement at irritating you.

At the word poop, Yuma and Suki giggled again.

A very loud bang sent a reverberating shudder through the house, making picture frames rattle on the walls. No one flinched. Undoubtedly a villain and a hero were duking it out in the center of the city again.

One moment Yuta was beside Suki, in the next he had crossed the room, caught a falling vase and set it back, and returned to her side in the time it took you to blink.

You mumbled, “I saw that.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Yuta said blithely.

“Daddy says he’s not fast,” Suki announced. “Everyone else is just really slow.”

You snorted back a laugh.

“Alright, Suki, let’s hit the market,” Yuta said a moment later, tucking the shopping list into his pocket.

You blinked in surprise. “You’re not taking Yuma with you?”

Yuta shook his head, a tiny smile on his face. “He wants to stay with you.”

You looked back at your son on the sofa, who was beaming at you warmly.

Yuta and Suki gave you and Yuma parting kisses and left.

Yuma sat beside you, watching a movie intently. He held onto your hand, absentmindedly playing with your fingers, and leaned against your side like he couldn’t quite get close enough to you. While Suki could talk a mile a minute, Yuma was rather quiet. She was the one to always drag him out of his shell, while you preferred a more gentle approach.

You reached over and brushed his hair from his brow before running a finger over his cheek. It was wonderful getting to spend time with him and you wanted to catch up on things you’d missed. “Anything you wanna talk to me about?” you asked sweetly.

Yuma shrugged.

“No pressure. Whenever you want.”

Yuma nodded and flitted his eyes between you and the television, pensive. He shifted a little and after a long pause, he said, “I want to make friends.”

You turned toward him, giving your son your undivided attention, and asked, “Do you have friends at school?”

Yuma couldn’t meet your eyes and shook his head, mumbling under his breath as if he were embarrassed, “Suki has lots of friends.”

You chuckled a bit. “Suki is very… assertive.”

Yuma peered up at you with furrowed brows. “What does that mean?”

You pinched your lips, thinking of the best way to explain. “It means she goes after things very strongly.”

Your son was staring at you, admiring. He was looking at you like you were the whole world. The same way you looked at him. “She’s like you,” he said, sweet as could be. No anger or jealousy to be found.

You snorted. “I suppose so.”

“Is Daddy like that?” Yuma asked curiously.

“A bit.”

“Why not me?”

You took his hand and gave it a squeeze, saying, “You’re a little different, Yuma. But different doesn’t mean wrong. You’re just you and that’s more than enough.”

Yuma relaxed. “Okay.”

“Do you want to be more assertive? Because I could teach you.”

“I don’t.”

“See? It’s just who you are. You’re perfect.”

Yuma was comforted by that. “But I want to make friends.”

You slipped a finger under his chin, tipping his head up. “Then, you make friends that are more like you. Does that make sense?”

He nodded. “It does.”

“I never had many friends,” you told him. Once upon a time, you would never have been able to verbalize that. A large part of your life had been spent with a lonely heart.

It was something you and Yuta had in common.

That caught Yuma by surprise. He looked up at you with wide eyes and nestled closer to you, putting his little hand on your arm as if to comfort you. “You didn’t?”

“No. People thought I was weird. I was obsessed with doing good in school and becoming a lawyer.”

“What about Daddy?”

Your face lit up at the mere mention of the love of your life. “Your father is my best friend in the whole world.”

“What made you be his friend?” Yuma pressed. He was suddenly an endless well of curiosity. He liked hearing about you and Yuta before he was born. Yuta told you that Yuma asked the most questions about how the two of you met and fell in love.

Suki, on the other hand, was more inclined to hear that she came out of your tummy first and was therefore, the oldest of your twins. By nine whole minutes.

“He told me I was perfect the way I was,” you replied, smoothing back Yuma’s hair. God, he really was Yuta’s spitting image. It was like looking into his eyes even though he was miles away from you. “And that there was nothing that could ever stand in my way if I wanted to do something.”

Yuma bounced and exclaimed, “He told me the same thing!”

“Your father is very wise.”

“He is.”

You pretended to wince and put a finger over your lips, whispering, “Don’t tell him I said that. It will go straight to his head.”

Yuma covered his mouth with his hand, playing along with your little joke. “I won’t.”

You wrapped your arm around your son and pressed a kiss to his nose, cooing, “You’ll be a great friend, Yuma. I promise.”

Your son hopped into your lap, hugging you tightly.

A quiet thud made you turn your head sharply toward the front door, every hair on the back of your neck standing up.

Yuta spoke to his daughter in his mother tongue as they walked through the farmer’s market. Suki loved looking at everything there was to see and the vendors always let her taste test things because her reactions were dramatic, but very genuine.

And because Yuta was generous with his money.

“Much better,” Suki declared after eating a grape.

“Yes, Miss Suki. They were a bit watery last time, weren’t they?”

She nodded.

Yuta chuckled, then told the seller, “Two bags please.”

Gripping her father’s hand tightly as they meandered, Suki asked, “Daddy, when are we getting takoyaki?”

“Soon, princess.”

“I’m being very patient.”

Yuta’s face tensed with the threat of laughter. “Yes, you are and I appreciate it.”

Suki suddenly went rigidly still, her hand slipping from around Yuta’s fingers as she stopped dead in her tracks. The smile vanished from her face in an instant and her eyes went out of focus.

Yuta jolted, all of his attention centering on his child. Crouching down before her and holding her arms, he asked frantically, “Suki, are you okay?”

His little girl trembled, tears filling her eyes. She looked like she’d seen a ghost. For the first time in her life, she was terrified. “Daddy, something’s wrong,” she whimpered, reaching for him.

Yuta lifted her into his arms, adrenaline tickling up his spine. “What is it, baby? Do you feel sick to your stomach?”

“No, it’s Yuma. And Mommy. Something’s wrong!”

That was all Yuta needed to hear. He dropped the basket of food and cradled Suki to his chest, feeling her cling to him. “Take a deep breath and hold it, Suki.”

She did as told and in a flash, they were gone.

But he was too late.

Yuta walked slowly through the house. His hands were shaking.

The front door was splintered into pieces. The living room was destroyed like a goddamn tornado had swept through. You put up a hell of a fight. Yuta knew you would. A mother’s instinct to protect her baby was formidable even against the strongest of enemies.

Yuta stepped over the broken coffee table, analyzing everything. He could safely assume there were a number of attackers. You were no match. Hell, even in his prime he would have struggled.

There was blood smeared on the wall, but Yuta breathed a little in relief when he didn’t recognize the scent. He had been right beside you when you gave birth. He was the one that put bandaids on all of your clumsy little cuts.

He knew the scent of you intimately.

This blood was not yours. It belonged to someone that foolishly tried to separate you from your child and learned you would die or kill before that happened.

“Suki, you can come out,” Yuta said lowly. “It’s clear.”

A panel above in the ceiling moved and Suki jumped down, landing in Yuta’s arms. He held her snugly to him, feeling her shaking with emotion, and coaxed, “I know this is hard, baby, but I need you. I know you can sense your brother.”

Suki nodded.

“Is Yuma hurt? Is your mother hurt?”

Suki paused, tapping into the connection she shared with her twin. “Yuma is okay. Mama is okay,” she told him, lips quivering. “Yuma is really scared, Daddy.”

Yuta took a steadying breath. He would rend this goddamn city inside out to get back what was his. “Can you find them, Suki? Can you lead me to them?”

His daughter nodded. “I think so.”

Yuta set her down on the floor and pulled out his phone. “I need to make a call. Go grab your panic bag, okay?”

Suki trundled to her bedroom. It went without saying Yuta taught his children extensively what to do in situations like these.

He was very aware of the dangers in Hel. But he never thought someone would dare enter the Viper's nest.

Pressing the phone to his ear, Yuta paced and after two rings, a familiar voice answered. “Someone took my wife and son,” Yuta said, skipping any greetings. He didn’t have time.

“I know,” Mark replied gravely. “It’s already spreading underground.”

Yuta grit his teeth and hissed, “Who did this?”

“I'm already looking into it. Give me fifteen minutes.”

“Thank you. Call me the second you have anything.”

“Done.”

Yuta hung up just as Suki returned with a little purple backpack. He gave her a proud smile and lifted her into his arms. “Ready, baby?”

She grabbed his face, staring into her father’s eyes, and asked, “We’re gonna find Mommy and Yuma. Right?”

Yuta gave a single nod. “Yes, Suki. We’re going to find them. I promise.”

By his tone, Suki knew her father would move mountains. She found her courage again and took a deep breath.

Despite the blindfold over your eyes and the cords wrapped tightly around your wrists, binding them together, your son was curled on your chest and you had managed to mold your entire body protectively around him.

You spoke softly and soothingly to him, but Yuma had whispered in your ear, “Daddy’s coming.”

Part of you already knew that. In your heart you knew Yuta would stop at nothing to bring you and your baby home. All you had to do was buy enough time. You kissed Yuma’s head, holding him even tighter.

Cradling your son, feeling his terror, knowing danger was closing in, was another kind of hell.

You closed your eyes and thought of Yuta. The one thing that could distract you from the suffocating grip of fear on your throat. You thought back to the moment you met, at the police station of all places. As a junior district attorney, you had been brought in to consult on whether a case could be made against him.

The Viper.

Sitting in a dimly lit room, Yuta was handcuffed to the table, but you knew you were the one in a cage with a lion. He was not captured. On the contrary, he was rather entertained.

“Everything you have on me is circumstantial,” Yuta stated plainly.

You took the seat across from him and said, “I know.”

Yuta narrowed his eyes, assuming you were manipulating him, and asked, “Then, why are you here?”

You shrugged. “Just following orders.”

“You don’t seem like the type.”

“The type of what?”

“To just do what you’re told.”

You stared into his eyes. Yuta’s gaze was hypnotic. You couldn’t look away. He was drawing you in slowly.

So began a dance of Yuta intentionally getting himself caught, prompting you to be summoned to the station to question him. Questions ended up ranging more toward you, the things you liked, the things you hated. The things you were interested in.

Who you were interested in.

As Yuta was led out of custody, free to go once again, he made sure to stop by you and whisper, “I would love to take you out to dinner.”

It took every ounce of your restraint not to smile. It was about goddamn time, to be honest. He was the most attractive man you’d ever seen. Not just his face, but his mind. Nothing about him was simple and that thrilled you.

“I can get a reservation at the Blood Raven tomorrow night. Interested?”

The Blood Raven, one of Hel’s most illustrious, high-end establishments. Known to be frequented by villains on the regular. “I’m interested,” you murmured softly.

It wasn’t like you to flirt with danger, but when danger flirted back, you kinda liked the rush it sent through you.

Yuta grinned victoriously. “Seven o’clock then. I’d offer to pick you up from work, but I’m sure that would be frowned upon, considering your profession.”

“I’ll see you then.”

Yuta sauntered out with an extra swagger to his step while you were screaming internally.

You snapped out of your reverie when the van jerked to a stop. Your son jostled on your chest, but you secured your hold on him as the men grabbed your arms and dragged you out.

Though they made no attempt to separate you from Yuma again.

Yuta folded his arms and glanced around the back alley. There was an overturned trash bin and tire marks on the ground.

Suki ambled along the alley, searching with her wide eyes. Your beautiful eyes. Yuta smiled at her fondly, hiding the ice cold fist of terror wrapped around his heart.

His daughter turned to him anxiously, but Yuta was quick to assure her, “Take your time, baby girl. You’re doing great.”

Suki nodded and kept looking for traces of her brother to follow.

Finally, she pointed and said, “That way.”

Yuta scooped her up and bolted.

He came to a sharp stop, mid-sprint, when he felt a vibration in his pocket. Holding his daughter, Yuta answered the phone, “Yes?”

“Your wife recently put away three upper-rank members of the Cyrus Gang, including the second-in-command.”

“Mm,” was all Yuta said. He knew exactly where this was going.

The Cyrus Gang had popped up after Yuta went into retirement. From what he knew via his friends, their leader was a villain with unknown powers and he ruled with an iron fist. They were organized, ruthless and known for their brutality.

No wonder you had made it your mission to put them behind bars.

“Camera footage on the street shows thirteen of their known members breaching your house,” Mark continued.

Yuta seethed. “Keep going.”

“Additional footage shows them dragging your wife and son into a different unmarked van two alleys over. Premeditated counter measures, obviously.”

Yuta assumed that was the alley he and Suki had just left. “Anything else?”

Mark’s voice filled with disappointment. “Footage shows evidence of tampering. We lost sight of them after that. I’ve got guys working on it.”

“Thank you. In the meantime, I have a very reliable source leading me to them,” Yuta said, looking to Suki.

She smiled at him, emboldened by his words.

“Good luck, brother,” Mark said.

Yuta hung up.

Suki put a hand on Yuta’s chest, subconsciously searching for his heart rhythm to settle her own, and asked, “Did they find Mommy and Yuma?”

“No, baby,” Yuta told her levelly. “It’s up to us to find them.”

Suki nodded. She was ready.

You giggled as Yuta kissed his way up your big pregnant belly. Both of your babies were stretching and kicking, and Yuta thought it was the most delightful thing he’d ever seen. He tickled his fingers near a foot and laughed when that foot sent a retaliatory kick in his direction.

“I can’t possibly get any bigger,” you groaned, though you didn’t mean it. All you wanted was two healthy, happy babies, and you were prepared to get as big as necessary for them.

“Don’t jinx it,” Yuta joked. He glanced up at you, his long hair falling into his eyes. “Are you hungry?”

“I’m always hungry. They’re always hungry.”

Yuta smoothed his hand over the crest of your belly, marveling. “They’re strong. I can feel it.”

You placed your hand over his and said, “Me, too. I can’t explain it, but… I can feel their bond.”

“They’re inside you. Of course, you can feel it.” His voice was soft, reverent, like he was holding all the answers to the universe between his hands.

“It’s something magical.”

Yuta turned somber, a frown tugging at his lips. “I hope they get all of your magic and none of mine,” he huffed under his breath.

“I don’t have any powers,” you reminded him, ready to scold if any self-deprecation chose to rear its ugly head. You’d become somewhat of a master at making it crawl back inside its dark hole.

“It’s a heavy burden.”

You sighed and carded your fingers into his hair. “We’ll help them carry it.”

Yuta finally turned away from your belly and propped himself over you, losing himself in your eyes. “Just like you help me carry mine,” he whispered.

You drew your husband close until you could press your lips to his.

“You have a magic all your own,” Yuta said, kissing the corner of your mouth.

Your son’s voice brought you back to the present. Peeking down at him worriedly, you asked, “What is it, baby?”

“Suki,” he said distantly, feeling his sister’s emotions. “She’s sad.”

Your eyes welled with tears. You were tucked in a corner of a rundown warehouse. There were locks on all the doors. With you secured, the captors removed your blindfold and restraints. Which was surprisingly considerate of them. And yet all it did was unnerve you more. “We’re gonna see them again, Yuma,” you told your son firmly.

He believed you, nodding before tucking his head beneath your chin and hugging you tight.

You wiped at your tears with a clenched fist and cried, “I should have sent you to the store with Daddy and Suki. It was selfish of me. I wanted to spend time with you.”

Yuma didn’t seem bothered by that admission. He merely said, “That’s okay, Mommy. It’s better this way.”

You blinked in surprise.

“I’m here with you. You’re not alone.”

You devolved into sobs, curling inward with your son hidden in your embrace. You kissed his sweet face and he kissed your cheek, looping his arms around your neck.

Suki had never seen the city at the speed of light. She was getting better at holding her breath, but keeping her eyes wide open. No matter how much it stung. She didn’t want to miss a thing.

She could feel Yuma. He was far away and no matter how much her father ran, they didn’t feel closer.

Yuta sprinted between cars, between buildings, between people. No one saw him. They would feel a wisp of wind that was gone as quickly as it came.

A killer in the night; that had been Yuta’s reputation in the not so distant past. No enemy could see him coming. No defense could be prepared. No lawman could pin a single shred of evidence on him. He was a silent blade in the darkness. Uncatchable and unstoppable.

Never had Yuta killed with anger. He was a cold and calculating villain. It was all business. This time would be different. The Viper would have its vengeance.

Suki tugged on Yuta’s collar and he grinded to a halt, the atmosphere shifting around them. Suki’s eyes were full of tears and she was trembling.

“What is it, Suki?”

“Hurry, Daddy,” she cried, choking on a sob. “They’re trying to take Yuma from Mommy!”

Yuta had never known rage and madness like what unfurled inside of him at that moment. He knew you would fight. He knew you would kill. But who would they keep alive?

They were running out of time. The men that took you knew who Yuta was and what he was capable of. And that he was coming. They would have to be quick.

Suki turned her head this way and that. Light shone in her eyes as she fought back her tears to focus on the task at hand.

Yuta recognized her determination and stroked a thumb over her cheek. “You’re very brave, my Suki. Find them and I will take care of the rest.”

Yuma was screaming. Suki could hear it as if she were in the room. Though he was miles away, his increasing emotions made his signal to her stronger. Suki pointed. “That way!”

Yuta didn’t need to remind her to take a breath. The moment she’d told him, Suki inhaled a big gulp of air and they were gone again.

You tapped into a reservoir of strength you’d forgotten you had. It was the same bottomless pit you’d fallen into when you gave birth. It didn’t matter that these men were inherently stronger than you. You could rip them apart with your bare hands every time they reached for your baby.

Yuma, though he was only a child, tried to push the men away as they pinned you to the concrete ground and shoved a phone against your ear. Your son didn’t understand. They screamed in your face, threatened unspeakable things against your children, if you didn’t orchestrate the release of some very bad men.

You relented, because of course you did. No criminal was worth the life of your son. Bloodied and bruised and choking on your own tears, you gave the order to release the Cyrus Gang’s second-in-command.

Satisfied, the men hung up the phone and warned they would keep you a little longer to make sure he was free and clear.

Then, your fate would be decided.

Yuma bolted to you the moment his captor let go of his arm and curled his small body around your head, trying to shield you from them. Every inch of you was trembling and you were breathing hard and fast, tasting the metallic sting of blood in your mouth. Adrenaline had seized ahold of you and torn its way through your system.

Your life flashed before your eyes. You saw yourself sigh tiredly as Yuta held you in his arms, two newborn babies sleeping soundly on your breasts. Only moments after birth, they had reached across your heart to hold each other’s hands and didn’t let go.

Yuta had never run so hard in his life. He was trying to outrun his emotions and his memories. He was thinking of the day you married him, when the two of you promised your lives to each other with the sea and the mountains as witnesses. Yuta had sworn to love you and only you for as long as he lived.

It was an easy vow to make. Yuta knew he’d found his soulmate. No woman on earth would ever get to hold his heart like you. It was yours.

He thought of your gentle smile when you kissed his brow and held him to your chest, lulling him to sleep after another nightmare. He thought of your grin when you showed him that positive pregnancy test. Yuta picked you up off the ground and spun you around. He could hear your laugh in his head. It was his favorite sound.

Then, he thought of all the times you told him, “I love you.”

Even before you had carried and birthed his children, you had given Yuta what he always wanted, but never had - a family.

This was life and death. If Yuta lost you, he would lose himself. He would raze the city to the ground and then throw himself into the ashes.

Because he would never be able to live with the monster he became if he lost you.

Your eyes snapped open when the door creaked. A lone man walked toward you and your son, his steps heavy and ominous.

“You have served your purpose,” was all he said.

You ignored the pain in your bones. Those words ignited a spark inside your chest like no other. This man should have known by the bloodstains coating your fingernails that you were a caged mother bear. Steering Yuma behind you, you crawled backwards until he was nestled against the wall. You guarded him with your body and got your legs underneath you.

Suki let out a scream of agony that knocked the wind out of Yuta. He was at full momentum and stumbled, instantly curling around her as they toppled into the dirt, rolling and spinning in a heap.

“Suki,” he shouted, searching her frantically for injury, but finding his daughter unscathed.

She wailed, “He’s killing Mommy!”

Yuta couldn’t move. He couldn’t breathe. He sat there in the barren wilderness outside the city with his daughter in his lap, the last tie to you that was about to be severed forever.

Yuma wasn’t brave. He never had been. Suki had courage. She always protected him. He wished she was there. She could destroy this man with her power.

Power. Yuma looked at his hands.

The man threw you to the ground and each time he stalked in Yuma’s direction, you charged him again. You knew he was toying with you, drawing it out for his own sadistic pleasure. You couldn’t beat him; you could only buy time.

“Yuma, run,” you screamed at your son, over and over, but he wouldn’t leave you. He refused to leave you.

Suki gripped Yuta tight, breaths staggering in and out. The tears streamed down her cheeks. “Yuma’s too scared to do it.”

“Do what, Suki?”

“Use his power.”

Yuta gawked. “Yuma has powers?”

“He hides them,” she said shakily. “They scare him. He doesn’t want to be bad. He doesn’t want to be a monster!”

Yuta knew that feeling all too well and it broke his heart. But his only concern in that moment was you. You needed a monster. Yuta cradled Suki’s cheeks in his hands and whispered lowly, “Tell him to protect his mother. Tell him to do whatever he has to do.”

Suki nodded.

The man braced his hands on his knees, winded, and chuckled. “You’re strong for a bitch.”

You were an unhinged creature, reduced to your most primal form. You had cut him with your nails, sank your teeth into his flesh. Anything you could manage to deter him from your child. Your own life meant nothing to you as long as your son could live.

The man grabbed you by the throat and lifted you off the ground, cutting off your oxygen. Darkness seeped into the edges of your vision. You clawed at his hands and kicked at his torso, but to no avail.

Yuma rushed over and wrapped his arms around the man’s leg.

In an instant, the monster choking the life out of you screeched and dropped to his knees, staggering back as thousands of volts of electricity coursed through him.

But not you. You coughed and choked, scrambling to get your bearings and reaching for your son. The tiniest shock pricked your hands and then it was gone. Yuma shuddered, jumping into your arms as fast as he could.

You looked at the man and knew he was dead. And you didn’t question it for a second. Hiding yourself in the corner with your son, you kept his head turned away.

Suki exhaled loudly, wiping at her tears.

Yuta asked, “Is it done?”

She nodded.

“Let’s go, baby,” he said, getting to his feet again.

There was a rhythmic drop from a leaky pipe above. It echoed in the silence of the warehouse. You knew it was only a matter of time before the others came to finish you off.

You peered up at your son as he held your face, your head in his lap. Your injuries were dire, you could feel it. Part of you wondered if you were bleeding into your own body. That was kind of a relief. Your son wouldn’t have to see you die in a pool of your own blood.

“Why didn’t you tell me?” you asked him gently.

Yuma frowned. “I don’t want to be bad.”

You simpered. “You could never be a villain, my Yuma. You have a good heart.”

Yuma looked at his hands currently cradling your face and said, “But my power hurts people.”

“Then, use it to protect us from bad people. Like you did for me.”

Yuma smiled, comforted by that. After a pause, he asked, “Are you okay, Mommy?”

“I’m okay,” you lied. Under no circumstances would you tell your son any different. You would hide your pain until the very end.

Yuma studied you. “I can’t feel your heart as good anymore.”

You steered one of his little hands to your chest and asked, “How about now?”

“Your heart sounds tired.”

You fought back the tears and rasped, “It is, a little. But if I need to protect you, it will beat hard again.”

“For me?”

“For you.”

Yuma leaned down to press a tender kiss to your forehead and said, “I will protect you too, Mommy.”

“I know you will,” you said with a smile, thinking of your husband. “You are your father’s son.”

“I want to be brave like Suki,” Yuma murmured, evoking the bond with his sister. He wanted to tap into her courage.

Reaching for his hand, you let your eyes flutter closed, running out of strength. “You are very brave, Yuma. No matter what happens, never forget that you are a dragonslayer living in a city of dragons.”

Yuma raised his chin a little higher. It was what he needed to hear.

Suki urged Yuta to stop and told him, “Yuma says Mommy’s heart is slowing down.”

Yuta tensed. His world was coming to an end. It had been beautiful while it lasted. Looking into Suki’s face intently, seeing you in every feature, he said, “Tell Mommy that I love her.”

“I love you too, Yuta,” you sighed, eyes still closed.

“And tell her to remember what she promised me.”

The faintest smile tugged at your lips. “I remember.”

You fell into that memory. You were young and reckless and in love. So in love it honestly terrified you.

“Yuta, I know we’ve been… avoiding this conversation,” you told your boyfriend, wringing your hands nervously. “But I didn’t know you felt this way and I’m sorry.”

Yuta waited. He had just confessed his love to you. Neither you or him had vocalized your feelings yet. There was a silent fence between your hearts, because you were on opposite sides of the law. And Hel.

You found your courage, risking your heart, and began, “I’ve never felt like this before. When I go to bed at night, I think about whether you got enough to eat. When I wake up in the morning, I wonder if you had nightmares or good dreams.”

Yuta swallowed the lump in his throat. He could feel the emotion rushing up his chest and heating his cheeks.

“When you kiss me, I feel like I can do anything. When I think about the future, I picture marrying you on a beach somewhere. I imagine spending days in bed with you. I want to have beautiful, happy babies with you.”

Yuta smiled. No one had ever wanted that life with him and little did you know, it was his most precious dream. One he had long convinced himself was unattainable. Until he fell in love with you.

You continued, voice trembling, “I want to get through all the decades of our lives together. Hand in hand. I want to watch the world change with you. Or burn. Whatever the fuck it decides to do.”

Yuta snorted, fighting back a laugh. Yeah, he could picture sitting beside you, watching the world burn.

He would never let the fire touch you. He’d probably be the one to light the match.

You walked toward him, confident. The twinkle in his eyes drew you closer. “I wanna grow old with you and tell our grandchildren about how things were in our day,” you quipped, then your tone shifted. “I wanna die in your arms and be buried beside you. Because next to you is where I belong. In life and death and whatever comes next.”

Yuta closed the rest of the distance and swept you up in his arms, kissing you with abandon and tangling his fingers in your hair. “I love you,” he said over and over between kisses. “I love you.” He seared those three words into every inch of your skin that night.

You had never known such all-consuming love before. You kissed him like you’d never kissed anyone else.

It was that moment Yuta knew he had to give it up. He was ready to leave the life of a villain behind. He would give you everything.

If you were going to die today, then so was he.

Yuta would not watch the world burn alone.

Suki eyed the warehouse. Her father was perched low to the ground, moving her behind him, but Suki wanted to see. The building was miles outside the city limits, rundown and abandoned. There was a strange aura about it.

Someone had cast a field around the perimeter. Though Suki couldn’t fully wrap her head around it, she knew that had been affecting her bond with Yuma. It was why they had felt so far away no matter how much her father ran.

“Suki, stay here,” Yuta told his daughter sternly, sweat dampening his hair. He’d sprinted to the point of exhaustion. “If anyone comes near you, do whatever you need to survive. Do you understand what I’m saying?”

Suki knew her secret was out then. She gave him a solemn nod. “Yes, Daddy.”

Without his daughter in his arms, Yuta was free to break the sound barrier at last. Her little body couldn’t sustain his true speed. And so, the Viper coiled and struck. He vanished inside the building in the time it took to blink, kicking up dirt in his wake.

But Suki had no intention of staying put. She would not ignore her brother’s frantic calls, telling her their mother was drifting further and further away, and headed right for him.

Yuma’s fingers touched your cheek and you woke yourself up again. It was getting harder to stay conscious no matter how much you tried.

“Daddy’s here,” Yuma whispered under his breath.

You heaved a sigh. The weight lifted from your chest. You could finally let yourself slip away. Yuma was safe. Knowing your son would be alright, you had done what you needed to do and you could finally succumb to the darkness dragging you into its warm embrace.

Shouts began to reverberate through the corridors. Bullets fired made Yuma jolt in place. Something was happening on the other side of the wall.

A shadow was picking men off, one by one, before some of them could even draw their weapons. There was a tiny flicker of movement followed by the spatter and spray of blood.

Men wailed in horror. Their comrades fell to the ground, limbs ripped clean off their bodies or gaping holes left in their chests like a fist had punched through with the force of a fucking machine.

A few screams were cut short, belonging to those who had their heads taken clean off their shoulders.

“Suki,” Yuma exclaimed at the sight of his sister rushing toward him. Tears poured down his cheeks in relief.

Suki hugged her brother, but he kept his arms around your head, as if letting go of you would cause the last of you to part from him.

Yuta could feel himself slipping into that darkness, like an old friend he had cut out of his life because they brought out the worst in him. He could see you in his mind, telling him to stop. This isn’t you, Yuta, you pleaded.

But this was him, wasn’t it? Bloodlust. It was as potent a venom as any. The Viper was exacting his revenge. He was killing in the most evil ways possible.

Without a word, Suki lifted her tiny hand. The pipes groaned and burst. Water began to rain down in every corner, flooding the warehouse. She kept her arm outstretched and the water didn’t dare touch you or her brother.

“Yuma,” was all she said.

He carefully drew away from you, laying your head gently on the ground, and stood, reaching out toward the water.

You heard the crack of lightning in your dreams and then an endless collision of screams. Electricity surged through the water, amplified and lethal. Anyone touched by Suki’s water was consumed in Yuma’s sparks. Death was instantaneous.

Yuta could hardly believe his eyes as he ran. The water was up to his calves now, but it didn’t touch him. It coursed around him like a river around a rock. The water cleansed the blood from the walls and the ground, and swept away the remains of what he had done.

And now, there was no one left to kill. Yuta felt a tear slip down his cheek.

His babies had saved him from himself.

When he sprinted into the last room, breaking the locked door off its hinges with the force of his speed, his daughter and son looked toward him innocently. Yuma was once again holding your head, while Suki had her hand over your heart. The waters receded until disappearing completely, obedient to their masters.

Yuta spoke to the twins in his mother tongue, words they would remember for as long as they lived. His children weren’t dragon slayers, after all. They were dragons, just like him.

He hurried over and gathered you in his arms, surveying your bloodied, swollen face. For a moment, Yuta wished he had powers of resurrection. So he could kill those men again and again. But then he remembered what you had told him and let it go. For now. “Hang on for me, baby,” he whispered for your ears alone, knowing you could hear him. Wherever you were.

Still crouched, Yuta instructed his children to clamber onto his back. They clung to his shoulders and arms, and Yuta walked away, carrying his family with him.

You held Yuta’s hand tightly as you walked down the path between trees. Your eyes were on your children, the two of them rushing a few feet ahead of you. Every now and then, they would turn back to smile at you and their father.

It had been three months since that day; three long, grueling months of recovery. This was the first time you could walk freely with your husband and kids without needing to sit and rest every few steps as your body healed.

Yuta found an empty bench and you got comfortable, watching your babies rush to the playground to join the other children. Yuta looked with caution briefly, doing a quick scan of all the nearby parents before taking his spot beside you.

You patted his thigh and teased, “Everyone pass the villain check?”

“Mm,” was all he said.

You chuckled and leaned into his side, Yuta’s arm around your shoulders.

The two of you watched Yuma and Suki on the playground. Naturally, Suki was surrounded by other kids, giggling and running about. To your delight, Yuma had made a friend recently. The two were off in the sandbox together building castles.

“A little birdie told me that word of our kids’ powers has spread through the underground,” Yuta said a moment later.

You arched a brow. “Oh?”

“No one will be breaking into our house ever again,” your husband murmured.

“That’s not why.”

Yuta’s brows stitched as he turned to you. “What do you mean?”

You kept your eyes on your babies, watching them play, and replied, “I got a call last week.”

“From?”

“The force,” you said calmly. “They said the entire Cyrus Gang was wiped out.”

Yuta was oddly quiet.

“A silent killer. Gone without a trace. There’s no hard evidence, of course, but every last member in the gang was killed execution style. Except the leader, who was dramatically beheaded.”

Yuta shrugged, but his jaw was clenched with anger. “Good riddance.”

You faced your husband and whispered, “I know it was you.”

Frankly, you were surprised he’d waited this long.

Yuta stared you down, his eyes filling with that familiar darkness, and snarled, “I sent a message.”

“I’m glad you did.”

He was a little stunned by that. It wasn’t like you to sanction his violence. Yuta had a feeling this would be the one instance such retribution would be allowed. “No one would have ever dared hurt you back then. They thought I went soft. They’ll never think that again.”

Warmth filled your chest. This had been a reckoning not only for Yuta and your twins, but for you as well. “If you come in the viper’s den, you’re gonna get bit,” you joked, but there was definitely an edge to your words devoid of humor.

Yuta rubbed your arm. “The viper, the mama bear,” he said with a chuckle, then looked to Yuma and Suki, his face and voice filling with pride. “Tsunami and Lightning.”

You leaned your head on his shoulder and closed your eyes contentedly.

Copyright 2020-2024 © yutaholic (formerly zenyukhei) All rights reserved do not copy or translate without my permission!

[deny-the-issue]

Rainbow Drabble Challenge

Yellow

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GIF by gameofthronesdaily

Red, Orange <- Previous Chapter, Next Chapter -> Green, Blue, Indigo

Overall Summary: This is a short love story about Otto Hightower being a sexy bastard. There WILL be a happy ending. The reader is mid to late twenties in age.

Chapter Summary: You gift Ser Otto a small token of appreciation.

AO3 link

Rainbow drabble challenge

link to divider

[spinster!reader] [Otto Hightower x f!reader] [fluff] [626 words] [Yellow expressed as optimism and friendship]

The dreaded day has come, and Ser Otto’s mood has suffered the brunt of it. His scowl sends the servants running, lest they draw his ire. He worries the gravity of his emotions has spread too far when you walk into his office with the same shy demeanor.

Then he spies a lacquered wooden box held by your delicate, nervous hands, and curiosity wipes the thought from his mind’s eye. 

You have read every text Ser Otto has to offer, except for a single chapter. He knows you feigned exhaustion the evening before. How could he not? It is part of his duties to know when someone is lying. It is also not in his nature to deny the chance to spend more time with you. 

You stand perfectly poised in front of his desk, finally meeting his gaze. A beautiful blush paints your face as you gently clear your throat. 

“My lord, I would like to present you with a token of my appreciation for allowing me to study your texts these past weeks.”

Raising his brow in stoic interest, he takes the offering, hands touching for a heartbeat before you retreat. The contact made him greedy for the intimate and obscene, something he could only dream of in the loneliness of his private chambers. Cool eyes cast down to the box as he lifts the hinged lid.

Inside lay five bare quills in a neat row atop rich green velvet. They seem finer than the ones he typically uses at first glance. He’s inspecting one in his hand when you begin to explain.

“They are crow’s feathers, my lord. I was told they produce a finer line than any other.”

Ser Otto nodded in agreement. He was told the same but due to their more expensive nature, he chose to remain with the common goose feather for his missives. However, his hand often cramped after long hours of writing, and he wondered if the finer edge would save him that pain. 

“Thank you, my lady. It is a most gracious gift,” he politely accepts the gift, his voice cold and unaffected by his internal turmoil. 

“It is the least I could do, my lord, for encumbering you with my presence for so many evenings. If you would indulge me one more kindness–may I hand deliver your portrait in a month’s time?”

“You may,” his answer is curt, but you wouldn’t know it from the brilliant smile lighting up your face. 

Anger flares in Ser Otto’s belly. Not for you, but for the absolute yearning you instill. So honorable he has lived, where other men visit pleasure houses, Ser Otto upholds his morals. He would take no whore, and the mere thought of ruining you disgusts him. To rip you of your worth for a moment of bliss is unthinkable. 

The emotion leaks into his expression, stealing your smile with it. 

“I’ll take my leave— I know my lord is a busy man. Farewell, Ser Otto, may your days be kind.”

“To you, as well, my Lady.”

The door shuts behind you, leaving Ser Otto to reflect in cold silence. Whatever warmth these chambers provided left with you, and he could feel the loneliness creeping up his spine. The sight of your gift wards off the cold, and the light weight of the quill in his hand brings forth the memory of the warmth you so effortlessly tended. 

A smirk pulls the corner of his lips as he remembers your feigned exhaustion the day before. You make such a beautiful liar, with an innocence he cannot even think of punishing.

A month cannot come soon enough. Even if the portrait isn’t up to his standards, at least he would be in your presence once again. 

[bmodiwrites]

I'll Dial Drunk

Hi friends! I'm back with something that's been brewing since Noah Kahan released the extended version of his newest album. Dial Drunk is the motivation for this one - I hope you like what my mind cooked up! There will be a second part, so be on the lookout for that. You can read I'll Dial Drunk below or over on AO3. Please like, reblog, and let me know what you think!

The mahogany under Steve’s arm is slippery like grease, covered in both sweat from the bar’s patrons and slick from the coating used to keep its shine. He tries not to look down at the reflective surface – his mirror image is just as bad as the one Steve projects out into the world and he’s already depressed. Seeing examples of his downfall never helps.  

For the fourth night in a row, Steve sits at the far corner of The Hideout, sipping a drink. There aren’t many lights that surround him so Steve is usually unbothered and undisturbed while he drowns his sorrows in whiskey and rum. After so many years of isolation, that’s how Steve likes it. He doesn’t know how to converse with strangers anymore – his allotted charm hit it’s peak so long ago that Steve can’t even remember what normal interaction is actually like.

Tonight is somehow different. There’s a charge in the air that Steve can’t seem to push past or ignore. He takes a deep breath, testing out the oxygen level in the room. Though it supplies him with what his body needs, Steve can smell the lingering anticipation.

Or maybe, he’s just really fucking drunk.

The whiskey in his hands is warm by now, the ice he ordered in it all but melted and watering down the drink. Steve throws it back anyway, well aware of the waste it would be if he doesn’t. His money isn’t something he can just throw away now. With so much agony following him around, disappearing into his mind isn’t beneficial. These days, it’s easier to live in the back of his head than exist in the real world – working a job included. It’s lonelier there, sad in so many ways that a lack of steady income doesn’t even break into the top five.

At least in his head, Steve is surrounded by the family he once had. Dustin and the kids aren’t gone yet, the sleepy little town they all grew up in hasn’t chased them away. They’re available for him outside of the holidays that blow by in a haze of too little time and so much to do every time his surrogate kids come back to see their families. His mind perfectly preserved the happy moments where Steve is at his best and not lonelier than any man should be.

What’s lacking in his real life, Steve clings to in his thoughts.

Unsurprisingly, Steve also keeps a perfectly rendered picture of the one that got away tucked back there, mingling with all of his other good memories. In his head, Eddie Munson is bright eyed and 21 years old. There are scars that mark him but beauty radiates from him all the same. In the handful of years since Eddie turned him away, Steve’s mental picture and it’s clarity hasn’t changed a single bit. He can’t forget dimpled smiles and chocolate button eyes that were so easy to love – no matter what drawing up that vision costs him.

And the toll of clinging onto such memories is so very high. Steve struggles to make it from day to day after nights where Eddie and the kids live in the forefront of his mind. When they’re tucked away and out of sight, Steve can almost forget the pain that radiates from his chest and magnifies as it goes down. He can do his job and wake up in the morning without too much heartache. For some of the long days, Steve manages with barely a passing thought for those who left him behind.

Days like today are impossible, however. Hell, the last few days haven’t been all that good. After hearing about Eddie on the radio, Steve is stuck in the moments where that brilliant man was his - even if they are few and far between. The alcohol numbs the need to desperately seek Eddie out, to run across Hawkins and demand to be taken back. Yet, it enhances the want for him, for the life they should’ve had even more. The impossible conundrum is neither solved nor soothed by whiskey on the rocks, though Steve keeps drinking all the same.

How can he not when thirty came and went last fall and Steve’s not any closer to being where he wants in life or with the people he needs so very desperately? As the world turned on around him, Steve dug his heels in and tried to stop it from spinning him off his axis. This place, this town - it’s all he’s ever known. After all the trauma, Steve is certain he made the right decision to stay right where he is, consequences be damned.

A loud bang a few feet down the bar draws Steve away from his melancholy, all sad thoughts halting. A new group is starting to get passed the point of socially drunk – the ruckus they’re going to cause is a little more than Steve can take at the moment. Instead of asking for one more like most nights, Steve signals to the bar tender, requesting the check.

“All done for the night, Harrington?” Gareth asks, a worried look on his face. Steve watches him glance between the rowdy group and himself. There’s a tension there that Steve can’t quite place. Despite being one of the bars best customers, Gareth seems eager to have Steve gone.

Instead of wondering why, Steve’s drunk brain grasps onto the question the bartender asked. “Sure am. Gotta save a little of that liquor for the next time I’m here.” Steve tries to smile but it falls flat - there’s nothing nice about being a drunk and knowing it. The hilarity of the situation is long gone now that Steve is stuck in this rut and can’t seem to get out.

After making quick work of his change, Gareth nods at Steve and turns back to help the other group demanding his attention. Steve shakes his head to clear it, then starts his trek over to the main entrance. He’s wobbling and a bit tipsy on his feet but they eventually start to work and clumsily carry him across the room. Of course, they can’t whisk him away fast enough to avoid hearing something that is guaranteed to set him off.

“Did you hear the freak is back in town?”

“Yeah, man. I saw him at the coffee shop with his uncle. Still as freaky as ever.”

“I don’t know why that Munson kid ever comes back. He’s never been welcome here.”

With each new scathing remark, Steve forgets himself a little more. Despite not being Eddie’s for a long time now, Steve can’t help the way his heart lurches anytime someone speaks badly of him. There’s so much this stupid town doesn’t know; Eddie is a savior and part of the reason Hawkins is still standing. He wonders briefly if they would think differently of him if the truth were to come out. Though, that’s quickly brushed away in favor of the rising anger Steve isn’t even trying to control. Why should he when there’s nothing to lose?

Turning around, Steve makes quick work of stumbling back over to the group who’s now cackling madly. There’s a moment where Gareth looks at him, even shakes his head, but Steve ignores him. It’s already too late to turn back now. How can he, anyway? Eddie’s never deserved the hand he was dealt. After a decade, the trash talk needs to go away for good.

“I’ve never liked that word – freak. Especially when it’s coming from boys like you,” Steve says, squaring up his shoulders to bring himself to full height. He’s surrounded on all sides by assholes but he’s not afraid. For the first time in a long time, Steve feels alive.

The leader of the group, some Jason Carver wannabe, turns to Steve, looking him up and down. There’s recognition that’s quickly diminished into a hatred only people in Hawkins can understand.

“What makes you think I give a shit what the town drunk has to say?”

There are snickers following the attempted insult; this ring leader has all of his flunkies trained well. Steve ignores them, however, setting his sights on the guy dumb enough to step up and take the bait. Despite not being athletic anymore and a little older than he was, Steve knows he can win a fight. There’s been more than a few in this very spot that ended in victory for Steve. He’s not afraid nor cowed by a jackass who talks about something he’s got no business even bringing up.

“You care enough to turn around and clap back. I’d say you’re pretty invested.” Steve smirks at that, knowing he’s got this guy right where he wants him.

As expected, the man takes a step towards Steve, his fingers clenching. “I would watch yourself if I were you. 7 to 1 isn’t much of a fight.”

Without thinking or even trying to act rationally, Steve smiles wider – his eyes darkening. “I like those odds,” he mutters a second before drawing back his right arm and swinging.

The punch lands right where he wants it. Steve is happy to see that the guy is all talk and no action. He blows back against the bar like he’s been hit by a truck, not a simple thing like Steve’s fist. His face is pinched into a grimace that gets worse when he sees the rest of the group just standing there staring.

“You’re just going to let him do that to me?” Steve’s victim roars, his hands that are covering his nose muffling the sound. A few of the guys jump into action while the rest take a step back. They’re smart not to take on a crazy person without anything to lose.

For what seems like hours, Steve fights them off. He throws punches and lets a few glance off him to get the advantage. By the time there’s blue and red flashing lights in the window, everyone is sporting at least one black eye and Steve’s knuckles are torn open, each one of them bleeding enough to leave track marks down the side of Steve’s shirt and jeans. He looks murderous and Hop says so as he’s putting him into cuffs.

“You look fucking rabid, Harrington. Ain’t nothing worth this.” Hop’s words are harsh but his hands are gentle on Steve’s wrists. They’ve been through this song and dance a few times before. All because of Eddie – always because of that damn boy.

“You don’t even know him anymore, Steve. Why do you do this to yourself?”

Steve contemplates that answer all the way to the station while he sits in the back of Hop’s squad car. The fifteen minute drive is enough to sober him somewhat, though there’s still a long way to go before clarity sets in. His mind is addled but one thing is clear, Eddie is always worth the punches Steve throws. Always.

After getting dragged into the station, Hop throws Steve into a chair in front of his desk. He sits down heavily, the tiredness of getting his ass kicked starting to set in. They both know exactly who Steve wants to call but Hop makes him wait. They toil in silence for ages, staring at each other but not seeing. Glancing but never quite making eye contact.

When this first happened, Hop tried his best to guide Steve. To this day the man feels like a father figure that Steve never had in his own daddy. Yet, Steve is and always has been too stubborn to do what’s best for himself. He’s ruled by emotion that weighs him down and forces him to remain stagnant. He’s stuck in the past where genuine happiness exists - even if it’s just for those handful of months. Steve doesn’t want to forget the way his heart pounded or the shape of Eddie’s lips against his own. Every trip to the police station is worth it. It has to be when Steve has nothing left.

It’s obvious that neither of them are going to talk so Hop huffs out an impatient breath before reaching for the phone on his desk. Steve usually dials the number but Hop doesn’t let him this time. His fingers glide over the buttons, the rhythm of it like music to Steve’s ears.

There’s a singular moment where Steve thinks Hop isn’t going to hand over the phone – a look in his eyes that Steve can’t quite decipher. Though, it’s gone as fast as it came; the receiver is in Steve’s hands before the slightest idea of what Hop is thinking comes to the surface of Steve’s drunken mind. Everyone has their problems, that much is obvious.

Like every time before, Hop leaves him to his own devices. After the call went unanswered the second time and Steve flipped out, Hop’s taken to giving him some privacy. Despite his misconduct, the town’s sheriff doesn’t actually want to arrest Steve. There’s too much history to allow a small misdemeanor to truly ruin Steve’s life. This, the handcuffs, the time spent in the station – it’s all a familiar procedure now. The choreography is soothing in a world where Steve knows there aren’t guarantees. At least some things never change.

The continual ringing of the phone in his hand pulls Steve back to the present. Usually, there’s a couple of half assed rings and then a long dial tone before the operator hops on to say the number has been disconnected. After Eddie pushed him out the door a decade ago, the trailer’s number never worked again, despite the millions of times Steve dialed it time and time again. The disconnection of that bond still stings, so Steve is perplexed to hear the ringing continue. It goes and goes until there’s a click and a miracle truly happens.

“Munson residence, this is Eddie.”

Steve’s breath catches and for a second, he forgets himself. He forgets that he’s been trying to get through for years and years. Steve is suddenly back in his bedroom with that voice whispering in his ear. It’s like 10 years of hurt and pain no longer exist.

Then, reality comes crashing back.

“If you’re one of those fuckers calling to yell about damnation, you can save it!”

Gasping, Steve clings to the here and now to reply before the call is hung up.

“Wait, wait. Don’t go, Eddie!”

There’s silence.

Then –

“Steve? Is that really you?”

“Yeah, Eddie. It’s me. I can’t – I can’t believe you finally picked up. 10 years later.”

“How did you – never mind. Where are you? And why are you calling?”

Steve scoffs, his emotions all over the place. “I’ve been calling for years – just to maybe hear your voice. Of course you finally answer when I’m stuck in handcuffs at the police station. How fucked is that?”

A chuckle sounds down the line, the vibration of it genuine and true in Steve’s ears. He wants to cry from the relief of finally hearing such a happy noise again. It’s insane knowing how much better he feels just from that one second of joyful sound.

“You called me as your one phone call? What would’ve happened if I didn’t pick up?”

“Well, you never have before. Hop usually throws me in the holding cell and lets me sleep it off. I cry for a bit and then drop into an exhausted slumber where I dream about you. Pretty standard stuff.”

“Oh, Steve – “  

The tone of Eddie’s voice is raw and pitying – any other time, Steve would’ve lashed out in order to protect himself and his pride. Yet, he’s too weak and relieved to hear Eddie at all that Steve let’s it slide. He clings to it, even – the dulcet tones of worry are better than the silence that usually follows him around.

“I’m okay, Eddie. Drunk and bruised up but okay. Better than ever now.”

“I can’t believe I’m saying this but sit tight, okay? I’ll be there soon.”

Steve can’t process the words so he hums and holds the phone tightly to his ear, keeping it there even after Eddie hangs up and the dial tone is all that’s left. Steve clings and clings until Hop walks back into the room and takes the receiver from him.

“He picked up this time, Hop. Must be my lucky day.”

Hop looks at him for a moment, contemplating whether Steve needs to know that he dialed the right number instead of the one Steve always uses before deciding against it. He simply smiles in Steve’s direction, placating the drunken boy who still feels like a son. For so many years, Hop watched Steve drag himself down. Tonight, putting him in the car was just too much. Hop isn’t all that certain Wayne won’t hate him later but Steve’s happiness is worth whatever backlash he may get. This thing, the isolation between two kids obviously still gone for each other, has gone on long enough.

Steve and Hop wait at the desk until the station’s front door opens. For Steve, the entire world stops – there’s no spinning on an axis or time passing him by. There’s only Eddie.

Despite 10 years continuing on, Eddie isn’t much different. There are a few laugh lines around his eyes and a new scar over his right eyebrow. He’s a little heavier because exercising is for the weak but that’s about it. Steve is transported back to the easy days when summer vacation and what’s for lunch were his only worries. His fingers itch to bury themselves in the thick strands of curly hair still hanging past Eddie’s shoulders, kinky and long as always. Steve wants so much that he’s overwhelmed and completely mute the entire time Eddie and Hop discuss the situation.

By the time Hop is taking him out of the cuffs, Steve’s drunkenness has reached a critical level. It’s difficult to hobble out to the car, even with the warm press of Eddie against his side. Steve is so intoxicated that he can’t even enjoy the rare gift that being next to Eddie is. He’s happy to simply be there with him, to sit in the passenger seat of a new car that smells like Eddie and the burn of Marbolo Reds. Steve can only smile and nod when Eddie asks him questions. There’s no cognition of what he’s being asked to do or say but Steve is happy all the same. For the first time in a decade, he drifts off to sleep without a semblance of tightness or misery sitting in his belly.

——

“Hey there, Stevie – “

The all too familiar voice has Steve turning over, a soft smile on his face. He can tell it’s Eddie talking to him, there’s no mistaking the affection that sounds in his ears, yet the outline of his body is hazy and unfocused. Steve reaches up to rub at his eyes but it’s no use. The achingly familiar tease of Eddie just barely out of his reach is so familiar, Steve knows he’s dreaming.

Despite that, he extends his arm in Eddie’s direction. Steve’s fingers throb with a desperate need to touch, the ache so very familiar. Like usual, Steve gets so close that the feeling of Eddie’s leather jacket under his skin is almost tangible. While the memory of that touch lingers, the real thing hovers away for no justifiable reason. Steve’s come to the conclusion that he’s not allowed happiness. After so long, he’s used to never getting what he wants.

The sound of a coffee maker beeping draws Steve out of his restless dream. He blinks awake with a heavy sigh, both frustrated and glad to be free of that glorious torture – at least until he manages to try and rest again later. Stretching in hopes of forgetting the turmoil already setting in, Steve leans into the feeling of his muscles loosening. He’s sore enough to know a fight occurred without the memories having to resurface. A quick flex of his hand drives that reality home tenfold. There are cracks and cuts across the skin, though they’re lacking the caked on dry blood that’s usually looking back at him. In fact, all of his injuries have been taken care of.

With this newfound knowledge, Steve finally takes in the rest of his surroundings. Instead of the corner of a jail cell, Steve is reclined on a decently comfortable couch. There is a pillow under his head and a handmade blanket over top of him. Everything smells familiar, like Eddie’s cologne and the natural musk of a well-loved home. He’s startled to realize that whatever happened last night isn’t a dream his hopeful heart concocted.

That’s further proven by a cup of coffee being pushed into his hands a couple of minutes later. Steve is so dumbstruck that it takes a second for his body to cooperate. Eddie patiently waits in front of him until there’s no risk of spilling hot liquid. Despite the warmth of the drink, Steve takes a handful of desperate sips before even thinking about taking on whatever’s coming next.

Surprisingly, it’s silence that follows. Steve watches Eddie drink his coffee. In return, those brown eyes stay on Steve, too. There’s some sort of stalemate happening that’s not going to be broken by Steve. He’s too busy soaking Eddie in while the caffeine of the coffee is absorbed into his blood stream. Little by little, Steve gets a better grip on himself – his heart starts beating fast, it’s normal reaction to Eddie so close. Instead of the sluggish drunk of last night, Steve becomes the person he truly is.

A lost soul with a lot of unresolved feelings.

Eddie must see that because he finally breaks the ice developing up between them.

“You look like shit, man.”

Forgetting himself for a second, Steve can’t help but laugh. His chest heaves with the unexpected intensity of such an emotion. For a minute at least, Steve chuckles until there are tears streaming down his face.

“Fuck – I forgot how much you make me feel.” Steve takes a second, let’s himself calm down. Then, he trucks on. “I am shit, Eddie. Have been for years now. I can’t believe you’re actually here. I thought I dreamed last night up.”

“Trust me, I’m very real.” Eddie stops for a second, inelegantly staring Steve down. “It’s crazy to think my first adventure back home is with you. After all this time, it’s like nothing’s changed.”

“You’re shitting me, right? Nothing’s changed? I called you from jail last night, Eddie. Like I’ve done at least a dozen times before. Everything has changed.”

Eddie has the decency to look embarrassed, his big brown eyes watering up before he blinks the moisture away. Steve can’t help but want those tears to fall, to see some sort of emotion that comes close to Steve’s own. After a decade of thinking about this moment, Steve is lost in a sea of overwhelm, unable to doggy paddle effectively. He wants so much, it’s hard to process what’s actually happening.

Though, he eventually gets himself together enough to ask the question burning up his mind. “Why did you pick up now? I’ve called plenty of times when you were in town before. The phone just rang and rang until the operator popped on to tell me I’m an idiot for calling a disconnected number. I’ve been listening to that recorded message so long it’s a comfort to hear.”

Steve isn’t ready for the sudden infiltration of his space but deals with it when Eddie takes up the couch cushion next to him. Their thighs are inches from touching, the heat between them tangible. Steve so desperately wants to lash out and push Eddie away, to return the treatment he himself received. Yet, the comfort of a familiar body next to him is too much to handle. The fight leaves Steve within seconds.

“Hop dialed for you last night. He put in Wayne’s new number and you finally got through. I don’t know why he waited so long to share it with you, Steve. I’m suddenly aware of a lot of things I didn’t know.”

The bubbling pit of sadness Steve deals with on a daily basis drops a little further into his stomach. The realization that Hop could have helped him long ago settles in, making Steve feel heavy. It takes a second or two to come to the understanding that though it hurt him, Hop was trying to protect Steve, too.

“He was trying to save me, I’m sure. From this,” Steve says, waving his hands back and forth between them. “I’m a very weak man but that’s nothing compared to the fall out that’s about to come. Now that you’re here, I see very clearly that I’m going to have to give you up again.”

Tears are falling down Steve’s cheeks long before he realizes it. His shirt, or maybe Eddie’s because it’s a touch too tight across the chest, is getting wet, the collar collecting his sadness by the second. Steve is too tired and wrung out to reach up and swipe at each traitorous one. Instead, he lets them flow.

A soft hand on his chin stops Steve’s spiral. Guitar calloused fingers are so recognizable it’s like they’re 20 again, touching for the first time. Though, that thought jolts Steve back to reality and he shifts away. Little tastes of things he’s never going to be able to keep aren’t good for him. He’s an addict that isn’t anywhere near following the path to recovery. This bump, this small little hit, it’s going to put him back years.

“Don’t do that, Eddie. Don’t touch me like it’s not going to kill me. Don’t pretend that you care.”

“I do care. I’ve cared since before Vecna came in and destroyed our lives. I left because I care, Steve. Why can’t you see that?”

A red flash of rage swims in Steve’s vision. He’s much to hungover to be having this conversation but it’s happening, nonetheless. Steeling himself, Steve says the things he’s wanted to since the separation occurred.  

“That’s bull shit. If you cared, you never would have left. You never would have turned your back on me.”

“Steve, you shut me out. I told you I needed to leave for your safety and mine. I said I had to go because this town doesn’t forgive or forget. We were getting death threats every day. You, me, my uncle – even the kids. I couldn’t put you guys through that anymore.” Eddie’s voice rises, his anger peaking. “You decided you weren’t going to talk to me anymore. That the distance between us was too big to handle.”

“Because I needed you! I needed you to be there for me. You left right after my parents did, abandoning me like them. You took off without asking me how I felt about it. I would’ve braved every single person in town who thought they had the right to say something to or about you. Hell, I punched that guy last night in the face because he let your name fall from his lips. You’re worth the fight, Eddie. Even now.”

Steve’s so lost in his anger and resentment that it’s impossible to continue. If he says another word or thinks another thought, Steve’s positive he’s going to explode. There’s so much he wants to scream in Eddie’s face but none of it matters. Eddie is crying and Steve, despite the time and baggage between them, can’t stand to see the sight. No matter how often he wished to cause Eddie the same pain Steve deals with daily, he can’t deal with the reality of it. Without thought, both of his arms wrap around Eddie’s shoulders and pull until they’re chest to chest, hugging each other tightly.

For now, it’s the only thing they can give to each other, unresolved issues be damned. Steve knows that by the way all the fight leaves Eddie’s body. He feels it in the squeeze Eddie gives him back. There is no resolution or simple answers in sight. After so long, there might never be.

Leaning into Eddie’s touch, Steve comes to the conclusion that this right here, coming back together after years of miscommunication and anger, is everything and nothing, the perfectly imperfect way things work out following desperate hurt and sadness that separated entities meant to exist as one. There’s no way of knowing what happens next but Steve is content to rest in Eddie’s arms.

There, he is safe.

There, Steve can feel whole again.

In the moment, that’s all Steve really needs.

tag list (message if you’d like to be added): @infinite-orangepeel, @thefreakandthehair, @corrodedcoughin, @prettyboisteveharrington, 

[dominoblues]

I WANT TO BE A WORM CRAWLING INSIDE MOKUBA'S BRAIN AND STARE AT HIS THOUGHTS IN BLISS.

----

The KitKat bar is challenging him. He is sure of it. Looking at him behind the glass with a smug expression. Mocking him, making fun of him. I dare you to push the button. Fucking annoying. He redirects his attention to the row below. The small pack of Kopiko tells a different story altogether. It is begging him, watching him with pleading eyes to free it from the sorrow of the refrigerated prison. That KitKat asshole must have everyone under its thumb, ruling as a king over the microcosmic empire of snacks called FamilyMart. Well, fuck you KitKat.  

Mokuba inserts the coins in the slot (one cherry blossom, two phoenix hall) and presses the number ‘one’ followed by the ‘five’. The machine awakes from its sleep with a buzz. The metal coils of the prison rotate releasing the captive small pack which falls in the open compartment below. Finally, freedom. Mokuba grins victorious. He kneels and pushes the compartment door reaching for his cold prize. He shoots a last glance at the snack on the other side of the glass: emperor KitKat is raging, yet powerless. That doesn’t mean Mokuba has put a stop to his reign of terror. No, the moment he turns away KitKat will divert its rage and punishment to the other prisoners under his control. Well, nothing Mokuba can do about it. Goodbye asshole. Not my fucking problem.

He walks away from the vending machine and sinks on the closest bench in the white room, his body feeling understandably heavy because he hasn’t slept in ages. Like a true Kaiba. Fuck hospitals fuck doctors fuck my idiot brother laying semi-comatose upstairs. Again. For the second time. A cosmic wicked prank, that’s what their life is. Years pass seasons change and we are clinging in this fucked up eternal looped hoax of our misery stuck in the same immutable frozen truth over and over again. I hate you so much. I love you so much. I have been surviving just fine without you and I cannot live without you.

Mokuba leans his head compliantly against the wall, closes his eyes and lingers. Seconds, minutes, hours. It doesn’t matter. If he falls asleep, someone will come waking him up just in time for the bijillion things appointed on his daily to-do list he doesn’t even bother to check. As if he needed to. cfo at 9.00 meeting.meeting.meeting. industrial illusions ceo at 11.00. report to the board at 12.00 because those assholes wants to keep up with everything that’s going on like they give a shit about him and the other idiot because this machine for pigs cannot stop grinding and profits.profits.profits Marx was right.   

Mokuba lets out an exhausted sigh. He opens his eyes again and looks down at the Kopiko pack hanging from his fingers. He pulls it open and sticks his hand in to draw the small wrapped confectionary. Lunch break at 1.00 reports.reports.reports. r&d at 2.00 testing.testing.testing. He removes the thin paper and shoves the sweet block into his mouth whole. Released from a lifetime under dictatorship only for it to end its journey in a stinky toilet. Someone somewhere has written a philosophical essay about the meaning of life of FamilyMart snacks. The intense flavor of coffee melts in his palate. Mokuba’s eyes fixes on the white spotless ceramic tiles covering the floor of the small waiting room.

Seto woke up two days earlier in the ICU. He opened his eyes briefly. However, they soon had to administer an IV dose of morphine before he went into tachycardia. Doctors tried to cheer him up saying the response to pain was a good thing. YEAH LET ME TELL YOU A COUPLE OF THINGS ABOUT MY BROTHER’S PAIN, he wanted to yell. Not a word about the rest, though. It is still too early to know, mister Kaiba. He called Mokuba’s name. That must have been a good sign, right?

He had been comatose for sixteen days, fourteen hours and thirty-seven minutes after the surgery. Mokuba had been measuring the time painstakingly with the meticulous precision of an atomic clock because that’s exactly what Seto had been for two weeks: an idle mass of still particles and unreactive electrons at zero frequency of resonance and momentum debunking the entirety of Heisenberg's uncertainty principle; an immovable and immutable pile of flesh and tubes, lines and cables sticking out his nose, chest, stomach and bladder as an extension of his own starving emaciated body.

Yet, Mokuba thinks there’s something decorous and beautiful in his blissfully simulated sleep. Even in his resting state Seto is a fixed mark in the flow of time. Pale and inert like marble crystallized in the eternal beauty of a greek statue that would make Michelangelo blush in admiration and jealousy at his sight. Seto’s charming even in a coma, gorgeous and grotesque as something born simultaneously from the hands of a Canova and a Dalí. It horrifies him and it amazes him he can barely keep his eyes away from the lifeless cocoon.

He woke up then and he went back to sleep. Seto is now a pupa. The chrysalis will complete its transformation and Seto-imago will emerge from its shell at the conclusion of this metamorphosis. Will you still be the same will you be different will you still love me will you accept the pain that we are fucking broken and I don’t care about perfection I never wanted a flawless you I want you to accept me/us for who we are.

-----

(WIP)

[luckyfinch]

Chapter 4: Late Nights

look at this post for chapter one, warnings, and other info

Swap clenched his teeth, hitting the punching bag with more force than he probably should have. It was late, and like usual, he elected to busy himself rather than lay boredly in bed. (Killer had come to drag him back to his room from the gym two nights in a row now.) Now, he’d been at the castle for five nights, and had settled into routine surprisingly quickly: 

Cross would come to wake him up (with varying struggle) and the two joined everyone for breakfast, then he or Cross would do the dishes. Swap would then head to the castle’s gym, sometimes accompanied by Cross or Killer. He’d stay there until his hands started to feel numb, or until someone forced him out. Without a task at hand, his mind would wander, letting those unwanted thoughts claw their way up to his throat and-

Next, Swap would reprimand himself for standing around idly, indulging in such thoughts when he could be doing something productive! He’d clean the kitchen, the halls, and his room. When there was nothing left to clean, he discovered that Cross was nice to talk with. The two spoke about their AUs, the Royal Guard, and about the Stars’. 

It was.. nice. The gang had all been surprisingly welcoming, minus Dust. Horror continued to watch him closely, an odd concerned look in his eyelight that Swap couldn’t figure out. He already considered Cross and Killer to be friends. Dust hadn’t been exactly unwelcoming… though he had yet to say a single word to Swap, at least directly. And Swap hadn’t heard from Error since the destroyer sent him to that fell AU Killer and Cross were poking around—it’d been only a couple of days ago, but it felt much longer. Of course, he knew better than to worry: Error came and went as he pleased. The glitchy skeleton would show up sooner or later. Perhaps he’d been busy fighting Ink? Swap did wonder what his old friends—teammates, had thought about his disappearance. It was likely they first assumed he’d been abducted by Error again..

Swap huffed, drawing a deep breath and throwing more force into his next punch. The punching bag broke from its clip, a small hole finally tearing in the fabric, sending beads flying out as the bag slid across the room, stopping with the other two. He took a moment to collect himself before reaching for another bag, jumping up to clip it into place.

“Blue? whaddya doin’?”

He turned, fists lowering. Killer walked over, empty sockets almost narrowed.

“Killer.” He sighed, already moving to gather up the busted punching bags. “Sorry, I Know You Guys Don’t Want Me In Here So Long.”

The other clicked his teeth a few times, eventually seeming to give up on finding a response and opting to just stare. Swap hauled the bags over to lean against a wall, leaving them to deal with tomorrow. 

“I’ll Go To Bed Now, Promise. Goodnight, Killer!” He let some of the usual enthusiasm drip into his voice, throwing up finger guns and backing out of the gym. Walking back to his room, he ignored the feeling of Killer's eyes on him the whole way. There was no way he’d get to turn right around and go back to the gym.

With a groan, he untied his cape, taking a moment to fold it up and leave it on his left nightstand. His battle body and boots had already been taken off earlier. The blankets were lifted, and Swap pulled them over his head, burying himself in the covers. Some sleep would be good for him, he supposed. . .

---

The sun shone bright in the sky, light pouring into the home through the windows, painting the interior in a nice, warm glow. A muffled hiss of pain cut through the peaceful atmosphere.

“Sorry, Swap. I know it hurts.” A gentle voice says. Golden eyelights glance up at him briefly with the short apology. Gloveless hands wrap a bandage around his injured leg.

“if you’d have been a liiittle quicker on your feet, we totally would have won back there!” A tattered brown scarf comes into view.

“Ink, no need to act like that. You know he can’t help it.” Dream chides the shorter, sitting back from the wrapped bone. A faint glow shows the remnants of his healing magic.

“uuuggghh, you mortals are so weird!! food gives you energy, food makes you sleepy- why-?” 

“Ink! We can’t have him eating any less, he’ll get sick.”

The artist groans, hands on his hips as he gazes at Swap. His eye lights flicker through little shapes and symbols, never staying the same more than a few moments. 

Swap’s fists balled in the fabric of his pants.

“Ignore him. Ink just doesn’t understand that you’re different from us.” The guardian turned to Ink, speaking in a scolding tone. Ink frowned, eye lights flickering again.

Swap stared forward, gaze unfocused. His mind hardly registered the rising argument, everything around him growing distant.

He wasn’t like them.

--- 

Swap shot up with a start, limbs flailing to push the thick blankets off of him. With a grunt, he twisted and fell off the side of the bed, covers and pillows getting dragged with him. In an instant, he’d shoved the blankets off and pushed himself up, fingers digging into his upper arms painfully. 

He needed a distraction.

Silently as he could, he left his room and started down the hall. His mind felt hazy, like there was a small barrier between his body and his brain. Yet at the same time he felt all too alert. The castle felt chillier than usual, and he winced each time he stepped too loudly. 

Without really meaning to, his feet led him to the kitchen. He could probably grab a glass of water, or make some tea, he thought.

The kitchen was quiet, as he assumed it’d be so late at night, but the lights were on. Stepping through the doorway, he realized he was not the only one awake. Swap didn’t need to see the skeleton’s face to know who it was, realizing right away by the look of his hood.

Hesitantly, he entered the room, heading straight to the sink. Swap reached up and grabbed a glass, turning on the tap (he wondered how they had plumbing here) and filling it. He gulped it down quickly, a small sigh escaping him. He quickly refilled it, realizing only then how dehydrated he felt. 

“...it’s late.”

The voice was quiet, but slightly strained, like he’d had to force the words out. Swap looked across the room to the dining table, where the hooded skeleton sat. His mismatched eye lights had honed in on Swap. He felt rooted to the spot, suddenly, just by the other’s gaze. 

“It is.” His grip on the glass tightened, and he forced himself to set it down on the counter before he broke it.

Dust stared at him, leaning forward against the table with his arms folded. He’d probably been laying his head down before hearing Swap approach, even though he’d done his best to stay silent. The tense staring contest only broke when Swap tore away his gaze, facing the floor.

Dust’s stare didn’t falter, burning holes into his skull even if he couldn’t see it.

“y’know.. i was very against you coming here.” Dust lifted an arm, letting his chin rest against a propped up hand lazily as he glared. 

Swap turned his head to the table, a smile forcing its way onto his face despite his screaming thoughts. “I Mean.. I Didn’t Expect You To Be Celebrating Or Anything.”

“hm.” 

He let the smile drop, watching Dust quietly. Something clicked in his mind, and tiredly, he took a couple seconds to fully comprehend the thought before he spoke back up. “How’s Your Arm Doing?”

Clearly he’d hit the target, because Dust leaned back and folded his arms again immediately, sockets narrowing. “it’s. fine. blue bastard.”

“..I Apologize For That. I Wish I Could Say I Felt Sorry For Any Other Injures You May Have Sustained From Me All This Time, But We Were On Opposite Sides, So… I Don’t Expect Any Of You To Apologize For Hurting Me In The Past, I Mean. But I Understand Being Upset Over That.”

Dust stayed silent, his expression not betraying his thoughts in the slightest. Without another word, he pushed back his chair, stood, and left the room.

…

Well, he did finally speak to me, atleast.. Swap mused, a small smile forming on his face subconsciously. He downed his glass of lukewarm warm water and then left the kitchen, too.

previous < > next

[syringe3]

I've been sick this begining of march, really sick. My throat hurt for more than a week nonstop, i even took the wrong medication three times and it made it all worse.

One of the meds just made my stomach really fucked up and this made me unable to eat well because it gave me so much nausea.

Because I took an anti-inflammatory medication, my healing was compromised (inflammation is just the body healing). This made a throat ache that was supposed to last a few days last an entire week. I then took an antibiotic while I was very weak from not eating and it made me so short of breath that i couldn't stand up, i woke up feeling a million times worse like I was gonna die.

After I got better, my partner got sick, feeling a lot of pain and fever. We still don't know what it is but we went to the hospital get it checked (a public hospital with lots of problems in it, like most people in my country we can't afford a particular doctor). There we had to wait five hours just to be attended, two days in a row. My back and shoulders hurt now from sitting on that hard wood bench for so long.

I have a harsh-noise local band show coming up tomorrow that i really want to see, i feel like i haven't worked enough on my art to deserve to go out and have fun. Truth is I at least have been reading a lot and writing a lot, I just couldnt get my hands onto that tank top I want to make. Sometimes i even have difficulty to cook food for myself, ill have lunch too late and start my day too late. Drawing has been hard, i tried and couldn't make any good designs.

I really need to call my mother at the rehab clinic today. I try to call her once a week, i haven't yet this week. I know she needs my attention more than that, she's doing this for me in a sense, to take care of me. I want to call her more often but I need my partner's parents to be at work for this, I cant talk honestly with my mom if they're listening.

[skzsauce01]

Bird Is the Word

Synopsis: A series of drunk texts leads to one of the best and worst things that has ever happened to you. Or, Han Jisung is never going to let you forget the time you forgot the word ‘bird.’ College AU. Not a text fic but does include some texts.

Warning: alcohol, a lot of bird puns

Word Count: 8.1k

Pairing: fem!reader x Han Jisung

2:23 AM [Me]: sOS SOS SOS SOSOSOS 2:23 AM [Me]: I NEED HELPPPP 2:23 AM [Jisung Bio]: You okay?? 2:23 AM [Me]: YOU SMART HELPPPPP

2:24 AM [Jisung Bio]: Do you want me to call the police?? 2:24 AM [Me]: WHAT ARE THE FLUFFY ANIMALS THAT GO FLAP CALLED 2:24 AM [Jisung Bio]: Is this a code word? 2:24 AM [Me]: THEY GO FLAP AND EAT SEEDS 2:24 AM [Jisung Bio]: Do you mean birds? 2:24 AM [Jisung Bio]: Are you drunk?

2:25 AM [Me]: [blurry_photo_of_your_window.jpg] 2:25 AM [Me]: HERE LOOK 2:25 AM [Me]: YES BIRDS 2:25 AM [Me]: THANK YOU SOOOOO MUCH 2:25 AM [Me]: LOVE YOUUUUU

In your defense, you were drunk. And when you are drunk, your critical thinking skills disappear and are replaced by pure, uninhibited stupidity. It’s like some twisted Jekyll and Hyde situation, but only when you drink, you transform into this other version of yourself instead of suppressing it.

You mostly remember the things you have done and said while under the influence. The most embarrassing ones tend to be fuzzy. If it weren’t for the grainy phone video taken by Seungmin and your own voice cheerfully declaring that you had an idea, you wouldn’t have realized that you were the idiot who tried to make a chalk mural at the four-way intersection in the middle of the night. You didn’t even have chalk, but that didn’t stop you from drawing on the asphalt with a broken pen you found on the sidewalk.

Good thing Seungmin had the foresight to drag you back to the crosswalk before a car could come speeding by.

However, that legendary act of idiocy doesn’t even compare to this new one. Forget the fact that you could have died.

Your biology class just went over survival of the fittest using Darwin’s finches as an example. How in the world did you forget about the word ‘bird?’ Why did you think it was a good idea to ask the cute guy in your bio study group about “THE FLUFFY ANIMALS THAT GO FLAP?” And why, why, why did you insist on telling him that you loved him? The ‘THANK YOU SOOOOO MUCH’ was already enough.

Jisung is never going to let you live this down.

It’s fine. You’re fine. It’s not like you spent the entire Sunday morning knocking back glasses of water and wishing it was vodka instead. It’s not like you drafted about five different apology messages and deleted them all. It’s not like you have to see him in class tomorrow.

Really, you’re fine.

You go out of your way to make yourself as inconspicuous as possible, which probably means you are very conspicuous. Do normal people not wear hoodies and sweatpants to class now, or are you just overthinking everything? The two people in the row in front of you are wearing jeans, and the girl heading down your row has a polka-dotted dress on. A secondary glance at the girl tells you that it’s another member of your study group. Speaking of the study group, maybe you should find another one. Preferably one without Jisung in it.

“Morning,” Lia says as she takes the seat beside you. She sets down her purple water bottle on the floor with a light clink. “How was your weekend?”

Terrible, but you say, “It was fine. I finished up the readings and did some notes. How about you?”

“Those readings took me forever!” she groans. “I was trying to finish everything on Saturday, so I could go out on Sunday. Which I did manage to do, so it all worked out. I got a new dress!” She plucks at the bodice of her dress, and you finally take a closer look at the pattern.

They’re not polka dots. They’re freaking birds — swoopy doves with outstretched wings. Or at least you think they’re doves. Your lack of bird knowledge speaks for itself.

“It’s pretty,” you hollowly say. The universe seems determined to remind you of your texts. Lia’s face falters, and you realize your disdain came across as you lying. “No, it’s not like that! Just… bad experiences with birds. You look really nice in this.”

She brightens up. “Oh, thanks! What do you mean by ‘bad experiences?’ What happened?”

“Good morning, birdbrain!”

“That happened.”

Looking far too happy for a Monday morning, Jisung takes the other seat beside you. He has a cup of coffee stacked high with whipped cream and chocolate drizzle, and you wonder if his extreme cheerfulness is from the caffeine or from your impending public humiliation. Why did you have to pick this guy to have a crush on? Sure, he’s cute and smart and sometimes nice, but there are plenty of people who have those traits without his witticism.

Lia looks at you with more amusement than concern. “So what happened?”

You tell her about what really happened during the weekend, and Jisung laughs all the while, reenacting his facial expression when he received your first frantic SOS message. Meanwhile, you sink lower and lower into your chair, ignoring your tailbone’s cries of pain as you slide further down the thin cushion.

“You can’t hide forever,” Jisung remarks as he looks at your slumping form. “C’mon, it wasn’t that bad. And you were drunk anyway.”

Yeah, you were, but the whole thing is doubly embarrassing because of how much you want him to like you. The overenthusiastic, all-caps messages are normal whenever you text while drunk, but ‘I love yous’ and the even rarer ‘I LOVE YOUUUU’  are few and far between. Only six people excluding Jisung have received them: your parents, your best friend, and your statistics group project members because you accidentally sent the message to the wrong chat.

On the bright side, seven is a lucky number. It means absolutely nothing in this case, and it’s hardly relevant to how you’re feeling, but everyone copes differently. Yours just happens to be clinging onto any silver lining available for solace.

“Anyway,” Lia cuts in, saving you from replying, “you’re here early, Jisung.”

He shrugs and flashes her a playful smile. However, his eyes are focused on you when he says, “You know what they say: early bird gets the worm.”

You give him a pitiful attempt of a withering glare. “I hate you.”

“Okay, fine.” He tugs at the shoulder of your hoodie to motion for you to stop trying to melt into the ground and to help you up. “It’s ‘cause I knew you would be here early.”

You are calm, you are fine, you will not be flustered. He just teased you five seconds ago; you should not be this willing to forgive him under these circumstances. Nonetheless, you slide back up to a more normal sitting position and try to pretend that you are still mildly upset. His next sentences make that impossible.

“You guys want brownies? Felix was stress-baking again.”

One may call you easily swayed by food, and they would be right. Jisung lets you have a coveted corner piece, and you decide that he’s alright again. He stretches an arm in front of you to get to Lia, and you lean back to avoid bumping into him. It also gives you a clear view of his profile. Wow, is he pretty. Look at that jawline. Suddenly his eyes go wide, and his mouth splits into a familiar excited grin.

“Are those birds?”

“Yep,” Lia answers, looking over at you to check your reaction. She tries to hide her smile, but it’s clear as day. You’re not entirely sure what she’s going to say next, but you already know it’s going to involve your current least favorite animal species. “Pretty… dove-ly, don’t you think?”

At least you were right about them being doves. “I hate you both.”

Jisung laughs at her pun and holds out his palm for a high-five. “You know what they say: birds of a feather flock together.”

“I really hate you both.”

Your initial prediction that Jisung is never going to let you live this down is correct. When you meet your bio group again Thursday night to study for the upcoming quiz, Jisung brings lemon poppy seed muffins for seemingly no other reason than to tease you. His housemate is still stress-baking, and judging by the bird silhouette made of glaze, Felix is very stressed and very eager to indulge in Jisung’s ideas.

“They’re finches!” Jisung proudly announces as he sets one right in front of you. The stupid decoration on top mocks you, but the muffin looks and smells delicious.  

Hyunjin, who does not know about your current plight but does know about Darwin’s finches, appreciatively coos at them. “They’ve even got different beak shapes! These are so cool. Man, Felix must hate econ right now.”

“No kidding,” you mutter as you begin peeling off the wrapper. Felix must hate you as well because one bite of this is almost enough for you to forgive Jisung again. It’s that good. How are you supposed to stay mad at Jisung when he gives you free delicious food? “Forget college, he needs to be in culinary school.”

He smirks from across the table, and it takes a lot of willpower for you to pretend you’re unphased. “What if I told you that I made these?”

“Then I would call you a liar.” He better be lying. You do not need another reason to justify your crush on him.

“And you would be right.” He slides his plastic container down to Lia, who has just arrived and is eyeballing the muffins like a predator. “But I did help him.”

“It’s really good,” you admit. You continue nibbling on it, determined to make the muffin last as long as you can. “What part did you help him out with?”

“The birds on top. Turns out drawing them with runny glaze is hard. I gave you the prettiest one, so don’t get mad about the whole bird thing. It goes with what we’re studying too.”

“Fine,” you sigh as you fold the wrapper into halves over and over again. “But only because these are amazing.”

Hyunjin leans in closer, effectively popping the intimate bubble you and Jisung were in. “What’s ‘the bird thing?’”

Fortunately, Yeji has finally arrived, which gives you the perfect excuse to stop Jisung from letting another person know of your drunk texts. You make a big production of pulling out your notebook from your backpack and rifling through your pencil bag for a pen.

“Should we get started?” you ask. Lia nods and uncaps one of her many highlighters.

“I’ll tell you later,” Jisung whispers to Hyunjin, winking at you. You could cry, melt, die. You could do a lot of things, but you opt to stick your tongue out at him. So what if you’re being childish? You can barely concentrate on the real world after that wink. To Yeji, he says, “There’s snacks, if Lia hasn’t eaten them all yet.”

“Hey!”

Hyunjin laughs at her notorious sweet tooth before turning to Yeji. “He gave Y/N the prettiest one, so there’s probably only his fails left.”

“They’re not bad!”

Lia has only had two, so there are more than enough to choose from. Yeji peers inside the container before selecting the one closest to her.

“Is this a plague doctor?” she asks as she suppresses a laugh. “It’s got a top hat.”

Jisung shakes his head and groans. “You chose the worst one on purpose. It’s one of Darwin’s finches. You would have known if you studied.”

“It’s not my fault you can’t draw.” Taking no notice of Jisung’s affronted expression, she takes out the textbook the five of you split the cost to buy. “Okay, plague doctor cupcakes out of the way, what are the four main theories of evolution?”

“They’re lemon poppy seed finch muffins,” he clarifies.

“That’s not an evolution theory,” Hyunjin cheekily replies, earning him an elbow nudge from Jisung and a laugh from everyone else.

You end up answering Yeji’s question and reward your correct answer with another muffin. Besides them being addictive, you’ll need some energy for the rest of the study session if all this talk about birds persists. You select the most plague doctor-ish one out of the box, and Jisung notices.

“Seriously?” he pouts. “I give you the best one, and this is how you repay me? I thought you said you weren’t mad about the bird thing.”

You ignore the last sentence. “What? You’re not proud of these?” you say, mock astonished as you give him a good view of the glaze on top. “They look exactly like plague doctors.”

“I hate you.”

You smile and shrug before returning back into the discussion about Lamarckism. Let him get a taste of his own medicine.

Unfortunately, as promised and as possible revenge, Jisung tells Hyunjin about ‘the bird thing,’ and Yeji overhears since she is only two chairs away. You try melting into the ground instead, but Lia holds you in place as the story continues, so you are stuck reliving the memory. You knew Jisung wouldn’t let you forget, but you didn’t account for everyone else in the group finding out and joining in on the torture.

But thanks to Jisung’s brilliant idea to bring those spectacularly decorated muffins, he doesn’t go unscathed either. It’s a mediocre consolation prize, but you’ll take it.

All around, it’s a productive study session, if a bit long, courtesy of everyone’s unrelenting shots at you and Jisung.

Your study group splits off in three separate directions once you’re all at the library entrance: Yeji back to the on-campus dorms where she’s an RA, Hyunjin and Lia to the off-campus apartments a few streets down, you and Jisung to the bus stop to your apartments on the other of campus. There’s a few people already sitting at the bench, so you and Jisung stand under the streetlight nearby. A moth intent on reaching the light source rams itself repeatedly against the glass covering, and you tiredly watch it. You yawn.

“Not much of a night owl?” he asks. With no clever reply ready, you gently shove him towards the bushes, but he only sways at your push. He throws his hands up in surrender. “Alright, I’ll stop for today.”

“I’m really sorry for sending you that,” you say. You haven’t touched the chat between you and him since the incident. “And for not apologizing earlier.”

“It’s alright. Although I almost had a heart attack when you sent me ‘SOS’ like five times.”

You grimace as you remember your frantic texts. If you think back hard enough, you remember furiously tapping at your screen, trying to get his attention as quick as possible because you really, really, really needed to know what the animal that landed on your windowsill was called. Your housemate was in the next room over. You could have asked her instead, but no, you decided that Jisung from bio was the best option. Not even the group chat, just Jisung himself.

“Sorry again,” you weakly reply.

“It really is alright. Finding bird puns is my new favorite hobby now.” He wryly smiles. “I have so many more to try on you. You’re gonna love it.”

Is that endearing or annoying? Living rent-free inside his head isn’t terrible, especially since he seems to do the same in yours. You’ll probably have to endure lots more puns from him in the future, but for now, you’ll decide that it’s endearing.

The bus arrives, and you sit in the back with him. The ride to the apartment complex is quiet; only a group of people near the front are speaking to one another in low voices. Jisung makes no attempt at continuing the conversation, and you are content to stare out into the neon lights outside the window. You can see him in the reflection on the glass. The empty container devoid of muffins sits on Jisung’s lap, his phone placed face down on the lid. If it weren’t for all the other passengers on the bus, you would be convinced that it was just you and him, enjoying each other’s company.

You’re almost sad when you reach your stop.

“Do you want me to walk you to your apartment?” he asks as you step down to the pavement. “Yours is farther down, right?”

“Isn’t your place right here?” you say. You’ve seen him walk out from this particular complex several times while waiting for the bus. That’s not stalking. “You don’t have to go out of your way. It’s just a block away.”

“Yeah, I’m definitely walking you home.”

You hesitate a bit, but Jisung is already taking small steps in the direction of your apartment. A little more time with him doesn’t sound too horrendous right now. “Okay.”

Just like the bus ride, no conversation, which suits you fine. Jisung seems more enthralled by looking into the windows of apartment residents anyway. You can’t blame him, especially when it appears that someone is having their own mini rave in their living room. Once at the doors to your building, you thank him and tell him good night.

“No problem and good luck tomorrow.” His voice is softer at night, or maybe it’s because he’s tired as well.

Your tone matches his as well. “You too. See you in class then.”

“Good night.”

A few minutes after midnight, just as you’re about to get into bed, a message from Jisung pops up. Not Jisung in the study group, just Jisung.

12:04 AM [Jisung Bio]: Hey, I know you’re not much of a night owl, so would you call yourself a morning lark? 12:04 AM [Jisung Bio]: You’re always an early bird to class 12:04 AM [Jisung Bio]: Are you emu-sed? 12:04 AM [Jisung Bio]: :D

Well, he did say he would stop for the day. It’s technically the next day. You reply with an annoyed face before burrowing yourself under your blankets. There are other things to worry about, such as your quiz in nine hours.

You dream of birds, namely finches, that night. Thanks, Jisung.

“This is why I tell you to never drink alone,” Seungmin laughs. He picks up the last slice of pizza from the pan and folds it in half like the heathen he is before taking the first bite. “Bad things always happen.”

“To be fair, Ryujin was home.”

“In a completely different room from you.”

You groan and supplement your exasperation with an extra aggressive tear on your crust. “Okay, fine. I’ve learned my lesson. The point is, he won’t stop with the bird jokes, and I’m going insane.”

Seungmin, having been collateral damage from your drunken mishaps before, is unsympathetic. He still hasn’t quite forgiven you for the time you tried to make a Molotov cocktail in his kitchen. Look, the clickbait video you watched online promised that it would be a fun and easy science experiment, and your other self decided that it was a fantastic idea. Nothing bad happened in the end though since you couldn’t find a lighter. So, Seungmin, it really wasn’t that big of a deal.

“You have a crush on this guy. Why are you upset that he’s flirting with you?”

“He’s cute until he opens his mouth and starts giving me grief about birds.” You sigh as you remember the last text he sent: a photo of the sunset from his apartment window with the caption, A bird’s eye view of the neighborhood. On one hand, you were thrilled to have received a non-homework related picture. On the other hand, bird joke.

“You would do the same.”

“I know, but it still sucks.” You wipe your fingers with a napkin and amuse yourself with spinning the empty pan as Seungmin (slowly) finishes eating. “No more Jisung talk. How was your date?”

Seungmin turns flustered, just like you knew he would. “It wasn’t a date! I’m just her photographer. This is a business arrangement, nothing else.”

“Sure, sure. Whatever you say.”

“Hey, is that Jisung over there?” he asks, nodding over your shoulder.

“I’m not that gullible,” you sigh, though you can’t say you aren’t tempted. Seungmin loves to make fun of you, and he probably wants to get back at you for teasing him about the girl he’s been spending a suspicious amount of time with.

“Gull-ible?”

“Not you too," you plead. It's already awful with one person. To deter him any further, you continue, "Anyway, back to your definitely-not-a-date date—”

“Hey, Y/N, is that you?”

Seungmin has his “I told you so” face on. After sending him a glare, which he promptly pretends not to see, you turn around, resting your forearm on the back of your chair. Jisung, holding a pan of oven-fresh pizza, smiles back at you.

“Hey,” you greet. He's wearing the same black and red sweatshirt he usually has on, but why does he look so much better in it when he's in a pizza place than in class or in the library? “How are you doing? How’s your Saturday so far?”

“I just woke up like an hour ago, so it’s been pretty good, I guess.” His eyes go to Seungmin, who is now sipping on his soda, pretending to not eavesdrop. “Is this your…”

“This is my friend, Seungmin,” you quickly answer. Other than the fact that you need to make it abundantly clear that you are available, there is no way you’re ever going to date Seungmin. Apart from the girl he claims to not be dating, he’s even more merciless when it comes to reminding you about your drunken ideas. You can’t pass the intersection without him nudging your arm. “Seungmin, this is Jisung. We have bio together.”

Seungmin nods like he hasn’t heard of Jisung before. “Hey, nice to meet you. So, do you guys learn about birds in bio?”

Jisung lights up like a Christmas tree, and you want to cover yourself with the pizza pan. Praying for the ground to swallow you up also sounds like a decent option. In the midst of debating whether hiding under the table would be too odd, you notice that Seungmin has finally finished his slice.

“We should get going,” you interrupt. You do not need Seungmin to start sharing other stupid things you’ve done. He’s about five seconds away from telling Jisung about the intersection chalk mural. “And you probably want to eat dinner.”

Jisung sees right through your act, but he lets it go. “Yeah, Felix is probably starving. See you on Monday?”

“Yeah, see you.”

You expect him to go to wherever Felix is, but he still remains behind you. With a lopsided grin, he asks, “Should I expect any quail-ity texts at 2 AM tonight?”

Seungmin laughs, Jisung laughs, and you stare at the ceiling, wondering what you did to deserve this. Surely there were other people you could have in your life besides these two jerks.

“Winner, winner, chicken dinner!” Jisung sings as you correctly answer his question. This week’s study session consists of a game show Jisung has created, and you almost want to believe that he put in all this effort just to say that phrase. “Another point for you.”

You sigh as Yeji slides a wrapped piece of candy towards you. It’s her turn to bring snacks, and though milk chocolate the size of golf balls are great, you’re still dreaming of those wickedly delicious cake slices Jisung shared with you yesterday. Hummingbird cake, he claimed, it was called. Bananas, pineapples, and pecans, all combined together to make a sweet treat. When you cheekily asked why his housemate was so stressed all the time — you really don’t mind. Sorry, Felix — Jisung cheerfully informed you that he made the entire thing himself. After you picked up your jaw from the floor, you stammered something about it being passable. Not nearly as good as Felix’s stuff, you said, lying through your teeth. Jisung, again, saw right through it but let it slide. See? Sometimes he’s nice. However, you did not need another reason to be attracted to Han Jisung, but here you are.

“Seriously, Yeji?” you mumble as you pull apart the blue foil. “You just had to pick the brand named after a bird?” It doesn’t stop you from popping the chocolate into your mouth though.

“They were on sale!”

While you and Yeji bicker about Dove chocolate and how the universe is conspiring against you, Hyunjin answers the next question correctly. Yeji absentmindedly pushes his reward towards him.

“No chicken dinner for me?” he asks.

Jisung shakes his head. “Your question was easy. You get a pheasant instead. Or a quail. Any bird smaller than a chicken works.”

“A hummingbird then?” you suggest. You really need to stop thinking about that cake. “But I hear those aren’t that great.”

“You already ate every single crumb of that cake I gave you!” Jisung says, but there’s not a drop of displeasure in his tone. In fact, he seems rather happy that you liked it so much that you remembered about it. “All my hard work gone in five seconds.”

“You made her a cake?” Lia gasps in disbelief, secretive note checking forgotten. She’s in last place with only six points, so no one cares too much about her cheating. “What about us? We’re your study buddies too!”

Hyunjin and Yeji chorus their agreements, and you realize that he only shared his cake with you. He followed you out of the lecture hall and gave it to you in a plastic container, so you assumed that he also hand delivered a few slices to everyone else. Never mind that he oh-so-conveniently had a fork with him. Never mind that he sat with you at a bench and watched you try a few bites before devouring it all. Never mind all that.

Wait. Does this mean he likes you too?

You fold and unfold your discarded foil wrappers as you contemplate over this revelation, sneaking glances at Jisung all the while. He looks… normal. Infuriatingly so. Same carefree smile, same arguments with Hyunjin, same lackadaisical chair leaning even though he fell backwards that one time. How is one supposed to tell if someone actually likes you when said someone is the same all the time?

Jisung promises to bring something for the next study session to make up for not sharing his cake and continues on with the review game like nothing has happened. However, those thoughts are still in the back of your mind when the session ends. You have gained five more pieces of chocolate and no further information as to whether Jisung is actually into you or not. As per usual, you and he head to the bus stop together. It’s more crowded than last week since it’s only eight.

“Did you have a pheasant time today?” he asks, pausing next to a hedge.

You keep your eyes on the asphalt instead of looking at him. It’s much easier to pretend you’re calm when you don’t have vision of his face. “I see you discovered pheasants recently. And yes, it was fun. Thanks for making it.”

“You don’t want to crow about winning the game?” When you grimace — you did kind of want to point out how amazing your score was but now you don’t — he quickly adds, “Okay, okay. But you’re going to ace that quiz tomorrow.”

And you simply say, “I know,” because you are and because you have nothing else prepared to say.

It goes quiet, and with only the sounds of cars racing by, Jisung abruptly says, “This is a little awkward now. Or should I say… hawk-ward?”

You groan and break your staring contest with the road to give him an exasperated look. A mistake because he’s smiling so wide, squirrels would be jealous of his cheeks. He has no right to be so cute after those jokes. “Why do I feel like you searched up ‘bird puns’ online and are trying to insert them in every possible scenario?”

“Because I did and because I am.” He sighs in contentment. “Those were the best texts I’ve ever received. I’m never letting you forget it.”

You were right about that, and now you have verbal confirmation from the man himself. Another mediocre consolation prize you will gladly accept. But for now, you say, “Well, toucan play at that game, plague doctor Han Jisung.” The only perk of hearing all these wretched jokes is that you are now rather knowledgeable about them. Thank you, Seungmin, for making that one a few days ago.

“They looked just like finches!” he protests, but he’s laughing along, head tilted back. He sighs again. When he turns to face you again, his eyes are soft. “That was a pretty good one.”

“Seungmin came up with it.” There’s a warm feeling spreading across your chest, constricting your air flow and making all your blood rush to your cheeks. It was one compliment; why are you like this? What are you going to do if he keeps looking at you like that? You swiftly go back to the road, counting the number of cars that pass by. One, two, three, four…

And a gray bus pulling up to the curb.

“Bus is here,” you uselessly announce. Jisung follows you into the growing crowd surrounding the entrance. He hovers behind you as the two of you wait for the people in front to board, and his presence is more palpable than usual. “There’s a lot of people today,” you remark in a vain attempt to distract yourself.

“Yeah, everyone’s heading home for the day.” He pauses dramatically before adding, “The birds are all going back to their nest.”

The joke successfully snaps you out of your haze. “That’s not a real saying.”

“I think it should be. It makes perfect sense!”

“You’re—” As the line shuffles forward, you try to think of something bird related, but he beats to the punch.

“Cuckoo?”

It’s almost impressive how much time he has invested in annoying you. Does it make you fall for him more? No, not really, or so you try to convince yourself. It’s strangely endearing, just like everything about him. You merely answer, “Yes.”

He chuckles and nudges you forward up the steps of the bus.

Even though there’s a little bit of daylight left, Jisung walks you back to your apartment building. You’re not upset by this, but where was this chivalry two weeks ago after the first study session? You teasingly ask him about it, and he turns bashful. How unlike him.

“I thought you lived in my complex, for some reason. You were always at the bus stop before me, so I assumed you lived nearby. I didn’t know until I overheard you and Yeji talking about it,” he says, hiding himself with his collar.

“Oh.”

“Yeah.”

“Well,” you say, stopping in front of the walkway to your building, “see you tomorrow then. Thanks for walking me back. Good night.”

The Jisung you’re used to seeing, is back with a mischievous smile and yet another joke. “Good night-ingale.”

You bite the inside of your cheek and try not to seem too amused by it. He’s not charming, not even a little bit. “That was awful.” It’s the smile, you tell yourself. No one should have one like that. It has too much power.

“Yet I can see you smiling at it.”

Remain calm. You can do that. You’ve faked this before, so why is your head not cooperating right now? Jisung really needs to stop looking at you with anything more than a neutral face. It’s bad for you, like really, really bad. No witty remarks at the ready is typical, but you can’t even think of anything to say.

After an excruciating five seconds, you manage to stammer out, “Good night.” Cheeks aflame and your heart threatening to pop out of you like a cuckoo clock, you roughly yank open the door and bolt up the stairs. You have too much adrenaline in you right now. Waiting for the elevator knowing that he could be observing your twitchy movements, would be too nerve wracking.

Ryujin asks if you’re alright when she sees you hunched against the kitchen counter, out of breath and muttering to yourself.

“I decided to take the stairs,” you say, which only partially explains your dishevelled state. “I’ll be alright. I think.”

“I’ll get you some water. You look like you're about to collapse.”

Then your phone chimes with a new message, and you decidedly won’t be alright.

8:22 PM [Jisung Bio]: Did my nightingale pun quack you up that badly? 8:22 PM [Jisung Bio]: Was it that ducking good? 8:22 PM [Jisung Bio]: :D

8:23 PM [Jisung Bio]: Anyway, good luck tomorrow. Sleep well and sweet dreams, morning lark

There is no food in the fridge. Well, no proper food. A bag of spinach that expired three days ago but still seems okay, does not count. The same goes for the half empty jar of peanut butter, but Ryujin would likely disagree with that. There’s a reason why the jar is half empty. However, if you actually want to eat something for dinner tonight and breakfast tomorrow, you need to go shopping.

For some strange reason, it does not occur to you that you can run into Jisung at the grocery store. Jisung belongs in four locations: the bus stop, the lecture hall, the library, and the pizza place you saw him at last week. Not the dairy aisle on a Wednesday night.

“Hey.” You stop in front of him, basket at your feet and hands folded in front of you like the world’s worst defense. Heart, stop beating so fast.

Jisung looks up from his phone to search for the owner of the voice and brightens when he sees that it’s you. “Hey, morning lark.” He has taken to calling you that ever since he sent that particular message. You wish it produced another reaction from you besides pure bliss, but that is the price you pay for pretending to be still annoyed by his jokes. That’s how bad your crush on him now is; you are increasingly beguiled by the puns. “Oh, did you need milk?”

“Yeah.” You grab a blue carton with a picture of a smiling cow from the shelf and place it in your basket. In the meantime, you can’t help but peer into Jisung’s. There is a bag of chocolate chips and a packet of gelatin. “Is this stuff for tomorrow’s study session?”

He nods and grabs the same brand of milk as you did. You get a rush of excitement, much to your chagrin. It’s just milk, and this is the most popular brand too. “Yeah. Felix is trying a new recipe, so you guys get to have some of the failed ones too.”

“What is it? Cheesecake?”

“You’ll see,” he mysteriously says. Then he adds, “You’re gonna love it,” which immediately gives away the theme.

“It’s something to do with birds, isn’t it?”

“You’ll see.”

And when you do see, you’re wrong. Library food rules ignored, at each seat, Jisung has set a slice of layer cake topped with chocolate ganache, no bird motifs of any sort. You take your usual spot at the end of the table and find that yours is slightly larger than the others. Well, except for maybe Lia’s. He has to placate her sweet tooth and her disappointment of not being able to have hummingbird cake.

“Did I not get a message or something?” Hyunjin asks when he takes in the over-the-top display. “Is this a dinner party?”

“Isn’t this against the library’s rules?” Yeji asks as she surreptitiously looks around for any librarians. The surrounding tables of fellow students won’t care.

Jisung elects to not answer Yeji’s concerns. “This is tonight’s snack,” he proudly replies. “Also, Felix wants feedback on it.”

You cut a section off with the plastic fork and marvel at the airiness of the cake. It’s unlike anything you have ever had. The frosting in between the sponge layers is so light, and the ganache is so dark and rich. “This is really amazing. It’s so fluffy. Wow. Tell Felix that he really needs to consider culinary school.”

“Wanna guess what it’s called?”

“Isn’t this just an extra fancy vanilla cake?” you ask. You take another bite, but other than the chocolate ganache on top, you can only taste vanilla. “I don’t know. The… vanilla fluff cake?”

“Nope.” He leans forward, face inches away from yours, lips curled into a smirk, and slowly says, “Bird’s milk cake.”

This can’t be real. Birds don’t even produce milk. “No way. You’re lying.” Even as you say the words, they sound false to your ears. Jisung has made it his mission to find anything and everything bird-related for you, so you doubt he’s lying.

“It’s called this” — he holds up his phone screen — “in Russian. It translates to ‘bird’s milk.’”

Ptichye moloko.

“You convinced Felix to make this, didn’t you?” you say. What are the chances that Felix conveniently wanted to make bird’s milk cake without any nudging from Jisung? Absolutely none. You have never even heard of this dessert before, let alone by it’s Russian name, and you’re willing to bet that Jisung searched up ‘bird cake’ or something of that nature just for this. Maybe that’s how he found out about hummingbird cake too.

“It’s all for you, morning lark,” he cheerfully replies, winking at you. He leans back in his chair again, precariously balancing on the two back legs. “I knew you’d like it.”

Jisung is really not making this easy for you. Forget subtleties, he’s just shamelessly flirting with you now. And in the sanctity of the library of all places! In a poor attempt to save yourself from this mess, you unconsciously begin to slide down the chair, trying to shield your hot face with your raised shoulders. Lia notices this — one of the perks having sat next to you for nearly four weeks during lectures — and grabs your forearm.

“No melting,” she reminds you, “or else you’re going to hit your head on the seat again.”

“I wasn’t melting,” you protest as you wriggle back up. Slowly dying might have been a better descriptor. That wink shot arrows into your already fragile heart. “We’re gonna get in trouble if one of the librarians sees this.”

“Guess we should get started then,” Hyunjin says. Yeji, the only responsible one in the group, begins pulling out the textbook, and everyone laughs at her eagerness. “Not what I meant, but that too.”

After you’re done with the cake and while the others are preoccupied about the timeline of human evolution, Jisung whispers across the table, “Did you still like it?”

“Yeah. No hard feelings about the name because it was good,” you whisper back.

“I thought it would turn out like this, morning lark. I know you love free food too much to be mad.”

The nickname again. You rest your cheek against your palm in a vain attempt to tamp down the growing heat. “Can I get a different name, plague doctor?”

He’s not at all phased by his own nickname, which doesn’t bode well for any future snarky remarks from you. “What, you don’t like birds or something?” He blinks so innocently back at you that you have to stifle a giggle.

“Yeah, well, that’s the—”

“Hey, lovebirds,” Hyunjin interrupts, making you profusely blush and Yeji lightly laugh at the expression, “we’re gonna move on to the next section now. Is that okay?”

“It’s okay,” you reply even though you are most definitely not okay. Jisung, who you notice is uncharacteristically sheepish, echoes your sentiment.

It’s difficult not to stare at Jisung during the remainder of the study session. It seems to be true the other way around as well.

You’re sober when you read the messages, but you don’t think Jisung was when he sent them. Oh, how the tables have turned.

3:02 AM [Jisung Bio]: Good morning morning lark!! 3:02 AM [Jisung Bio]: Winner winner chicken dinner remember? So yes or no?

3:03 AM [Jisung Bio]: Or maybe yes or yes? 3:03 AM [Jisung Bio]: I really want to go on a date with you 3:03 AM [Jisung Bio]: Not lying I swear

3:04 AM [Jisung Bio]: I can’t stop thinking about you. You’re always on my mind and every time I see a bird, I think about you 3:04 AM [Jisung Bio]: I bought grey goose because of you 3:04 AM [Jisung Bio]: [jisung’s_hand_holding_grey_goose_vodka.jpg] 3:04 AM [Jisung Bio]: I don’t even like it that much

3:05 AM [Jisung Bio]: You make me dizzy sometimes and I don’t know what to do 3:05 AM [Jisung Bio]: You’re probably sleeping so good night larky 3:05 AM [Jisung Bio]: Or morning

3:06 AM [Jisung Bio]: Fly high in your dreams!!!

He must have been wasted and under no responsible supervision because this is what you would have done if you were in his place. Does he not have a Seungmin in his life? Or a Ryujin? There’s a Felix, so where was he when all of this happened?

But forget about Jisung’s own problems.

He wants to go on a date with you. A real date, not a study date with three other people and fake quiz questions. If his words are to be taken literally, then one involving a chicken dinner. Possibly a rotisserie chicken from the grocery store, but a chicken dinner nonetheless.

He can’t stop thinking about you. All those bird jokes had you charmed, and all those cakes were baked with you in mind. They weren’t just for show. They were all about you.

You make him dizzy, which is hilarious because he does the same to you. He smiles at you so brightly, laughs so easily, and flirts so shamelessly that you never realized that you could ever make him feel that way.

And “fly high in your dreams?” You’re practically soaring in real life. Han Jisung, cute bio boy, plague doctor, pun enthusiast, surprisingly decent baker, wants to go on a date with you.

You, you, you!

While you alternate between hyperventilating and forgetting how to breathe as you process all this, three gray dots appear at the bottom of the chat. You clutch your phone as you wait. Apparently, your body is on the ‘forgetting how to breathe’ cycle.

11:14 AM [Jisung Bio]: I am so sorry about that. I was very drunk when I sent that

11:15 AM [Jisung Bio]: You can just ignore them or delete them 11:15 AM [Jisung Bio]: Highly recommend deleting 11:15 AM [Jisung Bio]: Also sorry if I woke you up

Your fingers hover over the keyboard. Should you answer him over text, call, or in-person? Is in-person too dramatic though? You feel like something like this is supposed to be done face-to-face, but he’s probably hungover beyond belief.

11:16 AM [Me]: It’s okay. A morning lark is always up early anyway :) 11:16 AM [Me]: Were you serious though?

11:17 AM [Jisung Bio]: Can we meet up in an hour? At the bus stop? I want to talk to you 11:17 AM [Me]: Yeah. Me too

The bus stop is neutral territory or maybe just the closest meeting spot you and Jisung have. If it’s supposed to be neutral territory, it most definitely is not since his apartment complex is right behind it. Despite his close proximity to the spot, you arrive first, so you make yourself as comfortable as possible underneath the sign, standing in its shadow. It’s silly when you think about it, but you wish you dressed in something nicer than a hoodie. In your rush to leave the apartment, you threw on whatever, but maybe you should have worn something prettier for this confrontation. Make Jisung go dizzy and gain a little bit of power from that.

This is even worse than when you had to face him after you sent your drunk texts. At least then it was just a middling attraction and not a full-on crush.

“Hey, morning lark. You’re early. As expected.”

“Hey. You’re… alive.”

Jisung is strangely fresh-faced, not a hint of hungover clouding around him. Why can’t you look like him after a night of seemingly heavy drinking? Where are the pinched eyebrows from the blinding lights? The ghostly gray face? The haunted eyes as one remembers all the incredibly stupid things they did the night before? Unfair. Completely unfair.

“Yeah.” He’s wearing his usual sweatshirt, but his hands are stuffed into its pockets instead of being out and about. He rocks back and forth on his heels. “Well, uh, I meant everything I sent. And I’m serious about taking you to dinner, so do you want to go on a date with me?”

You anticipated this. Why does it feel like you have just finished running a marathon? “Yeah, I do. I really want to.”

He smiles so brightly, the sun would be jealous. Correction, should be jealous. You don’t think you’ve seen a prettier sight than this since he sat down next to you on the first day of class and asked if you wanted to start a study group. He pumps his fist in the air like he’s a movie character, and you hide your laugh behind your hoodie sleeve. You’ve never seen him so happy before.

“How are you not hungover?” you ask as he raises his face to the sky, taking in the afternoon light, basking in the moment. He’s really living his movie character dreams. “You said you were really drunk.”

“I kind of lied?” he says, sounding more wistful than you would expect. When he looks back at you, you finally see dark circles underneath his eyes, but he is still as jubilant as before. “I was more tipsy than drunk. So, when do you wanna get that chicken dinner, winner, winner?”

It’s amazing how shy, excited Jisung disappears and how the usual casual, teasing Jisung reappears. That’s his Jekyll and Hyde moment, you suppose. And the switch is all activated by his one-track mind of bird jokes. How wonderful.

“Next week, after midterms? I’ve got two this week to study for. I should be free on Friday night.”

He enthusiastically nods. “Sounds good to me.”

2:57 PM [Me]: I’m done with all my midterms! Are you free tonight?

2:59 PM [Jisung Bio]: Free as a bird :D 2:59 PM [Jisung Bio]: Also congrats on being done 2:59 PM [Me]: I hate you

3:00 PM [Jisung Bio]: So chicken dinner? The restaurant next to the pizza place just opened 3:00 PM [Jisung Bio]: I heard it’s really clucking good 3:00 PM [Jisung Bio]: A hen out of hen

3:01 PM [Me]: I might actually kill you during our date

3:02 PM [Jisung Bio]: Don’t you mean 3:02 PM [Jisung Bio]: [flock_of_crows.jpg] 3:02 PM [Jisung Bio]: Murder :D

3:05 PM [Jisung Bio]: I’ll see you at 6? 3:05 PM [Me]: See you then

You do not end up murdering Jisung on your date, though you do come pretty close after you audibly ask the ground to swallow you up when he compliments your egg-cellent outfit.

“Swallow?” he slyly says. “Like the bird?”

Instead of committing a crime, you kiss him on the cheek, effectively silencing him. You’ve been waiting to do both those things for some time now, and look at you now, killing two birds with one stone.

Jisung turns a delightful shade of pink and mutters something about needing to get to the restaurant before it gets too crowded. All of his bluster from just five seconds ago is gone. You merrily follow him down the pavement, feeling a little bit like the cat who swallowed the canary.

Yes, you did search up bird expressions beforehand. Jisung will be Jisung, and like you told him before, toucan play at this game. You will not spend your first date with him being humiliated by his large repertoire of puns. Besides, if he retaliates like you expect him to, you will have the perfect excuse to kiss him again.

See? No fowl play at all.

Then he takes your hand into his, his warmth enveloping yours, and everything suddenly isn’t fair again.

And based on his all-too-pleased grin, Jisung knows this as well.

~ ad.gray

[themayforce]

Pretty in Pink - Part 2

Link to part 1

Summary: After the events down on the planet, you're not sure how to talk to Rex about it. But luckily, Fives and Echo are here to help.

Description: Things get steamy again in this one. Afab!Reader (no gendered language), foursome, double (or i guess triple) penetration (in both holes), unprotected sex (wrap it up fellas), some degradation, and a little bit of spanking

Rating: 18+ explicit

Pairings: Rex+Fives+Echo/Reader

Words: 7481 (literally i only just found out about this word count and uhhhh i don't know how this happened)

There aren’t enough hours in a day for all the work you have to get done. Since getting back to Coruscant, it's like you've been stuck in an endless meeting with every possible senator, advisor, administrator, or whatever title these politicians had chosen to use. The first few meetings had been important, but soon you had no real part in the discussions anymore and you just watched from the back of the room, exhausted.

It doesn't help that events from a certain planet keep replaying in your mind like a holovid stuck on a loop, glitching and catching on moments and phrases you should not be thinking about in the middle of a meeting room. The heat in your face and your anxiety about it make you even more tired, and after a week of these negotiations you're very glad when you can finally get home before dark for once.

The lights in your apartment automatically switch on when you open the door. The soft pink and orange hues from the sunset outside drape over your living room like a blanket and you spend a few minutes just looking out the window, admiring the view over the city, something you didn’t take as much time for as you should.

No matter how hard you try, it’s impossible to empty your mind these days. Your little … adventure with your three clone friends left its marks on you, both emotionally and physically. They’re fading now, but every time you see yourself in the mirror before showering they jump out at you: two rows of bruises on either side of your hips, unmistakably finger shaped. Rex’s handiwork. And the worst part is that it turns you on more than you’d ever care to admit.

You haven’t spoken to Rex at all since flying back on the shuttle. He had been in two of the same meetings as you, sure, but only awkward glances were exchanged, no words. It bothers you, having these feelings fester inside you, but you have no idea how to approach the subject. If you send him a comlink message, what are you even supposed to say? ‘Hey Captain, I think we should discuss how you fucked my kriffing brains out and then pretended it never happened?’

The day after you got back, Fives and Echo had been waiting for you after your checkup in the medbay, bless their hearts. You had all agreed to leave out the specifics of what had happened in your official reports, but a warning had been attached to that planet’s datalog. Avoid the pink flowers: toxic to most humanoids. With those two guys, you can laugh about it now, and you’re grateful for it. Fives seems more relaxed around you, more open. You haven’t forgotten that he called you beautiful, that he held your hand and brushed the hair out of your face. You see the way he looks at you, and it melts you, the way a hot cup of caf on a cold day does. But you just can’t seem to examine your feelings about Fives, not while Rex’s fire burns inside you so vigorously.

If you don’t talk to him soon, you probably never will, and you’re not sure you can take that. You get a glass of water from the kitchen and down it in one go before laying down on your couch, comlink in hand.

Should you call him? Leave him a holo message? Or just a text message? He’s probably very busy, probably doesn’t even have time to meet with you, but there’s no way you can talk it out over the com. The little device feels heavy in your hand as you type out the message ‘Can we talk?’, and your thumb hovers over the send button. What if he says no? Or just doesn’t reply? What if he’s trying to forget what happened, and bringing it up will just anger him? But he’d called you perfect, had fucked you like a man possessed. You look like such a good little whore. Those words won’t stop echoing in your mind.

You press your face into a throw pillow and groan. “Stupid clones,” you mutter to yourself. “Stupid, sexy clones.”

It’s only when the buzzer to your front door wakes you up that you notice you had dozed off in the first place. Quickly, you smooth out your clothes and flip the throw pillow over with the drool-stained side down. You're not expecting any guests -- you were too tired to make plans this week -- so you're frowning when you open the door.

Your frown turns into a surprised smile when you see Fives and Echo standing in front of you. Their helmets are tucked under their arm, and Fives is holding a bottle of something that looks like alcohol, while Echo has a plain white box in his hands.

"Hey there, sunshine," Fives says with a sheepish grin that nestles itself in your heart.

"Guys! What's all this?"

“Hope this isn’t a bad time,” Fives starts, but Echo interrupts him.

“Fives wanted to-” A sharp look from his friend makes him rephrase his sentence. “Fives and I wanted to check up on you.”

“We saw you in one of the meeting rooms today, and you looked tired, so- oh, not that you look bad, you still look great, just-” You laugh, and that puts Fives at ease. He smiles back at you.

“You’re really too sweet. Please, come in.”

You step aside to let your friends into your home, both of them still wearing their armor. They must have come here right after their shift, and it warms your heart that they chose to see you instead of getting their well-earned rest.

“Brought you something,” Fives says, handing you the bottle he’s holding. “Thought you might like a drink.” It‘s a familiar bottle to you, the most common type of Corellian Red on the market, and one of your favorites, which Fives remembered.

“Aw, you shouldn’t have. But you’re absolutely right. I could really use a drink.”

Echo’s white box happens to be the best kind of box: a cake box, and time flies by while the three of you eat cake and empty the wine bottle. It’s nice, really nice, to just hang out like this. Despite the unspoken truth between you and Fives, it doesn’t feel awkward -- instead it draws something giddy and flirtatious out of you, though that may be in part due to the wine. One third of a bottle isn’t enough to get you drunk, but it’s definitely enough to get you tipsy, and soon enough you have your legs in Fives’ lap on the couch. He rubs circles on your calves with his thumb. He blushes. Echo laughs. The whole thing is adorable.

For the second time tonight, the buzzer of the front door interrupts you. This time, aided by the buzz of alcohol, you’re a lot more relaxed as you make your way across the room, glass in hand. There’s music playing from a concert on your holoscreen -- you don’t know the song or the singer, but the rhythm puts a spring in your step and there’s a smile on your face when you open the door.

Your expression shifts to one of open-mouthed confusion when you are met with another set of blue and white plastoid armor, worn by the man you so desperately wanted to talk to earlier today. And that's not all -- clutched in Rex's hands is a beautiful bouquet of yellow and white flowers, perfectly arranged like it's come straight out of a holo-ad for one of those high-end florists from Naboo.

You're speechless. Absolutely floored. Not just by the fact that Captain Rex brought you flowers, but that he decided to do this now, tonight, after ignoring you for over a week and- oh no. Did you accidentally send that comlink message? Is that why he's here? You would never even have considered sending it if you knew you'd have company tonight, but Rex doesn't know that and now he's here and so are Fives and Echo and every possible explanation you can give will bring trouble.

Blood rushes to your head as you try to think of something to say, but Fives and Echo beat you to it.

"Captain!" they exclaim in almost perfect unison while they jump up from their seats.

"Captain…" you repeat, at a loss for any other words. "I- I wasn't expecting-" You can't finish your sentence. Rex looks like he's going through all stages of grief simultaneously -- jaw tightening, brows furrowing, while his gaze darts between you and the clones behind you.

"I'll come back another time."

“No!” you say before you can stop yourself, “I mean, you’re welcome to come have a drink?” It’s embarrassing, the sheepish way you’re smiling at him, but he did just bring you flowers.

“Are those for me?” you ask, gesturing at the bouquet. Rex looks at the flowers like he had temporarily forgotten he was holding them, then hands them over to you.

“Yes. I hope you uh,” he hesitates, “are feeling better.”

“I am, thank you.”

This is unbearable. You want to scream, to either pull him inside or slam the door in his face, anything to make this painful situation end. You can feel Fives’ eyes burn into you from behind you, knowing that you have to explain why his kriffing Captain is bringing you flowers, when you can’t even explain it to yourself.

“So do you w-” you begin to invite Rex inside, pointing your thumb towards the living room, but he starts speaking at the same time.

“I’ll talk to you later. Goodnight. Troopers.”

With a curt nod and a sharp turn, he marches down the walkway, away from you.

You rush over to the low table next to your couch where you left your comlink and after you lay the bouquet down you check your message history. The words ‘Can we talk’ are still blinking up at you from the bottom of the display, unsent. The whole thing was a kriffing coincidence.

“So,” Echo says, pressing a button on the holoscreen to mute it, “what just happened?”

You groan as you let yourself drop down on the couch. Fives sits back down next to you, but his posture isn’t as relaxed as it was a few minutes ago.

“I don’t know if I should talk about it,” you say softly, burying your face in your hands.

"He …" Fives sighs deeply and turns his body towards you. "He also got involved back on that planet, didn't he?"

You nod without looking up. No point in lying about it now, and besides, it was Rex who decided to be weird about the whole thing.

"Said so, didn't I?" Echo says.

"Kriff, yeah, you were right. I really must've slept through it."

Now you sit up, bouncing your gaze between the two of them. “You knew?” you ask, confused.

“Not for sure,” Echo replies, “I stepped away for half an hour or so to fix the transmitter. But something was different about the Captain when I got back.”

Yeah, you could say that. It would’ve been a lot easier if he hadn’t been so secretive about the whole thing.

"I wanted to talk to him about it, but I thought he was avoiding me… Well, until-"

"Until he showed up unannounced at your apartment with flowers," Fives interrupts. There’s a small grin on his face as he shakes his head. "Stars, he's hopeless. We should give him some pointers."

Pointers? He wants Rex to be, what? Better at courting you?

“Wait… I thought-”

“I’d be jealous? Eh, a little, I can’t deny that. But one thing you need to know about clones,” Fives says with a knowing look to Echo, “is that we’re very good at sharing.”

His words make your face burn, your cheeks feel like the twin suns of Tatooine with how hot they are, and your breath hitches in your throat.

Echo chuckles at your reaction and moves to sit down on the couch as well. Stars, why was it making you so flustered to be sandwiched between the two of them?

“Fives was right. You really are cute when you get nervous.”

“I’m always right,” Fives jokes in return, “but more importantly…” He leans over and gently presses his thumb and index finger against your chin, turning your head to look at him. “Would you like that, sunshine? The three of us sharing you?” His thumb now grazes over your bottom lip. If he keeps this up, you might forget how to speak. Or forget your own kriffing name.

“Y-yes,” you whisper.

“Good.” He holds your gaze lovingly, his eyes darting down to your bottom lip. You’re hoping he might kiss you, but then he takes his hand away and smiles slightly.

“Better ask the Captain to come back, then.”

You fumble with your comlink and almost drop it while you type your new message to Rex. ‘Please come back. We want to talk to you.’ That’s the line you all agreed upon.

“While we wait…” Echo leans closer to you and lowers his voice. “Fives here never shuts up about wanting to kiss you.”

“Echo!” Fives hisses, embarrassed.

“Sooo,” you say, turning to him with a bashful grin, “what are you waiting for, then?”

Fives blinks a few times, and then with one swooping motion he pulls you into his lap, and puts his mouth to yours. His lips are sweet from the cake and the wine, his hands warm as he holds onto your waist. He’s firm and soft at the same time and it’s perfect -- until you move slightly and part of his armor pinches your skin, making you wince.

“Okay, you better take this off now,” you say, tapping one of his thigh plates with your fingernail, “or someone’s gonna get hurt.”

“That a promise?” Fives mutters against your cheek, making you giggle.

It’s touching how much care they put in taking off their armor. Just by watching them undress you can tell how important it is to them, almost sacred. They put every piece neatly on top of the other in the same way, like they were taught precisely how. Soon they stand before you in their tight black underclothes, still completely covered, but softer to the touch. The stretchy fabric doesn’t hide much. In fact, it accentuates the shape of their muscles and, well, other parts. You chew on your lip while you watch them move closer to you.

“Your turn, sunshine,” Fives states. “Let’s give the Captain a little surprise when we open the door for him.”

A small whine escapes your lips when you process his words, but you gladly oblige. As soon as you stand up from the couch, they’re on either side of you, so close it’s almost dizzying. They help you undo the clasps on your outfit and soon enough, you’re left only in your underclothes. Nothing fancy -- it was supposed to just be a regular work day when you got dressed this morning -- but at least it was a matching pair. Fives can’t seem to help himself and nuzzles his face into your neck, leaving open-mouthed kisses that send shivers down your spine and he makes his way back up past your jaw, until he captures your mouth again. His second kiss is more intense, deeper, hotter, and as his tongue moves against yours, you feel the wetness between your thighs increasing. While Fives kisses you, Echo runs his fingers down your breastbone softly, before brushing them over your nipples through the thin fabric of your bra. He’s gentle, like he doesn’t want to distract you from Fives’ kiss, but it still makes you shiver, the hairs on your arms standing up with the thrill of it.

And then, the buzzer again. When Echo goes to open the door, you instinctively want to turn around, too shy to face Rex in your state of undress, but Fives holds you with your back to his chest and his hands on your shoulders, rubbing them softly. He presses a kiss to your temple.

When the door swings open, your eyes meet Rex’s almost instantly.

"What's going on?" Rex asks, but his voice isn't demanding. Quite the opposite, there's almost a quiver in it as his gaze moves over your body, then quickly away again.

Echo leads him into the room by the back of his arm and smirks.

"Well, Captain, Fives and I have a little … gift for you, if you want to join us."

"We know you got involved, sir. With the toxin situation. No need to be ashamed. In fact, I think we can all benefit from this situation." Fives’ mouth comes up right next to your ear and you can feel the tickle of his goatee. "Why don't you tell him what you told us?" Fives whispers to you. Kriff, he wants you to proposition Rex? Out loud?

"I-I… well…" Alright, breathe, you can do this. You know what you want.

"I want… I want all three of you."

Rex’s eyes seem to darken, his posture heavy when he walks over to you. Fives lets go of you now, taking a step back to give the two of you more space.

"Stars," Rex breathes, "y-you're sure?"

"I'm sure." To help ease his doubts, you trace a path up his armor with your hands, resting your arms around his neck, and kiss him. He seems frozen for a second against your lips, but then he returns your kiss eagerly, warm hands grazing over your hips. When he touches you, his breath hitches, remembering you are near-naked in front of him. He breaks the kiss and rests his forehead against yours.

“I felt- I thought I had taken advantage of you. You were so vulnerable, and I was- I couldn’t control myself, I was too rough-”

"Look," you say softly, turning around to show him the remnants of your bruises.

"Is that- did I do that? Kriff, I didn't intend to-"

You interrupt him. "You can do it again, if you want. Keep doing it, so they never fade.”

Rex swallows, but before he can reply you come up with a new idea.

"I want to thank the three of you for saving my life," you say, and you can't help the shy smile that graces your face as you unclasp your bra, shaking it off and revealing your breasts. You take Fives and Rex by the hand and look Echo in the eye sweetly as you lead the three of them to your bedroom.

"There's no need-" Fives interrupts, but you shush him with a finger to his lips.

"I'm going to thank you," you say more firmly this time. You press a quick kiss to his lips before sinking to your knees before him, your eyes lining up with the visible hard-on under his clothes. Your fingers find the waistband of his black compression pants and his briefs below them.

"Oh, stars, sunshine-" His words catch in his throat when you peel the fabric down, revealing his bare cock to you, exactly the way you remembered it. Fuck, you'd fantasized about this late at night, pushing your own fingers into your mouth, imagining how much their cocks might fill you. You can't help but lick your lips before gently wrapping your hand around the base, drawing soft curses from Fives' lips. Your tongue finds the head of his cock, giving it a few kitten licks before letting your lips wrap around it. You hum contentedly as you let him enter further into your mouth, gently licking and sucking and reeling with pride whenever you draw a noise out of him. When you take him in as far as you can go without gagging, you feel his hand coming to rest on top of your head and you let him guide your pace.

"Fuck, your mouth feels amazing, sweetheart. You- you wanna show the other guys what you can do too?"

You whine when he takes his cock out of your mouth, but then you realize he meant show them right now, at the same time, because both Rex and Echo have taken their compression pants off (and Rex his armor, too) and you're greeted by two more of their cocks, hard and leaking and so close to your face.

"My lucky day," you joke, but your heart is beating fast with the knowledge you haven't exactly done this before. You just hope you can give all of them the attention they deserve.

Rex stands closest to you, and his cock twitches as you reach to hold it. His hips jerk forward when you press your tongue flat against the underside, tracing a vein that runs all the way along it. Just like Fives, he reaches for your head -- when you take one of his balls into your mouth and suckle on it softly, his fingers tighten their grip into your hair, his breath hitching with every stroke of your hand along his cock. After you give the other ball some attention, you move back to his cock, bobbing your head along it gently until he suddenly thrusts forward, hitting the back of your throat, making you gag.

"Kriff, sorry-"

But you persevere, spurred on to try and take him even deeper even with tears forming in your eyes. The sounds of you struggling to take him down your throat are joined with the sounds of Fives and Echo stroking their own cocks lazily on either side of you. It's lewd, but deliciously so, and your cunt throbs knowing that it's the sight of you that's turning them on.

You swallow around Rex's cock and he curses again, pulling himself out of your mouth.

"I won't l-last long if you keep that up, beautiful," he says, wiping some saliva mixed with precum away from your chin. Your stomach flutters at the pet name, a silly youngling feeling that feels unfitting to the current situation, but you find yourself wanting to hear it again and again.

Instead you turn again to take care of Echo, who seems to be enjoying himself -- his hand is wrapped tightly around the base of his cock and he smiles down at you.

"Your turn, mister," you tease, and a small chuckle escapes his throat.

"Stars, baby, you’re so cute."

Smiling, you lick up the sizable drop of precum that has formed at the head of his cock, drawing small circles around the opening with your tongue. Then much like before, you try to fit as much of him inside you as possible until you gag again -- the unpleasant feeling is somehow unbearably arousing to you, just knowing that his cock is so big, knowing your throat and jaw will hurt after, it sends lightning straight down between your legs.

"Look at me, baby," Echo coos fondly, "that's right, you like my cock, don't you, pretty eyes?"

You nod weakly, turning your attention back to the rhythm you had found while hollowing out your cheeks, when he pulls out of your mouth.

"Gotta keep it fair," he says with a grin while you feel a pair of hands turning you around again.

You service the three of them like this for a while, switching between their cocks while using your hands on the others. You must be an obscene sight, lips swollen and plump, saliva dribbling down your chin, and with every passing minute you're grinding your hips more and more, rubbing your legs together to find pleasure.

"Getting needy, aren't you, sunshine?" Fives teases, his voice raspy as you stroke his cock which is now slippery and shiny with precum and your spit. You hum around Rex, who has gotten to the point where he's thrusting shallowly into your mouth. Your gag reflex seems to have been conquered for the time being. They do say practise makes perfect.

It's Rex who comes first with a groan, his cum filling your throat while he holds your head in place, your nose grazing the hairs around the base of his cock.

"Fuck," Fives says, his hand finding the back of your head, "open your mouth, sweetheart, that's it." You swallow as much of Rex's cum as you can in one go, then open your mouth wide, tongue sticking out. Rex lines himself up with your tongue, pumping his own cock in quick hard motions. He cums with a low, rumbling sigh and his release ends up mostly on your tongue, with some of it on your nose and cheek. Before you realize it, you hear Echo curse beside you and he also finishes, his cum landing on your face and chest, like a marking you're all too happy to wear.

The three of them seem pretty out of breath, and Rex sits down on your bed with a sigh. "Stars," he breathes, pulling the high collar of his shirt away from his neck to let in some cool air. "That was some kind of thank you."

It makes you giggle. He seems more at ease now, having been convinced by the benefits of this arrangement.

Seeing the three of them panting and sweating in your bedroom sends another molten shot of arousal straight to your cunt and you realize your underwear must be soaked by now.

Fives must have realized you were rubbing your legs together, a teasing edge appearing in his voice. "I think you enjoyed that just as much as we did, didn't you? Did that get you wet?"

"Mhm," you admit coyly, "very."

"I think we should do something about that."

With a yelp from you, Fives pulls you up off the floor with ease and you crash into his chest with his nose pressed into your hair.

"Why don't you lie down and let us take care of you?"

Your face turns hot and your cunt throbs with anticipation at his words. But there's one thing that needs to happen first. All of them are still a lot more dressed than you are.

"Shirts off first, all of you," you say with a grin, which they all return.

"Yes, general," Echo jokes, peeling his sweat-soaked undershirt over his head. Now all of them are naked before you, and you can see the differences in their bodies. Echo, despite being the lithest of the three, has the most defined musculature. Fives is slightly broader in the shoulders but narrower at the hips, and seemed to have a little bit of an edge in the body hair department. Rex is the broadest overall, and also the most scarred, with gashes and blaster burns all over his chest, arms, and back. All three of them are beautiful, perfect, and somehow in your bed.

You get comfortable on the mattress, back propped up against a pillow. Surprisingly, it's Rex who finds his way over to you first, the mattress dipping under his knees. He puts his hands (big, warm, calloused) on your knees and spreads your legs so he can get between them.

"B-been wanting to taste you for so long," he says, his voice a dark rumble that strikes you in your core.

"You better take what you want then, Captain." You're not sure where the daring edge in your tone comes from, but after just making three men come with just your hands and mouth, some confidence has gathered in your chest.

Rex slides your underwear off and spreads your lower lips with his thumbs, and you can hear him suck in a breath. Fives sits down on the bed next to you and chuckles.

"Naughty, so wet from sucking dick." You give him a playful nudge which turns into a desperate grasp the moment Rex starts licking your slit in long lines, his tongue putting pressure on your clit repeatedly.

"Oh, fuckkkk-" you moan, your head falling back onto Fives' shoulder. Echo has now sat down on the other side of you and has taken it upon himself to lazily stroke and pinch at your nipples, the small licks of pain making you whine louder. Rex's pace is relentless, not gentle at all, and you find yourself on the edge much sooner than expected. Your nails dig into Fives' arm when Rex adds his fingers into the mix, pumping them in and out and curving them to hit the perfect spot while he sucks hard on your clit until you see-

"Stars!" you cry out, your hips lifting themselves off the bed as you buck into his tongue, your first orgasm of the night hitting you hard and deep. Rex keeps his tongue pushed against you for a while longer, until you come down from your high, slumping back down into the mattress with your breathing heavy and your skin shiny.

"Didn't know you knew how to do that, Captain," Echo jokes, still playing with your tits almost absentmindedly.

Rex wipes some of your slick off his face with the back of his hand and grins. "There's a lot you don't know about me."

When he sits back up, you can't help but notice he's well on his way to being hard again -- so are the others. There's a glimmer of pride in your chest at the moan Fives lets out when you wrap your hands around his cock again. You roll over, knees tucked under you, and bend down to wrap your lips around him again. In this position, you realize your ass is up in the air at an inviting angle, and you spread your knees a little further apart to give the man behind you a good view. It works, because it only takes a few seconds for Rex to grab your ass roughly with both his hands. His fingers line up with the bruises he left there before, and you hope he remembered your plea for their renewal.

"Look at you… you need a cock to fill you up, don't you, sweetheart?”

You hum around Fives’ cock in response, who fists his hand in your hair.

“Or maybe…” Rex’s voice is dark and rumbling, a sound that goes straight to your cunt, but that’s not where he touches you next. His thumb brushes over your exposed asshole and you stop moving your hips instantly in surprise. "... more than one? Think you could do that for us?"

You let Fives' cock slide out of your mouth to reply, spit and precum leaving a stringy trail between you. "Yes, please, I'll be so good for you," you whine, wanting nothing more than precisely that, to be good, to be of use to them, to make them feel good because they deserve it, and you're giddy and proud that they want this from you and no one else.

There's a bottle of oil in your nightstand for occasions like these -- a gift from a friend months ago who swears by this brand, but you hadn't gotten much use out of it yet. After all his nervousness earlier, you were surprised Rex took charge now, although you suppose he had just needed some time to settle into this commanding role that seemed to come so naturally to him in everyday life. The three of them briefly discuss among themselves how they should take you, but you have a hard time paying attention to the specifics. You bite your lip at the thought of the three of them filling all of you, and you can't help but sneak your hand between your legs to put some pressure onto your throbbing clit.

"Uh-uh," Fives tuts at you with a crooked smile, "none of that, now." He grabs the offending hand first and then the other so you can't touch yourself anymore. He laughs when you pout, and it makes you want to kiss the corners of his mouth. "C'mere," he says, pulling you forward to straddle his lap, his erection pressed between your bellies. It feels good, being this close to him, your skin against his. His smirk is still there and so you do steal a kiss, softly rutting against him just to feel him moan into your mouth. "How about the two of us stay like this," he says in your ear, pulling you tighter towards him with a hand on your lower back, "and I get to see your pretty little face while the other guys fuck your ass, hm?" Oh stars above, nothing coherent can leave your mouth in response to that. You press your face into the crook of Fives' neck and whine a breathy please that makes him chuckle. "Alright then sunshine, up you get." His strong hands lift you upwards so you can position yourself over his cock. Like it's the best thing he's ever felt, his eyes flutter closed when you sink down onto him, giving an experimental roll of your hips that tightens his grip on your waist.

"Fuck, I forgot how fucking hot your pussy is," he groans, and you can tell he's exerting some self control not to start fucking your brains out right away. You feel another warm hand on your back and turn to catch a glimpse of Echo.

"Yeah, Fives, you do know how to pick 'em," he jokes softly, but there's something different about him -- out of the three of them, you keep feeling like Echo might not have been attracted to you as much, like he might be happier with some girl from 79's, but now… You wonder if he reeled his feelings in so he wouldn't hurt his friend-- no, maybe that was just your vanity talking. Regardless, you pull Echo in for a short kiss while slowly starting to move with Fives inside you.

The sound of the glass bottle opening behind you gives you goosebumps. Rex's silence feels like the calm before the storm, and you hold your breath in anticipation. The liquid is a little cold when it trickles onto your skin, and you notice Rex also put a generous amount on his hand as he spreads it out, circling your little hole with his thumb. He works one finger into you gently, but you can feel the stretch and you cling onto Fives' shoulders.

"You alright, sunshine?" he asks and you nod, soothed by his voice and the circles Echo is rubbing on your back. Rex works you open gradually with his fingers, adding more oil when needed while Fives whispers words of encouragement into your ear. He keeps his hips painfully still -- your cunt throbs around him and you know he can feel it, too, but he doesn't budge, not yet.

“You’re doing so well, sunshine. Do you think you’re ready?”

“Mmhm,” you murmur against the skin of his shoulder.

“Ask Captain Rex nicely, then.”

You tilt your head up to look at him in slight bewilderment, only to find a playful smirk on his face. Before you can think of what to say, Rex starts slowly pulling his fingers out, grazing them along the sensitive skin in and around your ass, and you whine as you bury your face in Rex’s neck again.

“P-please, captain,” you cry, “please, please.”

His hands firmly dig into your asscheeks, rough and purposeful.

“Please what?”

Your words come out stifled and choked, both held back by your embarrassment to say something so filthy out loud, and shaken up by desire.

“Please fuck my a-ass, I need your cock, Rex, please!”

“Well done, sweetheart,” he says in that low voice that makes you quiver. He lines his cock up with your ass and you can’t help but buck your hips back slightly. His hands take hold of your sides and he starts pushing himself in, splitting you open easily with the help of the oil.

You’re full, so very full, and it’s so much, on the edge of being painful but not quite. Every part of your skin that touches one of your lovers is on fire, burning with arousal like it did when you had those toxins in your body, but better, now that your mind is sound. Whenever you think he can’t go any deeper, he does, and all you can do is hold onto Fives, digging your nails into his skin in the process.

“Fuck, stars, you take me so well,” Rex says behind you.

Echo pets your hair softly. “How’s it feel, baby?”

“F-feels good,” you respond, your words slurring together. Now both Fives and Rex are holding still with you in between them. The waiting is unbearable, like when the ocean pulls back before its biggest waves, and you are waiting for the water to crash.

The smallest roll of your hips is all it takes -- Rex groans as he pulls out about halfway, then thrusts back into you. From below you, Fives starts tilting his hips upwards, and you feel your cunt getting wetter around his cock. With the way you’re lying forwards on his chest, your clit rubs against him every time Rex slams his hips forwards. They move faster and faster, their skin slapping against yours and all you can do is sob, warm tears of pleasure mixing with sweat as they roll down your cheeks.

You can take more. You want to take more, and you look up at Echo through your wet lashes, reaching out for him, trying to find your words.

“Echo,” you whine softly, “my mouth, you can-”

You don’t have to tell him twice. He shifts so his cock is directly in front of your face instantly, unbearably hard and leaking. Your mouth opens almost instinctively, tongue lolling out to taste as much of him as possible.

Rex chuckles behind you as each thrust of his hips forces Echo’s cock further down your throat as you moan around him.

“Seems I was right the first time,” he says, not halting his speed even a little bit, “you really are a good little whore, aren’t you?”

Fuck, why do those words turn you on so much? Being called names was never something you wanted, but the way he said it, in that fucking delicious voice of his, it set you on fire and makes your cunt clench eagerly.

“Kriff, you liked that, didn’t you? Got all tight around me.”

Your mouth is too full of Echo’s cock to answer, but your throat lets out a noise that Echo clearly likes, because he moans and his strong hand finds purchase on your scalp. They fuck you mercilessly, all three of them pounding and thrusting into your body while you bounce on Fives’ cock and grind your clit against him. There is a deep focus to it, this steady rhythm while holding Echo’s cock into your mouth, but it feels so good and so complete, all of you moving together, thinking of nothing else but chasing the pleasure building in your cunt, and once you start slamming your hips down at the same moment Fives thrusts his up, it’s like the ocean wave crashing into the shore with full force, dragging you along with it. You come hard, a white-hot orgasm that shakes you to your core. You let Echo’s cock slip out of your mouth the moment you scream, and Five holds you against his chest where you can hear the pounding of his heart.

Fives halts the relentless thrusting of his hips for a moment, but not Rex -- he gives you not a moment of rest as he uses your ass with the same ferocity he used your cunt back on that planet.

“Fuck, fuck,” he swears behind you, “I’m gonna fucking- gonna cum, gonna fill this t-tight little ass up, would you like that? You wanna take my cum like a g-good little whore?”

“Yes, please, Rex,” you sob in reply.

He buries his cock deep inside your ass, his grip on your hips so tight it hurts, and then suddenly you feel a hand in your hair at the back of your head. Rex grabs a handful of hair and pulls, lifting your head up and back. He keeps you there while he coats your insides with his release, swearing throughout it, before letting you fall back onto Fives’ chest.

Echo stands up from the bed the second Rex pulls out of you and switches places with him.

“You can take a little more, can’t you, baby?” Echo says, lining his cock up with your ass. Some incoherent noise comes out of you as an answer, and Echo pushes in. Rex has opened you up enough for him to enter you easily, but knowing he’s fucking Rex’s cum back inside of you fans the flames in your belly and you can’t help but start bucking your hips back to feel it more, while Fives’ cock is still hot and throbbing in your cunt.

“Look at you,” you hear Rex say, “you can’t get enough of it, can you? Fucking yourself on two cocks at the same time, and looking so pretty doing it.”

“Mmm,” Fives agrees, and you can hear he’s trying to keep his composure but his breathing is ragged as he comes closer to his own release, “such a pretty little cockslut.”

The way they talk to you spurs you on, which they probably intended, and you start riding Fives like your life depends on it, pushing your upper body up a little straighter so you can look at him. He’s beautiful like this, face flushed, beads of sweat between his knitted brows while he intensely chases his pleasure. As soon as you look him in the eye he grabs the back of your head to pull you down, your forehead to his forehead, your nose to his nose, his eyes closed.

“You’re so f-fucking perfect,” he mutters, then lets out a long groan while he spills inside you, his head crashing backwards into the pillow. Echo’s thrusts get shorter and faster now and you buck back against him, wanting to give everything you still have left inside you. Rex’s hand sneaks up between your body and Fives’ to find your clit.

“Cum one more time, sweetheart, I know you can, with two cocks inside you.”

It’s too much -- you want to, but you don’t know if you can, don’t you if you’re even capable.

“I-I can’t, I-” you try to plead, but he rubs your clit roughly and you sob, hot tears wetting your cheeks. Echo tenses up behind you and you know he’s going to finish soon but-

Slap.

Rex’s hand comes down and strikes your asscheek so hard you squeal.

“I said cum.”

You do. You can’t explain it, but you do, an almost painful orgasm coursing through you while the sting of the strike lingers. A curse leaves your mouth but is caught by Fives’ lips pressing to yours and his tongue in your mouth. Echo spills his release into your ass with a moan, and with all three of their loads inside you, you have never felt so full.

After Echo pulls out, you climb off of Fives and let yourself fall backwards onto the mattress, every inch of you covered in sweat. Rex leans over to move some hair out of your face.

“Was that too much?” he asks, and the gentleness in his voice is almost heartbreaking.

“No,” you answer, a blissful smile on your face from how unbelievably good you’ve been fucked, “that was just right.” He leans over to press a kiss to your forehead, and you feel an ever so slight trace of stubble on his jaw, less than a day’s growth. You’ve never thought about him shaving, but you’d like to watch him do it, some day. Fives sits up, grabs your hand and puts it to his lips, pressing a firm kiss to your knuckles. Moments later, Echo appears with a towel from your closet and starts cleaning you up, dabbing the cloth between your thighs where their cum has started trickling out of you.

“So,” you start, grinning playfully “are we even, now?”

Rex chuckles and gets up off the bed to find his underclothes -- no doubt duty will call for him again soon. You feel so, so lucky, that these three men have chosen to spend what little free time they have with you, and a warmth spreads through your chest as you look at them, eyes half-lidded from drowsiness.

“Not a chance,” he jokes, stepping into his briefs.

Fives lets go of your hand and strokes your cheek with his thumb, grinning down at you, and Echo, too, has a smile on his face. Rex kisses your forehead one more time.

“You won’t get rid of us that easily.”

[dizzydancingdreamer]

I Need You | The Mikaelson Boys

Hey lovelies! Here’s another Mikaelson Brother’s fic. This time it’s a firefighter AU. I don’t know why I was so inspired but oh well, here it is anyway. Please do ignore the blatant plot holes and dropped plot points. I wrote this purely for the fluff so the rest doesn’t matter too much! I hope you all enjoy reading this as much as I enjoyed writing it! Until next time, all my love!

Description: The brothers are firefighters and they come back to the station after a long day only to find an unconscious woman in their fire station. It turns out she’s their mate and she's seconds from death. From there it’s pure fluff/smut. Honestly the plot of this is weak, I just wanted something majorly fluffy.

Pairing: Female!Reader x The Mikaelson Boys

Warnings: THIS IS AN 18+ ONLY FIC!!! It’s not a full blown smut but it does get heated. It’s hella light smut. Honestly the warning should read something more like “inappropriate actions for on duty firefighters towards a civilian at the workplace”. Take into mind that I do not condone this behaviour outside of my fics but that they are soulmates and it’s all consensual! The other warning is angst. This is super graphic at the beginning but after that it gets better.  

Word count: 7.3k

Tags: Angst, smut, fluff

P.S. This is only in the boys’ perspectives for like five nanoseconds, after that it’s completely in the reader’s

Tag list: @activist-af​ @corishirogane3​

(Pictures not mine, mood board is!)

“Remind me, Elijah,” Klaus runs a hand through his hair, shaking some of the soot from his blonde hair, “why we decided to do this again?”

Elijah huffs indignantly, also shaking out his hair and shrugging the heavy coat off his shoulders. His hoodie underneath is soaked through with sweat and it follows the same path. Klaus already stands in just a t-shirt, the navy material glued to his skin. 

“Don’t you remember, brother?” Kol hops out of the truck from behind the wheel, his bare chest exposed, spare the straps keeping the bottom half of his turnout gear on, a cheerful grin on his lips, “He wanted us to give back to the community. I believe his exact words were firefighters or soldiers.”

It’s true, Elijah had wanted them to do something meaningful with their lives. Well, with a fraction of their lives. He wanted them to be a family again and what better way to do that than to take on a career built on teamwork. Honestly, he had expected them to last maybe six months before quitting but now they were three years deep and he couldn’t see them going anywhere for a while. Somehow station 32 in small town Virginia had become a home base for them.

Elijah leans against the brick of the old fire station, closing his eyes for a moment, “just be happy I didn’t suggest doing both.”

“What makes you think I would follow you to war,” Klaus laughs but it’s hollow, the strain of the day settling over his bones.

They haven’t had a day this strenuous in months, sixteen calls in one day and it’s only eight. Human or not, that’s a lot of heavy lifting. Klaus would do anything for some sleep. He sags against the wall next to his brother. Despite the sleep tugging at his body he can’t seem to relax. Something is keeping his spine rigid, something he can’t quite place his mind on. Oh well. 

Elijah chuckles, his eyes still shut, “you followed me here didn’t you? Face it, you needed this as much as I did.”

Klaus doesn’t speak, he just hums his agreement, something entirely unlike him but brought on from the exhaustion. His shoulders remain tight, his muscles stiff. The air feels like it's buzzing lightly, charged with something he doesn’t have enough energy to think about.

Kol laughs through his own fatigue, stretching his arms behind him, ignoring the way his bones click slightly, “I, for one, need a shower. I smell like flames and I hate it. I suggest you two do the same,” he turns from his slumped brothers, “I can smell you from here.”

Elijah pulls himself from the wall, rolling his shoulders and peeling his eyes open, “come on, Niklaus, you can take a nap for a few hours. I doubt the rest of the night will be eventful, half the town should be asleep by now.”

“I hope you’re right.”

The two brothers catch up with Kol easily, grabbing their discarded gear on the way and heading towards the locker room. Kol is the first to step through the door, adamant on jumping in the shower before his brothers take all the hot water like they usually do, when he stops suddenly, all of his senses on high alert. Something is wrong, terribly so. He closes his eyes and takes a deep breath, catching the faintest hint of sweetness, like vanilla and oranges, mingled with something sharper. Something too familiar. 

“Kol, what are you-” Elijah doesn’t get to finish his thought.

“Blood,” Klaus pushes past both of them, his eyebrows furrowed, “I smell blood. Someone’s here.”

Kol nods and steps further into the room, directly followed by Klaus and Elijah. As they push forward, towards the showers, the scent of fresh blood intensifies. So does the vanilla citrus perfume, magnifying and tangling around each brother. The room is electrified because of it, drawing them quicker to the heart of the locker room. The distinct sound of three heartbeats fills the room, each one louder than the last. Thump, thump, thump. 

When they turn the corner they freeze, each heart skipping a beat in the same moment. There, in the middle of the showers, is an unconscious woman. A naked, unconscious woman slumped over in a pool of her own blood. Her body is battered, more blue and black than any other color. Who knew a vampire's blood could turn as cold as theirs is right now?

“Fuck,” Kol’s voice is the first to break the tension, dropping to his knees with a dull thud, his heart strings snapping violently in his chest, “fuck!”

Klaus is in front of her in a flash, his teeth ripping into his wrist without a second thought. Kol turns his head away, squeezing his eyes shut. There’s no way he can watch this. The sweet smell wraps around him, taunting him almost. The overwhelming sense of loss wraps around him like a noose, his throat closing harshly. Why now, why like this?

“Is that,” Elijah, too, sinks to the ground, his hands splayed against the concrete, his eyes glued to the horrific sight in front of him, “is that who I think it is?”

His muscles tighten, an indescribable pain rippling through his entire body. He feels like he’s drowning. No, like he’s burning alive. Fuck, it feels like both at the same time. He wants to scream but no sounds are surfacing. This can’t be happening!

Kol’s voice is sharp and cracked, too many emotions to decipher leaking into his words, “yeah, it’s her. It’s our mate.”

Klaus presses his bleeding wrist to her mouth hard, tears streaming freely down his face. He couldn’t care less about how he looks, not right now. Not when it feels like someone is ripping his heart straight from his chest. 

“Come on, love. Wake up. I need you! Wake up!”

                         *          *          *           *          *          *

“Wake up. I need you! Wake up!” 

You tear your eyes open suddenly, bright lights flooding your senses. You gasp as you regain consciousness, something that you realize too late is a mistake. Your mouth is filled with a thick, hot substance, one much too metallic and familiar for your liking, that you inhale by accident. It fills your lungs quickly, your chest burning, and you roll over, hacking up mouthfuls of the disgusting fluid. It feels like your entire body is engulfed in flames. Like you’re dying twice. 

The concrete is freezing against your fiery arms and, when it finally blurs into focus, you realize it’s also covered in a deep red liquid. You run your tongue over your mouth, the tang making your eyes widen. Your heart stutters as you finally come to an understanding. Blood. The floor is covered in blood. Your blood. This time you vomit, and almost scream when you see it matches the liquid around you.

“Shit,” a voice sounds from behind you as a pair of hands slides over your back, startling you further into the sticky redness, “holy shit you’re awake. Oh thank god!”

You flinch away from the hands, turning too quickly to face whoever it is behind you. Mistake number two. The walls start spinning around you and you have to grasp the wet stone beneath you and close your eyes for a moment. When you finally open them again you’re met with a pair of warm, brown eyes. Your heart stutters again, but you don’t have time to wonder why you don’t feel as afraid this time.

“Who are you? What the hell is going on?” you run your eyes over him, wiping your mouth with the back of your hand, “I don’t- where am I?”

Each of your senses are on high alert, your heart beating so loud you’re afraid it’s going to jump out of your chest, as you allow yourself to finally take in your surroundings. You're in a shower room of sorts, with rows of lockers on your one side and the tiled rows of shower stalls on the other. The smell of fresh blood hits you full force and you almost vomit again. You suck in a deep breath, ignoring the burning in your lungs as you try to force the feeling away. Your eyes catch some writing on the wall; Station 32. You look back to the man in front of you, zeroing in on his navy t-shirt with the same logo. 

What the hell are you doing at a fire station? 

He shifts closer to you and you stiffen. A pained expression laces across his face and your chest stings, worse than it did when you were coughing up the blood. He closes his eyes for a moment and when he opens them again there’s a sheen of tears. You swallow thickly, your own tears forming at the sight of his. What on earth is happening?

He sits back on his knees and runs a red hand through his blonde hair, maring the light strands with blood. You tense further at the sight. For some reason you want to stop him from spreading more of the blood over him. He’s already kneeling in a puddle of it, and his arms are soaked, painted in a cruel crimson. Even his t-shirt is drenched.  You grind your teeth together, your jaw clenching harshly. He places both his hands on the floor and takes another few inches towards you.

His movements are slow as if not to startle you, “hey, it’s alright. You’re safe now. I’m Klaus, I’m a firefighter here. You’re at station 32, Lexington, Virginia.”

His voice is heavy with emotion, making what you can only assume is a strong british accent even stronger. Your heart tugs harshly when he speaks, begging you to move closer to him. You wrap your arms around yourself, ignoring the increasingly sticky feeling over your entire body. You can’t stop a few tears from slipping down your cheeks.

“How did I get here?” 

A new voice, one just as accented and gravelly, pulls your attention from Klaus, “we aren’t sure, darling. We just got back ourselves. Gave us quite a shock, actually. How much do you remember?”

Your eyes wander around the blonde and land on two more men, two brunettes. You lock eyes with each of them, your heat racing once more. You suck in a breath at the wave of emotions that hit you. Sadness, confusion, longing, comfort. Love. It all hits you at once and you have to close your eyes before the room starts spinning again. When you open them again, they’re closer. Far enough to keep you from tensing, settled next to Klaus. 

You tuck your knees to your chest, wrapping your arms around yourself, suddenly feeling very exposed. One of the men, the one with dark brown hair cut close to his head and concerned brown eyes, notices and wastes no time pulling the t-shirt from his chest and settling it on your knees. It’s warm and a touch damp but you don’t mind, gratefully shuffling it over your head and passing him a grateful nod. It lands mid thigh, circling you in a heady wood scent. Your cheeks flame as you try not to lean down and smell it directly. When you look back at him his eyes are glinting.

“I’m not sure,” you press your palms against your eyes and immediately regret it, the stickiness now smeared on your cheeks and eyelids, “I don’t remember much. Only bits and pieces from this morning but nothing after that. Wait, is that normal? God, why can’t I remember anything!”

All of a sudden you’re panicking and the room begins shrinking, at least it feels like it is. You can’t breathe, your lungs constricting painfully. There isn’t enough oxygen in the room. Was there ever enough? You’re racking your mind for any little thing that you can remember but it’s pointless, you’re going too fast and your mind can’t make sense of anything you’re seeing. You see a sink, one covered in blood. You see teeth. No, you see fangs. You smell the forest, one heavy with pine trees. None of it makes sense!

You claw maniacally at your chest, trying to suck in enough air to clear the fog in your head. Nothing is helping, your body is on fire and sticky and you just want to scream until it all makes sense. The shirt feels three sizes too small and you want to tear it over your head. Just before you can, though,  you’re pulled onto someone's lap, someone who smells like pure water, and you can finally suck in a proper breath. The flames that were lapping your skin slowly start to fade, giving over to a cool sensation that soothes your achy bones. 

“Deep breaths, love,” Klaus’ voice washes over you like a lullaby, his hands rubbing down your back, “that’s good, just like that. We’re going to figure this out but for now you just have to breathe. You’re safe now, I promise you that. We can start with an easy one, what’s your name?”

You sink into his chest more easily than you would like to admit. His arms circle you tighter, his head resting on yours in an entirely unprofessional way but you don’t care. You’ve never felt this kind of need before. You’re afraid that if you leave his arms now then the flames will come back.

“Y/n,” you murmur into his shoulder, “my name is y/n.” 

A pair of hands rub over your shoulders, drawing you into them slightly on instinct, “darling, I know you’re scared but we need to see if you’re seriously hurt. We found you in a lot of blood,” whoever is speaking his voice is rough and he has to stop to clear his throat, muttering a curse under his breath, “do you think you can let us check you over?”

When he brings up the blood, it’s all you can smell again, and you scramble from Klaus’ arms, narrowly making it before you’re vomiting again. This time you don’t puke up any blood, thank god. Just bile, which isn’t much better. The metallic scent is all around you and it’s all you can do to hang your head and suck in as much air as possible. You feel so dizzy it physically hurts.

“Shit, Elijah we gotta get this cleaned up. It’s only making it worse. C’mere love,” you’re pulled into the warm chest of a man you’ve yet to interact with.

You lock eyes with the last man, losing your breath at his honey brown eyes. He smiles softly and you feel your cheeks go hot. You bring your hands to your lips quickly, all too aware of how close you are to this man and the fact that you were just throwing up and are soaked through with blood. You blink back a few tears, embarrassment streaming through you. You glance down at his chest which is now covered in your blood. The man furrows his brows, shaking his head lightly. You can almost hear his thoughts; don’t worry. 

Elijah, the man who gave you his shirt, nods at Klaus, standing quickly, “you two take her to the captain’s bathroom, it’s nicer anyway and more private. I’m not expecting anyone else tonight but I’d rather them not see her like this,” he turns, locking eyes with you, his rough tone softening drastically, “baby, are you okay if they help you clean this blood off? They’re not going to hurt you, we just need to get you cleaned up and warm to make sure you don’t go back into shock.”

The word baby rings through your head, hitting you directly in the chest. Tendrils of warmth unfurl through your body and you find yourself nodding to everything he says. Elijah sags, relief taking over his body. It doesn’t last long though, the tension filling his frame as he looks back around the room.

“Kol,” the man under you tenses, “take her upstairs now. Niklaus, do you mind helping me with this? It’s-” Elijah looks at you again for a moment before he has to look away, “It’s going to take two people.”

Klaus stares at you longingly, the pained look back in his eyes. It makes you want to pull him into your arms, blood or no blood, and hold him. You tense at the thought. Where did that come from?

He looks at you a moment longer before crawling over to and running one of his stained hands over your cheek. He leans down and kisses the top of your head, rubbing his cheek against your matted hair. Sparks dance down your spine at the simple touch, lighting your body like a christmas tree. Too many emotions surface again, confusion and longing being the top contenders. 

“I’ll be with you as soon as I can, love,” he whispers to you before standing himself and addressing Elijah, “yeah, let’s get this over with.”

Elijah nods at Klaus, his shoulders sagging slightly, probably out of relief again. Looking around one last time it’s obvious the job is going to take some major man-power. Thankfully the blood is contained mostly to the showers, but even so it’s coating almost every surface from there on. Looking at it makes you chest heavy again but before you can lose it Kol stands, pulling you up with him. 

He holds you easily, bringing you level with Klaus and Elijah. Elijah strides over to you, taking your face in his hands. Your heart pounds mercilessly at his touch. It takes all your willpower not to jump into his arms and curl around his bare chest. You try not to stare at his taut muscles. Now is definitely not the time to let lust join the myriad of emotions  running through you. Even as you force your eyes away, though, your body ignites and you have to stop yourself from clenching your thighs around Kol. Fucking hell, what is going on?

Kol’s arms tense suddenly and when you peak back at him, his eyes are shades darker. You swallow thickly, trying not to think too much about the heated look in his eyes. Or how much you don’t want him to stop looking at you like that. You peer back at Elijah, who holds a similar expression. You have to suck in a breath, the room temperature instantly raising ten degrees. 

Elijah leans his forehead against yours, his thumbs grazing your cheekbones gently, “Kol’s going to take you upstairs now, okay baby? He’ll take care of you, help you wash some of this off. You’re in control here, alright? No one else is going to hurt you.”

You nod lightly, your forehead rubbing against his, “okay, Eli.”

He sucks in a sharp breath and presses a hard kiss to your head before releasing you. Kol shuffles you further up his body, drawing your attention to him. He grins at you but it doesn’t quite reach his eyes. Before you can process what you’re doing, you’re cupping his cheek in your hand. His skin is soft and so warm. He sighs quietly, sinking his cheek into your touch, his eyes losing some of the tension.

“Let’s go get cleaned up, darling.” 

You lower your hand, choosing now to wrap your arms around his shoulders instead. His muscles under your fingertips are glorious, warm and firm. When you rest your face against his shoulder, you breathe in the faintest hints of nutmeg and flames. It’s absolutely intoxicating. His shoulder is hot against your cheek and you finally give into your cravings to curl your body around his, wrapping your legs tightly around his torso and clinging to him for dear life. He holds you against him with everything he has, taking the steps two at a time. 

You can’t bring yourself to open your eyes until you feel him enter a separate room, one much smaller than the locker room you were previously in. You’re greeted with a spectacular sight; a spacious bathroom with a wall of showerheads and the biggest clawfoot tub you’ve ever seen. You almost jump from his arms at how badly you want to get in it.

He sets you down on a vast countertop, the cool marble biting into your bottom. You shiver lightly, a warm blush spreading down your neck and chest. He places his arms on either side of you, staring at you with a mixture of tenderness and caution. You have to will yourself to keep looking into his eyes and not at the way his arms flex from how he’s leaning. God, where did all these wanton feelings come from?

“Okay, darling, where are we going from here? What do you need me to do?” his accent is fuller due to the acoustics in the bathroom and you nearly keel over from how hard it slams through your body, tugging at every nerve south of your belly button.

“Um,” you clear your throat lightly, swallowing the sudden scratchiness, “do you think there’s a toothbrush anywhere around here?”

Kol grins knowingly, leaning down and opening a drawer next to your thigh. The heat rolling off his body rushes into your legs and when he resurfaces with a new toothbrush and a cheeky smile you’re practically panting.

“Thanks.”

You brush your teeth quickly, making sure to scrub the remnants of the past thirty minutes or so from your mouth. It instantly makes you feel a little better, knowing you can speak to Kol without your breath being a biohazard. You set the toothbrush down, looking back to him appreciatively. 

Kol cups your chin gently, spreading heat like butter through your bones,“Do you think you can stand? If you can, I can wait outside while you get cleaned up. You can take as much time as you need, darling. I’ll be right outside the door.”

Your heart pounds quickly at his suggestion, your throat closing painfully. You don’t want him to leave you alone, even if he is just outside the door. You don’t know how to ask him to stay, though, and you don’t want to cross any boundaries. You’re so damn conflicted that your chest aches.

“Okay.”

He nods, his eyes a touch less bright than they were a few moments ago, and he backs away hesitantly. You use all your energy to push yourself off the counter, using it to keep yourself upright when your feet touch the floor. Your legs feel like jelly and you wonder for a moment if you have any bones. You shake your head lightly, scolding yourself. Don’t be stupid, y/n, of course you have bones. However, when you go to take a step towards the bathtub you almost revoke the sentiment. Your legs crumple around you, bringing you to a pile on the floor. 

“Fuck,” Kol is next to you in no time at all, his hands rushing over your legs, most likely checking for damage, “I knew that was going to happen I don’t know why I let you do that, darling. I was trying to give you space. Are you okay? Elijah and Klaus are going to kill me.”

He mutters the last part under his breath but you still catch it, “it’s not your fault, I was trying not to bother you. I thought I could make it to the tub, at least, and then figure the rest out from there. I, uh,” you scrub your hands over your face, covering your eyes with your palms, “I didn’t want to be a burden, more than I already am I mean.”

A few more tears slip past your guard, tracking lines through the dried blood on your cheeks. You swallow a sob before it can make any noise, your shoulders shaking slightly from the cold tiles underneath you. You’re utterly exhausted. You wish you could just click your heels and go home. The only problem is that something tells you that you’d only end up here again if you could do that.

“No,” Kol’s voice is low and strained, “no, darling, don’t say that. This isn’t your fault,” he wraps his arms around you, pulling you into his hot, nutmeg chest, “you’re not a burden to me. Or Elijah or Klaus. You’re a surprise and not an unwelcome one. If you need me to stay, hell, if you want me to stay I will. I’ll do whatever you tell me to do, okay?”

You peer up at him, clinging to his toned chest like you’re afraid it’ll vanish from underneath you, “please get this blood off of me, Kol. I can’t do it, I can’t even hold myself up. I need you.”

His eyes darken again, the honeyed brown turning a darker chocolate color, “you have me, darling, I’m right here. I’m not going anywhere,” he leans down and brushes his nose against yours, “never ever.”

A tiny giggle bubbles in your chest and it feels like freedom. It feels like falling asleep on the beach and hiking through the mountains and every good thing you’ve ever experienced. Kol’s eyes light up and he bites back a grin before doing it again, pulling a flood of giggles from you. Soon you're throwing your arms around him, laughing your head off for no reason at all, him joining you in the madness. You can’t stop and you don’t want to. You need this, you need him. It frightens you how intensely you feel connected to him already but you push the fear away for the time being. 

“Okay, okay,” Kol scoops you against him and stands, “enough of that, love, time for a bath.”

That effectively puts an end to your giggling, your body igniting at the thought of taking a bath with this second coming of adonis. You swallow the lump in your throat, this time caused by the rippling of his taut muscles against you. The t-shirt you’re wearing feels see through suddenly, the thin layer between your core and his stomach doing little to quell the heat seeping from the crack between your thighs. 

You dig your fingers into his shoulders a little harder than you mean to, pulling a soft grunt from him, one that you can feel in your own chest, “bath. Okay.”

Your cheeks flame at your idiotic response. Bath. Okay. What the hell was that?

He walks to the tub and sets you gently on the floor of it, the porcelain ice against your flesh. He turns, his back facing you as he pulls his suspenders off. You admire the fluid movement of his muscles as he steps out of his stained turnout gear, leaving him in a pair of grey sweatpants. His back is toned like a greek god’s and you would like nothing more in this moment than to know what it feels like to dig your nails into it. You squeeze your thighs together, trying to air the wanton out of your system. Don’t be a hussy, y/n. He turns back to you and your face flushes when he catches your lingering stare.

He hooks his fingers in his sweatpants and your breath catches in your throat. He lifts his eyebrow, silently asking if it’s okay for him to continue. Your mouth feels dry, your head is spinning. Slowly you nod, your eyes glued to his. He smirks lighty, an action so doused in sex that almost has you pulling Elijah’s t-shirt from your body and falling at his feet. You hold your breath as he pulls the sweatpants from his body and your heart almost falls out of your chest when they reveal a pair of grey plaid boxers. What were you expecting? Your subconscious taunts you mercilessly.

He steps into the bathtub behind you, kneeling and grabbing the showerhead on the way down. The heat rolling off of him seems to have increased, wrapping around you and daring you to melt into him. You want to, so badly you do, but you remain upright, your hands on the side of the tub, leaving rusty smudges on the crisp, white edges. 

Kol leans forward, his mouth right next to your ear sending shivers straight to your core when he speaks, “darling, I’m going to need to take this off,” his fingers tease the tops of your thighs, curling around the hem of the t-shirt, “may I do that?” 

He presses his face against your neck, laying a few soft kisses to the skin under your jaw. You roll your head back onto his shoulder, savouring his affection and warmth for a moment without overthinking it. 

You nod against his skin, “yes, Kol.”

You can feel the breath he takes against your back and then, when he releases it, against your neck. He takes his time, his fingers gently skimming your sides as he gathers the fabric up and over your head. You raise your arms to make it easier for him, gasping gently as cool air rolls over your exposed breasts. He tosses Elijah’s t-shirt to the side, running his hands down your back and planting another kiss to your uncovered shoulder. 

You know you should feel ashamed for being this naked with a man you just met but you physically can’t bring yourself to feel any of it. All you know is that you’re comfortable and that his hands on your skin feel like genuine magic. 

“Okay, I’m going to turn the water on now,” he rubs his nose down the back of your neck, “let me know if it’s too hot or anything.”

Your eyes prickle at how sweet he is, how gentle he is with you. He definitely doesn’t look like the gentle type, all tall, dark, and broody, but the way he’s acting proves otherwise. You nod your head, leaning your chin on the edge of the tub. He starts the water, a plume of steam instantly clouding the bathroom. The first stream to hit you is heavenly and you can’t help but close your eyes.

“Is that okay, darling?” 

You hum quietly, “it’s perfect.”

You let the water lull you into a daze, picturing the stream turning red as the water rolls off you and down the drain. It’s mesmerizing, the warmth of the water combined with Kol’s heady scent. When he touches you, though, it’s like a crescendo of feeling. His fingers run over your back, no doubt washing away the events of this evening, but all you can think about is how perfect his hands feel against your bare skin. 

Everywhere he touches blazes to life. You feel like putty in his hands, willing to mold however he needs you to. When his fingers glide down your sides your body reacts without warning, your back arching against his chest. You can feel his chest rumble under your back more than you can hear it. His large hands span your back easily, spreading over your ribcage, his thumbs gently grazing your breasts. You suck in a harsh breath, clenching your teeth to keep his name in your mouth. It’s begging to be said though. Said, screamed, praised. Anything. Fuck it.

“Kol,” you breathe, reaching back to grasp at his forearms for stability, “more.”

The growl that rips from his chest is unexpected but it lights every fibre of your being alive. He pulls you hard against his solid chest, falling against the back of the tub and shifting you so you’re perfectly centered on his lap. A flare of pleasure flashes up your spine when you land on something hot and hard. You hiss at the thin layer of clothing between you and Kol.

His lips find your ear, taking the lobe between his teeth and sending even more heat pooling in your core, “as you wish, darling.”

Your hands fall away as his hands cover your breasts, his thumbs skillfully sliding over your hard nipples. This time you don’t whisper his name, you moan it. Loudly. Every time he rolls your nipples between his fingers, you see stars. You see the whole damn galaxy. His lips find your shoulder, biting down gently but hard enough to pull a string of incoherent praise from your lips. 

His chest rumbles with every noise you make and the ball of heat between your legs grows brighter. You rock your hips against his, trying to build some much needed friction. The noise you pull from him is the epitome of heaven and it hits you right in the chest. It compels you to keep grinding your core against him harder, taking every sound he offers up and matching it with one of your own. You squeeze your eyes shut tightly, rolling your head onto his shoulder as the anticipation sings through your body. 

Your senses are flooded, your hearing muffled by the running water and your blood pumping through your ears, which is probably why you don’t hear the door open and someone step into the bathroom. It’s only when a pair of lips attaches to the base of your neck do you peel your eyes open. You meet Klaus’ stare with a gasp, just as Kol pinches your nipples harder than all the times before. 

Your orgasm hits you like a truck, tearing through your nerves without warning and rendering you to pieces. All the while Klaus takes your arm, placing tantalizing, open mouth kisses down your skin. When you finally come down from the climax, your muscles are layered with a sweet exhaustion. Kol nuzzles against your back, wrapping his arms around your waist. 

“Fuck, darling,” he nips at your shoulder and your skin zings lightly, “you have no idea how much I needed that.”

Your eyes meet Klaus’ and your cheeks flame from the intensity of his stare, “I didn’t do anything, you did it all.”

You want to look away from Klaus, you want to feel some inkling of shame, but you can’t. All you want is to do is hook your arm around his neck and bring him closer to you. Your body craves his and it’s all you can do to not melt into his palm when he cups your cheek. 

“That’s the point, love,” Klaus runs his thumb over your skin, “he just wanted to touch you.”

Kol hums his agreement into your flesh, his lips still glued to you. 

“Do you want to touch me?” The words are out of your mouth before you can stop them, your eyes widening as soon as you register what you just said.

In less than a second, the brown eyes staring into your turn a dark coal color. The skin around Klaus’ eyes turns a deep purple. Your breath hitches at this side of him, a deep longing settling in your chest the longer you stare into his eyes. He's ethereal and entirely unhuman but you can’t even think about that. You want him so bad it stings. He has to shut his eyes for a few moments and when he opens them again his eyes are back to normal, if not a touch darker. 

When he speaks his voice is gravelly, “I need to.” 

You swallow hard, forcing the words out before you have time to lose your nerve, “come here then.”

Klaus’ eyes widen before he stands abruptly, shoving his own jogging pants down his legs before stepping into the other side of the tub. Kol lets you go as Klaus settles against the porcelain. As soon as he’s comfortable he wraps his hands around your hips, pulling you onto his lap and against his chest. Your legs end up on either side of him, much like how you were with Kol, your core pressed against the hardest part of him.

His crisp scent folds around you and sucks you deeper against him until your chest to chest, your breasts pressing into his firm chest. His arms settle around your back, his palms splayed over your spine. Your flesh buzzes from the contact, goosebumps rising when he traces lazy circles with his fingertips. You meet his eyes again and involuntarily clench your thighs around his hips. He’s looking at you like you’re the only girl he’s ever laid eyes on. Like he’s in the presence of a goddess and that he would gladly lay his life down for you. 

Your eyes draw down to the tattoo on his chest, an image of birds in flight, and you run your fingers over it gently. He sucks in a breath when you touch him, closing his eyes and leaning back against the edge of the tub. Something about his reaction spurs you on. If that’s what your fingers can do, what can your mouth do? You lean down, gently attaching your lips to his collarbone and tugging his skin into your mouth.

He jolts up when you bite down lightly, jostling you further onto his lap and sending waves of heat rolling over your body, “fuck,” his hand wraps around the back of your neck, pushing you impossibly closer to him, “love, you have no idea how good that feels.”

You pull back slightly, your mouth still against his skin as your eyes bore into his, “show me.”

His chest rumbles under your lips before he pulls your head back gently and slams his lips against your throat. He sucks your skin into his mouth and, for the second time tonight, you see stars. You wrap your arms around his shoulders, lacing your fingers through his blonde hair. You tug him closer to you, crossing your ankles behind his back. You want every inch of his skin pressed against yours. 

He bites down, his teeth scraping pleasure into every nerve, and you pull at his soft hair, praises falling mindlessly from your lips, “Klaus.”

A second pair of hands glides over your back, “darling, let me wash your hair. I can feel Elijah getting restless. Unless you want three men in this tub with you, I need to finish getting you cleaned up.”

Your heart pounds at the thought of Elijah in the bath with you, his large body pressed against yours. You can practically smell his pine scent in the air, clinging to your skin. You bite your lip. You want to moan his name and he isn’t even in the room. You shake the thought from your mind, leaning into Kol’s hands.

Klaus kisses up your neck, peppering your jaw and cheeks with pecks before pulling you to lay against his chest. You close your eyes, letting the exhaustion that’s been building flood your system. Kol soaks your hair, the warm water pouring down your shoulders as you press your face into Klaus’ neck. His hands draw lazily up and down your sides as Kol massages shampoo against your scalp. You mewl at his touch and cling to Klaus. You could stay in the moment forever, it’s absolutely blissful.

Just as Kol is rinsing the shampoo from your hair, the door to the bathroom opens revealing a shirtless Elijah. He’s clad in nothing but a pair of grey sweatpants. In his hand is a large towel. His eyes zero in on you from across the room and, though you can’t see them clearly, you can tell they’re dark. Your head goes fuzzy as your eyes draw down his sculpted chest, lingering on his rippled stomach. You meet his eyes again and give into your instincts, reaching your arms out for him.

“Eli,” you call out to him, “I need you.”

You stand on wobbly feet, bearing everything to him. You don’t care, you just want to be in his arms. You haven’t had a chance to touch him yet and your body is screaming at you to get as close to him as humanly possible. Even more than humanly possible. Elijah closes the space between the two of you in seconds, wrapping the towel around you before pulling you into his arms. Your legs wrap around his waist, your arms circling his neck. 

He leans down, rubbing his nose against yours, “I need you too, baby.” 

You slip your fingers into the hair at the nape of his neck, playing with the soft strands mindlessly. He leans into your touch and your heart soars. He hikes you further up your body, leaning his face against your shoulder. You run your hands over his shoulders, sighing when the tension leaves his muscles. 

“I’m going to go sleep for a few hours,” Elijah mumbles into your shoulder but his words aren’t aimed at you, “do you think the two of you will be okay until then.”

Klaus waves his hand dismissively and Kol nods, still draped lazily over the edge of the tub, “yeah, yeah, go, we’ll be fine brother.”

Wait, what? 

Did you hear that right? Brother. Your entire body sets on fire. They’re all related. Well, there’s the shame you were missing at least. You push against Elijah’s chest, forcing him to meet your eyes. When he sees your expression his brows pull together, his brown eyes filled with concern.

“Baby-” 

“You’re all brothers?” you breathe, your face burning, “brothers? What on earth is going on?”

He stares into your eyes for a moment before laughing, turning with you in his arms and starting towards the door. You lock eyes with Klaus and Kol over Elijah’s shoulder. They, too, are laughing without a care. Kol tosses you a wink just as Elijah carries you into the hallway.

You circle your arms around his shoulders again, “Lijah this is crazy. Explain. Please.”

He pulls you through another door, exposing you to a comfortable looking bed. Just looking at it sends sleep pooling in your limbs. He sets you in the middle of it before climbing on after you. He pushes you backwards and you fall into a pile of pillows, the towel long forgotten as he crawls on top of you. Your body flares with something hot as he holds himself on his forearms, his hot chest grazing yours with every breath he takes. You wrap your legs around his hips, pulling him closer to you despite your still unanswered questions.

“Lijah,” you whine as his lips find your neck, arching into his touch like two magnets connecting, “I need answers.”

Elijah’s teeth scrape at your neck, pulling soft moans from your lips. You’re so tired but the want that swirls in your core demands anything but sleep. You grip his shoulders, digging your fingers into his firm muscles. You pull his hips closer to yours, rolling against him desperately. You press your head into the pillows, exposing as much of your neck as you can to him.

He pulls away and you have to swallow your protests. When you finally open your eyes, you’re met with the same dark eyes you saw from Klaus, only now they’re accented by a pair of sharp looking fangs. You suck in a deep breath, reaching up to cup Elijah’s jaw. 

“I know, baby,” he rubs his face into your hand, “I’ll give you all the answers you need and more but first I need you. I have waited a thousand years for you and now that I have you I don’t think I’ll be able to let you go yet. Please, baby, let me have you.”

His words wrap around you, every part of your being, and sink into your core. A wave of longing hits you again, and something else that you’re not ready to explore. It makes your heart warm and your body crave every inch of his. You already knew your answer before he asked. You’ve known since you woke up to the three of them.

Maybe you even knew before that.

You pull his face to yours, capturing his lips with your own, “you already have me. I’m yours.”

[dustofbrokenheart]

The Covenant: Gains

Poly Sons of Ipswich x Reader

Word Count: 2,802

Summary: Trying to take advantage of their gym membership, reader starts working with a devastatingly attractive personal trainer. And his friend is pretty hot, too.  

The gym was still new for you but you had been coming consistently enough that you felt comfortable there. You knew what times equipment would be available and what times the crowds would be too much (week days 3-5:30 was like competing in the Hunger Games.)

Cardio always came before strength exercises because your muscles would be too fatigued otherwise. 

And on Tuesdays and Saturdays they played your favorite music on the loud speakers so you didn’t have to bother with headphones on those days.

Still, you weren’t an expert by any means. 

In fact, you were still hesitant to call yourself a gym-goer because you’d seen the workouts other people did and you definitely weren’t doing that. There was no strategy, you just did what you felt like doing on any given day. You were impressed by their discipline though.

Maybe, most likely, it would benefit you to incorporate some of that into your own routine.

The gym had a personal trainer program and you figured that would be the best bet—much easier than trying to figure it out on your own.

Poking around the website, you found the section that explained the process. The design was modern and intuitive, and it was easy to book an appointment: the only information you needed to provide was your name, the date/time, and what trainer you wanted.

The first two things were easy to fill out but the last had you a little stumped; you weren’t familiar enough with any of the trainers to request anyone by name even with the drop-down menu that listed out all of the choices. For a second, you were tempted to forget about the whole thing but luckily, there was an option for ‘no preference’ and anxiety levels dropped off as you selected it.

Appointment booked, you went on with the rest of your night, focus shifting to what sounded good to eat for dinner.

A week later, you found yourself in the gym’s front lobby, arms crossed and foot tapping. Since it was the first time, there was no harm in arriving early. The directions on the website had said to wait there for the trainer but so far there was no sign of them. Granted, there was still five minutes until the scheduled start so it would be unfair to start complaining about them just yet.

Rolling your neck to alleviate some of the tension, you paused mid-stretch, neck awkwardly craned like a gaggling turkey, when a man walked out. He was without a doubt the most attractive man you’d seen at the gym to date.

Thick dark hair that curled just above his ears. Warm brown eyes and an even warmer smile. Tanned skin that wrapped around arms that had just the right amount muscle: toned but not bulky. All in all, a good looking man.

You tracked him as he glanced around the area, looking for something—his eyes suddenly met yours and you straightened up in embarrassment—or someone. “Y/N?” he questioned.

You throat was so dry, it was painful to swallow. “That’s me.”

It didn’t seem possible but his smile grew even brighter. He stuck his hand out. “Nice to meet you. I’m Caleb and I’ll be your trainer today.”

Good karma most certainly at work here. How else could you explain being lucky enough to have the hottest guy in the gym be the trainer? Whatever the case, you weren’t going to look this particular gift horse in the mouth.

He gestured you forward with a wave of his hand and followed you to the main workout area. There was slight pressure to staying cool and collected with him behind you. 

“I’m going to start you off with some jogging to warm-up. Do you want to use the track or hop on a treadmill?”

“Treadmill is fine. It’s what I normally use.”

You stepped up onto the belt and fiddled with the settings to establish a pace you felt comfortable with. The machine started up with a loud hum and your arms and legs began to pump. Normally, you’d have your earphones in to distract yourself with music but they weren’t that day so that you could hear Caleb if he said anything to you.

Good thinking, really, since he did indeed start chatting.

“So how long have you been a member?” he asked.

Determined not to sound steady, you took a few moments to normalize your breathing. “About two months. But this is the first time I’ve worked with a professional,” you added at the end.

It was hard to hear his laugh over the treadmill but the hitching of his shoulders gave him away. “Thanks, but I’m not really a professional. I just have a training certification is all.”

Huh. Attractive and humble. If you weren’t careful, you’d develop a full-blown crush in no time.

“A certification sounds professional to me,” you insisted. There. That wasn’t flirty at all. You were merely sharing an opinion.

Jogging passed by faster than it usually did even without music. Evidently, all that was needed to make a run enjoyable was good conversation and an even better view. 

You powered off the treadmill and gradually transitioned to a walk and then a full stop. A single bead of sweat trailed down the side of your face but before you could wipe it away, only to stumble after being patted on the back by Caleb. 

Those muscles were not just for show.

You had mixed feelings about him giving you props for completing the warm up. On one hand, you were a little insulted because even you could handle jogging for ten minutes. On the other, it was nice to have him flatter you. And he seemed to type to mean his compliments.

“Thanks,” you said almost like a question as you plopped down to stretch.

“Really,” he insisted. There wasn’t any level of patronizing tone that you could detect. “You’d be surprised by how many people I work with that complain about running.”

“Really?” you exclaimed with surprise. “I wouldn’t say I love running but it��s not terrible. Better than swimming anyway.”

“Whoa, now. I’ll have you know that I was a big swimmer in high school.”

The friendly banter about the woes, or in his case, the highs of swimming got you through the stretches he showed you. Occasionally, there would be a pause while he corrected your posture but once you fixed your position, the banter started up again.  

Finally, you conceded, “I will admit that swimming did wonders for your shoulders though.”

He looked away with a bow of his head. He smiled but it was closed lipped, no teeth on display. Oops. That comment may have been a bit too forward. Rather than draw more attention to it, you diverted attention to the actual work out.

Seeming to be of the same mind, Caleb dropped it, too, and set you up at a weight bench. He must’ve have seen the doubt on your face.

“Don’t worry,” he assured. “I’m not going to have you squatting 300 pounds or anything crazy. Here. Take this and we’ll start with some dumb bell rows.”

He handed you a twenty-pound weight, the smooth metal cool against your palm. The weight was noticeable but not so heavy you struggled to hold it. A month or two of this and your arms would actually tone out pretty nice.

You peered subtly at Caleb behind you. You wouldn’t be at Caleb’s level, not just after a couple weeks but then again, you doubted most people could measure up to him even after working out everyday for a year straight.

Someone people had all the good genes.

You could’ve complained but found it much more enjoyable to appreciate the good view. In fact, it was the view that got you through the rest of the season.

“Thanks,” you panted around the mouth of your water bottle. A bead of sweat ran down your neck and you reached to wipe it off.

“You did great, really,” he said, the epitome of what a good trainer should sound like. “The scariest step is always to start so signing up for additional personal training will be a piece of cake.”

“Y-yeah.” Suddenly, your shoe laces fascinated you. “So…if I want to do that—more of this...do I choose you on from that list of trainers?”

“Sure thing. Or if you’d prefer to try someone else, all of the trainers are fantastic choices.”

“I think I’ll stick with you. As long as that’s not weird or anything…”

“Nope, not weird.”

You worked up the courage to look him in the eyes. Swirling irises of molten brown, you couldn’t help but be drawn into them. “Same time next week then?”

“Same time next week,” he agreed with a nod.

***

It had been a little over a month since you had started working with Caleb at the gym and what had started as one personal training session a week had turned into two, sometimes three. Improvement was happening steadily and you definitely felt a difference in your stamina.

Strangely enough, you were even proud of the small callouses that were starting to develop on the tops of your palms, under the fingers. They weren’t classically beautiful but at least you had proof of the work you were doing.

Having worked up the confidence, you’d also started doing some of the exercises Caleb showed you on your own. It was on one such day that you met him.

Another gym babe.

The first thing you noticed was his ass. Literally. He was in prime squat position and his short, though knee length and loose as they may be, could not hide his toned glutes.

You were embarrassed to admit that you were totally ogling him, like a dog looked at a prime cut of meat. You didn’t get star struck often, but damn.

The universe must have sought to punish you for the lack of propriety and your mp3 slipped through your sweaty fingers onto the moving treadmill, yanking the earphones out of your ears along with it as it flew backwards on the conveyor belt.

Recovering from the stumble your mp3 caused, you turned off the machine and gingerly picked out the music player, preparing for the worst.

Miraculously, the screen was still in tact and sounds was still coming through the earphones. You took another sigh of relief when you realized he was preoccupied by his own workout and hadn’t seen your embarrassing moment.

Something similar happened the next time you saw him a few days later: he was cooling down after having thoroughly trounced the heavy bag in the small boxing set-up the gym had. His arms looked so good in his cut-off tank (muscles and veins were all on display) that you froze with your mouth hanging wide open.

Another gym-goer did catch you that time but at least it wasn’t the god sculpted from marble.

You almost felt bad, like you were cheating on one of your crush’s with another which was ridiculous because Caleb was just a trainer and you didn’t even know the other one’s name.

Who knew that so much drama could happen in the confines of a simple neighborhood gym? Seriously, The Bachelor wished it could have as many good options as the gym seemed to.

***

You huffed as you pushed yourself up on increasing shaky arms. For a few seconds, you honestly didn’t think you’d be able to do it as your arms got stuck at a forty-five degree angle. Digging deep down, you managed to fully extend your arms.

“Nine,” Caleb counted. He was kneeling besides you on the yoga mat, counting, and adjusting your form here and there, while you did push-ups

Rather than descend slowly as was proper for push-ups, you collapsed to the mat with your arms squished underneath your chest. Rolled your head, you gave him your best pleading eyes and hoped he might take mercy.

That hope was misplaced. He gave a sympathetic smile and shook his head negatively. “Sorry, Y/N. We agreed on ten and by my count, you still have one more to go.”

“Can I not and say that I did?”

“Come on now. It’s only one more.” He waved his hands around like he was waving imaginary pom-poms. “You can do it!”

You managed a weak laugh. There was no way you could’ve say no. Your arms felt like they were burning but he looked adorable trying to be a cheerleader. An unbidden image of him wearing a cute male cheerleading uniform flashed in your mind and you thought he would pull one off well, what with his wide shoulders and sculpted legs.

Imagination got you through the last push-up and you groaned as you turned over on the mat, spread out like a star fish. “That was absolute torture.”

Caleb opened his mouth but was interrupted by a newcomer.

“Geez, man. You need to take it easier on your clients.”

Recognizing the voice, you found the other gym guy you’d been eyeing standing above you.

“Pogue.” Caleb held his fist out to the man who in turned bumped his with the trainer’s. Evidently, they knew each other.

Then they embraced in a full-on hug.

Okay, so they definitely knew each other. And it was hard to miss the parting caress to Pogue’s shoulders—what kind of name was Pogue anyway?—that was generally reserved for two people that were close.

Were they related? Dating, perhaps?

Your imagination fired up again and you wondered what they would look like wrapped even more intimately with one another…which was entirely despicable, you reminded yourself. There was no proof they were romantically involved, and, even if they were, it was none of your business.

The other two, who had been talking while you were maladaptively fantasizing, had continued talking and their conversation now turned to you.

“So who’s this?” Pogue questioned politely.

“This is Y/N,” Caleb introduce you. “They’re one of the people I work with.”

Pogue stuck his hand out to shake. “Nice to meet you. I’m glad Caleb hasn’t killed you off yet.”

“Hey! I am extremely fair with workouts, aren’t I, Y/N?”

“He is,” you said with a small smile, rocking on your feet. “Besides, he way too nice to ever become a drill sergeant.”

Pogue shoved Caleb lightly and Caleb elbowed him in return. “I know he doesn’t look like the type, but he was quite the drill sergeant back when we were both swimmers. He just hides the competitive instinct under his charming smiles.”

That peaked your curiosity. “No way, you guys swam together back in the day?”

“Spencer Academy was state champs three years running in our time,” Caleb admitted. “But nowadays I do my thing with personal training and Pogue more into MMA.”

“MMA?” you questioned.

“Mixed Martial Arts,” Caleb supplied. “You’ve probably seen him hogging the punching bags in the back.”

You most certainly had but you weren’t about to confess that to either of them. It would be too embarrassing and might even toe the line of harassment.

“You are more than welcome to share bags with me, any time,” Pogue grinned teasingly.

A thought hit and flowed out of your mouth before you could stop it. “You guys should give me a lesson sometime.”

“Oh. I didn’t know you were interested in that sort of thing,” Caleb said, surprise coloring his voice.

“Are you saying that you don’t think I can?” You weren’t sure what made you say it. It’s not like you were hardcore dedicated to trying it. 

Whatever the cause it had Pogue chiming in save the situation.

“What prince charming means is that we would love to give a demonstration sometime.”

Caleb down at his watch because of course he still wore one instead of just using his phone like most other people. “Damn. Our hour is up Y/n and I’m late getting my next client. But we can hit the punching bags next time, if you want…?”

“Sure. Uh. Does Wednesday work for you?”

Both of the men nodded and Caleb called over his shoulder as he jogged to the lobby. “It’s a date. Schedule it online and I’ll approve it.”

The word kept replaying over and over. Date. Date. Date, date, date. He probably didn’t even mean it like that but it didn’t stop your heart from fluttering.

Waving goodbye to Pogue wit a promise of seeing him next week, you bounced off to grab your phone from the locker room. There was nothing wrong with scheduling your next session ASAP.

It’s a date.

_______________

Pogue boxing does make a fetching image. Pogue and Caleb in the ring sparring together even more so. Debating whether to make a part 2. 

Caleb always seems to be the hardest for me to write so I hope he sounded okay in this. This has been sitting in my drafts for a while and I decided to finally post it. 

Thanks for reading! 

[hannigramficrecs]

Newly Added Fics 5/16

Hello everyone, sorry again for the slight hiatus! I’ve replied to all the messages in my inbox (at least the ones that were sent to me before this past friday), so if you asked me something before that, be sure to check out my replies!

As usual, I’ve emboldened the fics I really liked and italicized the ones that are incomplete.

Looks Like Love by luvkurai [words: 5,987] — (AU)

After his sister's wedding, Will kisses his childhood housekeeper (and first love).

Betrothed by slashyrogue [words: 3,932] — (AU)

In one month he would marry a total stranger.

Titan Arum by ProxyOne [words: 64,614] — (AU)

Will is a botanist, working in the greenhouse of the local Botanical Gardens. He is getting his life back on track after his divorce, but he can't help but notice someone who keeps coming back to his greenhouse to draw, day after day. A man who seems to have been paying very close attention to him...

Find Me In The Dark by Rising_Phoenix [words: 40,131] — (AU)

After a fateful accident, the marriage of Will Graham and Hannibal Lecter has reached its end. Grief and the inability to stop them from falling apart has brought an irreconcilable distance between the formerly deeply devoted couple. While Hannibal is apathetic towards his husband, ignores him, and is withdrawn, Will has started an affair with fellow teacher Francis and drowns his desperation in more and more alcohol. 

Light of All Lights by whiskeyandspite [words: 20,377] — (AU)

Dracula-like fic without any of the vampires

The Stage Just For You by CarnivalMirai [words: 6,494] — (AU + Age Gap)

Will has landed himself the role of Odette for world-famous choreographer Hannibal Lecter's rendition of The Swan Lake.

There Will Be Bells by Entropyrose [words: 36,639] — (A/B/O)

In Georgian England, male omegas are very rare diamonds. Baron and Baroness Graham have a plan to build their wealth and social status by offering their son Will's hand in marriage to a mysterious older Duke, an Alpha named Lord Hannibal Lecter. Will's personal feelings need not apply.

Alpha Mart by slashyrogue [words: 63,164] — (A/B/O)

Will needs an alpha. After years of fake knots, half-assed suppressants, and his own damn hand during heats he’s reached the end of his rope. He doesn’t do dating so he decides to waste his life savings and hype with the current trend. Alpha Mart.

Enchanted By Your Name by CarnivalMirai [words: 9,207] — (A/B/O + PWP)

“Now, my husband would prefer it if I got the job done quickly.” He says, slashing down the back of each gag as he passes each man, watching as the silk falls gracefully to the floor. “However, I want to have some fun. Considering you’ve troubled my husband so much… it’s only fair, right?” One of the men whimpered fearfully. Or: The name "Will Graham" is a name you'll only ever hear once.

I've Been Building Black Ships by cloudsarefluffy [words: 8,116] — (A/B/O + AU)

Alpha Hannibal moves to the States with his sister Mischa after being overtly done with the fancy life of a count, and his blind omega neighbor gives him an insight into love that he never quite expected.

A Rare Find by hit_the_books [words: 5,379] — (A/B/O + AU)

Life as an omega bookseller can be quite lonely. However, as the owner of Graham’s Books, Will Graham is reasonably content. That is until he meets—long-time customer and crush—Doctor Hannibal Lecter in person for the first time. Attraction blossoming between them both, Will agrees to a dinner date with the good doctor.

We All Have a Hunger by 1ntothew1ld [words: 12,260] — (A/B/O + Age Gap)

Hannibal will ensure a properly slow and painful death for an alpha who allowed a beautiful young omega to go to waste as this one has. Too skinny for his own good, a stuttering and humble mess. The likes of the omega in front of him belonged at Opera houses and in million-dollar mansions, not scrounging for his next meal. Meek and afraid in some disheveled row house. When he finally looked back up the alpha had to conceal the utter punch to the stomach that meager glance was, blue eyes full of innocence but also hunger.

The Doctor Is In by Kummerspeck7 — (A/B/O + PWP)

Will nearly scoffed. "You can't expect me to believe you'd want anything other than a delicate flower to adorn your side, keep your ostentatious home, bare you the exact number of children you want--No more, no less-- all while being available at your whims." "Not at all." Hannibal disagreed. "I would no more put a wilting flower in my home than in a bouquet given as a gift. Tell me, Will, is that how you are treated? Forbidden from work, cloistered inside and used at Mr Brown's discretion?" "My Alpha's discretion." Hannibal looked pointedly at the curve of Will's neck, free from a single scar. "Not yet he isn't."

Teenage Wildlife by writtenbyizzy [words: 10,163] — (Age Gap + Sugar Daddy)

While reluctantly prowling Grindr for a sugar daddy to pay for his dog Bean's vet bills Will comes across Hannibal, and gets far more than he bargained for.

Just As Poised As I Remember by CarnivalMirai [words: 5,721] — (Age Gap + School)

When Will was in high school he had an incredibly handsome psychology teacher-- tall and sharp with a thick European accent. And now, a decade later, said psychology teacher-turned psychiatrist... just swiped right on him.

We Can Chase the Dark Together by K_R_Closson [words: 16,615] — (Fantasy)

Will tips him and Hannibal off the cliff. Instead of hitting the water, he wakes up in his bed, several years in the past. His first, and only, priority is to find Hannibal again.

We Killed a Dragon Last Night by inameitlater [words: 88,150] — (Fantasy)

Will remembers falling. He wakes up months before Jack got him to work for him. Months before he met Hannibal for the first time. Free from his past he decides to change events and meet Hannibal again.

My Only Constant Is You by TheSilverQueen [words: 25,369] — (Fantasy)

Hannibal Lecter is an immortal who can never die. Will Graham is a time traveler who can never stay in one place. Perhaps that is why they are perfect for each other.

Motinos Kalba by Lyla_Joy [words: 6,040] — (Fluff)

Five times Hannibal Lecter spoke Lithuanian on accident and one time he meant too.

You Make Me Feel (Good) by sourweather [words: 7,190] — (Fluff)

Will Graham has sensory issues. The world gets too loud, he gets overstimulated easily, but most of all he hates being touched. He never expected someone to work so hard to make him comfortable, to be so patient with him.

Pick Me Up by sourweather [words: 6,053] — (Fluff)

Will doesn't go to bars much. He doesn't end up needing a ride home much. But when he does get drunk, he always wants to ask Hannibal to pick him up.

Hard to Get by JSinister32 [words: 5,561] — (Jealousy)

Will and Hannibal had been broken up for six months. When confessions are made during a work function, can they find it within themselves to forgive?

Polar Opposites by Lyla_Joy [words: 19,513] — (Kidnapping)

“Says the cannibalistic serial killer who knocked me out and is now holding me hostage,” sassed Will. The Ripper didn’t smile but his eyes crinkled in the corner. “Please call me Hannibal.”

Fate Is A Keen-Eyed Hound by LydiaFearing [words: 5,890] — (Mischa)

Hannibal may be a successful, charming psychiatrist but Mischa worries that her brother is lonely so she gifts him a puppy. Hannibal reluctantly falls for his little dog but wants to get involved with time-consuming FBI work and not just anyone can be allowed to look after his pet. Luckily, Alana can recommend a boarding kennel in Wolf Trap.

The Significant Other: The Will and Hannibal Edition by house_of_lantis [words: 18,431] — (Murder Husbands)

After their terrible and abrupt break up, Will and Hannibal attempt to maneuver through their social circles, side step ongoing gossip, and deal with the fact that Will knows the truth of Hannibal. Through impossible odds, Will and Hannibal do find their way to each other again.

Dancing with the Beast by proser [words: 86,347] — (Murder Husbands)

In order to catch a mediocre serial killer, Will must pose as Hannibal's date for a series of pretentious social events. Hannibal is dramatic and jealous as ever, and Will is having a great time without the encephalitis. Of course, it's a love story.

Arriving at the Crossroads by HigherMagic [words: 7,558] — (Mpreg)

"You haven't been my psychiatrist for a long time," Will echoes. "But you've been my friend. You've helped me. With…" He gestures vaguely to his head. "When my brain was on fire. On consults. When it's dark and I need a guiding light." "It pleases me very greatly to be a source of comfort and reassurance for you, Will," Hannibal says. "I have wanted to be that for you, for a long time."

The Hanged Man by justhavesex [words: 13,076] — (Mpreg)

Will Graham had never wanted children before, but he had never considered it to be a consequence of his omegan brain not finding anyone worthy, but the moment he had met Hannibal Lecter he had been filled with want. In which a dinner party one-night stand results in a pregnancy that changes Will's entire life.

I Don't Even Like Lana Del Rey by perpetuallycaffeinated [words: 4,328] — (PWP)

The tension and low thrum of arousal were making Will speak impulsively. He knew this, but he’d just finished his drink. There was nothing he could use to stop the question, blunt and presumptuous and rude. “So, what, you’re my daddy?”

A Bad Combination In The Dark by perpetuallycaffeinated [words: 1,957] — (PWP)

When a nerve wracked Will Graham accidentally cuts his hand on Dr. Lecter's letter opener, things quickly get out of control.

The Best Bait by sourweather [words: 3,327] — (PWP)

Will is a good fisherman, he knows which bait to use for his catch. Will seduces Hannibal at a party by being sexy.

Whimsy by justheretoreadhannibalfics [words: 3,001] — (School)

Doctor Hannibal Lecter is standing in as a teacher while Professor Graham is out of town on a case. The students start to kind of like him, and become very invested in his love life.

Callipygian by ProxyOne [words: 2,260] — (Season 1)

Hannibal has a lot of sketches of Will, which he normally keeps safely away. One day though, Will shows up unexpectedly and Hannibal is caught unawares, and unprepared.

L'appel Du Vide by sourweather [words: 5,413] — (Season 1)

Will is hiding things from his coworkers. From himself. But Doctor Lecter knows.

Friends Don't Frame Friends: A Lesson for a Clueless Cannibal by LadyFelixTristis [words: 5,041] — (Season 1)

Ear? What ear? Will Graham doesn’t try to thwart Hannibal Lecter’s plans for him. He just does. By accident. And then on purpose.

For All My Pride, You Were the Fall of Me by nobetterlove [words: 13,212] — (Season 2)

After being released from the BSHCI, Will grabs the dogs he can't live without and leaves without a trace

Letters to God by CarnivalMirai [words: 4,698] — (Season 3+)

Will writes letters to Hannibal every day after his incarceration. But they never make it.

Blankets, Coffee Cups, and Christmas Morning by sourweather [words: 6,352] — (Season 3+)

Hannibal wants to enjoy the domesticity. The love, the closeness, the being Known. But something about his life with Will makes him want to lash out.

All These Fictionary Tales by ProxyOne [words: 18,492] — (Season 3+)

After the fall, Hannibal is presumed dead. Will has been declared dead. But Will isn't willing to believe that Hannibal would just abandon him like that 

Seduction by BloodunderMoonlight [words: 7,086] — (Season 3+)

“For fuck’s sake, Hannibal.” Will glared at him, brimming with wrath he had only seen behind Will’s gun. He had no doubt Will would draw out a knife from beneath the duvet or pillows, but clearly words were enough to make him gobsmacked—“Are you a fucking virgin or monk? If all these can’t get you to bed then I don’t know what can.” Hannibal stood gaping at Will.

Blood, Cedar and Dog Hair by sourweather [words: 3,351] — (Season 3+)

Something terrible happens while Hannibal is in prison. Something he never prepared for.

Hidden Potential by sourweather [words: 20,789] — (Soulmates)

The first time you make eye contact with your soul mate, you see a vision of their greatest accomplishment. They call it your Peak. Unfortunately for Will Graham, his soul mate's Peak is a vision of blood and horror. Fortunately for Hannibal Lecter, his soul mate's is too.

Karoliai by slashyrogue [words: 4,577] — (Sugar Daddy)

Will works at a jewelry store. He has worked there for three months and sold less than any other person there. His boss tells him to sell something by the end of the day or he may not have a job tomorrow. If there was one thing Will hated more than having to talk people into buying jewelry they didn’t need, it was trying to do it two days before Valentine’s Day.

[dreamingmanip]

“MADNESS LOVE” PART 2

*GIF NOT MINE*

You can find part 1 here.

Pairing: Jay Halstead x Reader

Warnings: None (if I need one let me know in my ask!)

Prompt: NONE

Word Count: 2,026

A/N: Hi guys! Like I said before, this is part 2 of 3 for this imagine. I loved this fic so much I could’t stop writing. I hope you liked it, like always if you like this, please like it and reblog it. This would be pin on my page so you can find it without problems.

The tears kept rolling down your face all the way home, you didn't bother to wipe them away when you met your neighbor in the lobby, asking you if you were okay. You weren't, you were holding yourself to not break down in the middle of the hallway, making a scene. 

Your keys jingled while you opened the front door, your hands trembling; you shut the door behind you. There was some light coming from outside the window but mostly it was dark,and that's how you felt, as if somebody took the light inside you leaving you blind. You leaned you back on the door, your body sliding down to the cold floor, sitting there looking at nothing. A cell phone started ringing in the distance but you didn't want to move. Your eyes fluttered trying to focus in the dark, searching in your jacket for it, the screen on the phone  glowed  and illuminated your face, Jay's name showed up, and the killing pain came back to your chest just looking at his name, so you decided to turn it off. 

God knows how long you were there until you decided to stand up and go to your room to take a shower, put on some pajamas and grabbed the bottle of wine that was in the back of your fridge taking it to your room. Jay's words echoing in your head, over and over again.

Did he commit to his job, to his Unit, that he was fine letting you go? His words were etched in your mind. Of course you understood the full situation, he was right; you were the new still, not a detective, but that wasn't what was hurting you, it was realizing how he believed you both could never say anything because your jobs were more important. 

Somehow you fell asleep before finishing the bottle of wine. The clock on your nightstand began to chime, it seemed that you had barely fallen asleep. Your room was still dark thanks to the curtains but some rays of sun could creep in. You stretched out your hand to turn off the alarm, and at the same time, your cell phone began to ring, you probably turned it on again in the middle of the night, you were a cop and sometimes you did stuff automatically; you raised it a little to be able to answer.

"Hello?"

“Hey Y/N, please don’t tell me you were still in bed.”

Your voice was a little croaky when you spoke.

“Uhm, no I wasn’t. My throat feels weird this morning, so… yeah.”

Kim’s voice was joyful even on the phone, you turned to see the clock, in a bright green color it said “8:15 AM”. You sat up immediately, moving the soft sheets wrapped on your body away while Kim was still talking.

“...So I called Kevin and we decided to bring you some donuts and your favorite coffee before the event. We’re 10 minutes away.”

“Fuck”.

You murmured getting in the bathroom. Kim looked at Kevin a little concerned.

“Sorry Kim, I spilled some water on the table but, uhm, yeah. See you in 10”.

Ending the call, you got in the shower, didn’t even wait for the warm water so you screamed a little feeling the coldness on your skin. The fastest shower you ever took in your life, leaving you with only five minutes to get dressed up and do your hair. 

You were in the final touches of your makeup when a few small knocks on the front door warned you of the arrival of Burgess and Atwater. Taking one last look at the mirror to put a smile on your face before one of them would notice something, you felt anxious and devastated and trying to hide it from officers and detectives required a lot of self control.

Both of your friends smiled when you opened the door, Kim was holding a little box with cartoon drawings of donuts on the top while Kevin was offering you a cup of your favorite coffee. All of you wearing uniforms.

“Thanks guys, I barely ate something this morning”.

You took the coffee from Kevin’s hand, taking a little sip before walking out of your apartment, closing the door behind you. The three of you were talking about random stuff all the way to the car and to the downtown, well, Kim was the one talking with Kevin, you were mentally preparing yourself to see Jay, it wasn’t working at all.

“So Y/N, Jay called me last night, which was a little weird if I have to admit, he asked me about you”.

Kim was looking at you through the view rear mirror, you blinked a couple of times without saying anything. Why did Jay call Kim to ask her for you? You had no idea and that's exactly what you said.

“Honestly, I don’t know. I was at home last night. He’s weird sometimes you know that.”

“I know, right? He asked me if you were with me last night but we were at Molly’s. Adam, Hailey, Kevin and I, we miss you by the way.”

Kevin looked at you, knowing something went wrong between you and Jay.

“We invited Halstead to celebrate but he said he was busy filling some forms for Trudy after shift.”.

“Well, I don’t know him so well. I think he prefers to be alone. Look, the press is here too”.

You passed some news cars, reporters were setting their cameras to get a better view. Jay hated this, he wasn’t comfortable seeing his face on the paper just for doing his job and also Voight taught them that when his unit was formed, and everyone did almost the same.

You got out of the car after Kevin parked near the place. Hailey was the first who noticed you, she raised her hand and started to wave it. You smiled, Kim was doing the same and started walking towards her, Kevin patted your shoulder making you go slowly.

“What happened last night? Jay called me too, he said he was worried about you”.

“Well, he doesn't have to do that anymore. We’re done”. 

“Wait, what?”

Kevin stopped for a moment, that news caught him by surprise.

“Y/N, are you sure of this? Don’t get me wrong, I’ll support any decision you make, all the way, but I know your feelings. Working together could get harder.”

You nodded your head, you knew it. It was going to get hard in every possible way, seeing him every morning not able to steal a kiss from each other at the coffee room or staying up watching a movie with your head on his chest; suddenly a bunch of memories came back to your mind, you shook your head slowly, you gave him a side smile.

“Kev, I got this. I’m gonna be fine. C’mon”.

You bumped his arm with yours while you reached out to Hailey and Kim, for a moment Hailey looked at you and nodded, Jay talked to her too. You nodded back to her.

A few moments later, Voight and Trudy joined you. In the place there were a small, but considerable, number of people but no matter how much you searched with your eyes, you could not find Jay. The coordinators asked you to take your seats, for obvious reasons the Intelligence Unit was in the front row, it wasn't until that moment that you could see Jay in his uniform, you had always liked the way he looked in it. However, he didn't seem very happy, he seemed calm but you noticed the pressure on his jaw, his straight shoulders and his gaze in front of him, but he wasn't looking at you.

He was sitting next to some superiors in the platform in front of you. The Superintendent stepped up to the microphone to start his speech, some photographers started to point their cameras to the people and then to the "big hero". 

The ceremony wasn't too long, you all met in the back while reporters were asking now questions to some people. Voight was smiling, which was rare, while Jay was walking towards the group. 

Adam was the first to talk, and like always, started to make some jokes. 

"There he is, the super cop Jay Halstead. The man of the year!"

He padded Jay's shoulder, he had a shy smile on his lips. Uncomfortable by all the attention he was receiving. 

"Thanks Ruzek, I think the cartel in Mexico didn't hear you". 

Everybody laughed, including you. Jay looked at you for a moment, actually felt more like 2 seconds. 

"Alright, let's go back to the district and back to work. We can celebrate later at Molly's". 

Voight spoke and all dismissed to the cars, you went with Kevin again, this time Kim decided to ride with Ruzek, the awkward sensation was still there so she didn't want it to push it further and make you uncomfortable. Once inside the car, you kept quiet all the way, Kevin knew you were lying but he also knew how you dealt with a broken heart. 

You went to the locker room and just arrived at the district, it was too damn warm to keep it all day, also it was used just for events like this. When you got to the door you spotted Hailey, she was putting her badge on her belt. You kept your head down, trying to avoid her, you greet her with a quiet voice. 

"Uhm Y/N, can I talk to you for a moment?" 

"Yeah, sure."

Hailey closed the door and crossed her arms on her chest, her  cautious blue eyes looking back at you. 

"Look, when Jay told me he was dating you, I told him it was stupid. Not worth it if your careers could be over just for a romance that could last just a few months". 

You knew Hailey, she was a bad ass woman and probably didn't say it to her so often but you admire her. She was serious, she didn't like to play games when it comes to her friends. 

"I'm sorry for telling you this, but that was before seeing how good you are together as partners and as a couple. I was scared for both of you because I love you and I care about you. I'm not on Jay's side or your side, left me out that but Y/N, it's not easy to Jay open his heart like he did with you. He doesn't want to lose you and I guess the only way he can control that feeling it's not letting anybody know about it. Forgive me if I was a little obtrusive". 

You didn't notice there were a few tears on your cheek, cleared your throat to be available to speak but you failed at finding the right words, it took you a few seconds to speak. 

"It's okay Hailey, but what about me? What about my feelings? I know Jay is right, we could lose our jobs but, why make me feel like his dirty secret?"

Hailey took a few steps closer, her blue eyes now looking sad.

"Of course your feelings are valid. Don't get me wrong, I have been in that position before and it's not easy. All I'm saying is, you shouldn't leave things unspoken, this stuff gets heavy later."

She hugged you tight, rubbing your back. You held her too, she knew what she was talking about, you never asked before 'cause she was very private but you believed her at anything she said. 

After changing your clothes, you came back to the bullpen, nobody was talking, you sat at your chair and looked around; it seemed like everybody was tense for no reason. Voight was in his office and the unit was on some paperwork. You felt someone looking at you, directly. There was no need to look up, you knew Jay was looking at you from time to time. You haven’t talked to each other yet, you needed to, but that wasn’t the right place.

Tagged some beautiful people ✨:

@itsdesiree86 @mrspeacem1nusone  @anotherfan07 @thestarrynightslover

[disgruntledspacedad]

The Rules of Engagement (5/5)

part of the The Better Love Series 

pairing: Javier Peña x fem reader/ofc (Ears)

summary: (slow-burn, sexual tension, angst, a little bit of h/c in later chapters) He’s a DEA agent. You work for Centra Spike. Peña’s not your boss, exactly, but you’ve been fwb long enough that certain people are starting to think of you as An Item, and that just won’t do.

words: 5.7k

warnings: 18+ - drugs, violence, language, alcohol, smut.

a/n: many many notes at the end. unbeta’d as always.

part one | part two | part three | part four | part five

MASTERLIST

Javi clicks off the radio as soon as the car starts, and you spend the first half of the ride in silence. For a while, he seems to be focused intently on driving, but you know him well enough to see the wheels turning in his head. Sunglasses hide his eyes, but still, there’s something about that little frown that suggests that his thoughts are far from lunchtime traffic. 

It doesn’t bother you - your mind really isn’t on the road, either. 

“I can’t figure it out.” You’re startled to find that it’s your voice breaking the silence. 

“Can’t figure out what?” Javi takes a deep drag from his cigarette. He’s still not looking at you.

“Who did this, and why.” You swallow past the emotion that wells in your throat, firmly redirecting your thoughts to facts and evidence. “It wasn’t an accident, Peña, I’m ruling that out now. Somebody planted a bomb in Emilio’s store.” 

Javi purses his lips tightly. 

“And call me crazy, but I can’t help but think that it has something to do with Escobar.” Your voice is rising now as you warm to the argument. “Like, this is his MO, right? Bombing civilian small business, terrorism, chaos…” you trail off, furrowing your brow as you rest your forehead against the cool window. “Just… why here? Why Bogotá?”

Why Emilio? 

Javi’s face freezes. He’s quiet for a long time. You watch him warily from the corner of your eye. To the casual observer, he’s all calm stoicism, snuffing his cigarette and reaching both hands to finger the steering wheel. But you know better - you read the subtle stiffness in his shoulders, the carefully shuttered expression, the white knuckle grip that suggests that he’s far more stressed than he’s letting on.

Something wild throbs in your chest and you have a sudden, irrational suspicion that he might know more than he’s saying. The moment stretches, and just as you’re ready to panic, Javi huffs a frustrated sigh. “I don’t know,” he admits in a low voice, and the bubble of uncertainty shatters. “But I’m going to find out.”

There’s something cold in his tone, a controlled, a calculated malice that threatens vengeance, and you rest your forehead against the window, wondering at the profound sense of reassurance you draw from his words.

Out of nowhere, a truck swerves in front of you, and Javi leans hard on the horn, cursing and flipping off the driver out the window as you weave past him.

You can’t help a small smile at that - Javier Peña, taking out his worries on the unassuming drivers of Bogotá.   

Again, silence stretches between you.

“I think it’s time you told me about your morning.” Javi’s voice is soft, but still, you know it’s not a request. 

“There’s not much to tell,” you confess. Again, not entirely true, but you haven’t even begun to process it all, and the details are overwhelming to contemplate. “I volunteered to stay over at headquarters. They wouldn’t put me in the air two nights in a row, but still, I wanted to know what was happening.”

His lips twitch at this. 

“It was quiet. I left around seven, I think. I’m not entirely sure. Figured somebody would call me with news. And then…” You pause, swallowing hard. “I was almost home. At the corner of 70.” 

You remember waving to Emilio, the way his eyes had lit up when he’d spotted you, his toothy grin. He’d been so proud, introducing you to that guaro.You blink, bracing yourself against the yawning pit of grief that threatens to open in your chest. Not now. Please.

“Then the store exploded.”

You and Javi draw a deep breath at the same time. The ensuing silence is stifling. 

“Then what?” he prompts you gently.

You glance up, noticing that he’s parked the car. Neither of you move.

“I stumbled back,” you continue haltingly. You just want this conversation to be over. “It’s all kind of a blur, from there. It was really weird, like… like being in a time warp, or something.”

He nods grimly, like he understands.

“I decided to go to your place…” you’re nervous, confessing this part to him. As tense as he is, as awkward as things have been, any reference of your previous liaisons feels like stirring hot shit with a stick. “I just, I didn’t know what else to do.”

“You didn’t wait for the police to arrive?”

Desperation and indignation rise in you. “Javi, I’d just witnessed my fucking apartment go up in flames, okay? Excuse me if I didn’t perform to your exacting standards!”

He presses his lips together in a firm line, and oh, fuck. You realize that you’ve just called him by his name again - something you’ve made a point not to do since that horrible morning in the shower.

Ugh.

You drop bonelessly against the passenger seat, all of the fight leaking from you. This fucking day… god, just, fuck this day.

“I’m sorry.” Javi’s voice is so whisper-quiet that it almost doesn’t register. 

You take three deep breaths, in and out, in and out, in and out.

“It’s fine,” you say, once you’re grounded again. “But I’m - I’m just done talking, okay?”

“Yeah.” Javi opens his door with a deep sigh. “Okay.”

♠

Javi lets you in, and you go straight for the sofa, settling awkwardly with your hands in your lap.  

God, now what? You’re right back where you started - no home, no job to do, and no answers. Exhaustion and helpless resignation swallow you whole, and you sit like that for a long moment, staring into the middle distance and fighting the urge to rest your head in your hands. 

After a while - you’re not sure how long - you notice the absolute silence permeating the apartment. Javi hasn’t moved, hasn’t spoken. You’d totally forgotten he was there.

You glance up.

He’s draped against the front door with his arms folded defensively across his chest, frowning fiercely at nothing. 

“Hey.” You aren’t aware that you’ve moved until you’re standing in front of him.

His eyes flutter shut and he exhales, long and slow, tilting his head back against the door so that he’s facing the ceiling, and okay, now you’re seriously freaked out. 

“Javi?”

“I can’t do this anymore,” he whispers.

“Can’t do what?”

He grimaces like the sound of your voice is painful. “Please don’t make me.”

You take a half step closer, alarm bells screaming in your head. You have never, ever heard this man beg, not once in all the time you’ve spent together. “Don’t make you… Javi, what?”

His gaze flicks to yours, and you suck a sharp breath. 

Javi looks absolutely wrecked. His eyes are wide and dark, brow furrowed deep, and he’s staring at you with so much longing in his expression that little sparks of electricity go zipping across your skin. 

“God, Ears, baby, I was there,” he rasps. He takes one quick little step forward, as if to reach for you. “I went to your place as soon as I heard, as soon as the plane landed…”

You brain skitters to a stop. 

Oh, Christ. He hadn’t told you that. You don’t even have time to wonder about it, though, because Javi is still speaking, words pouring out of him as if revisiting the memory has cracked him wide open. 

“And it, it was a fucking crater, okay? And nobody had seen you, nobody had heard anything, and they had the fucking - the fucking body bags -” His voice cracks, and he presses his fists to his eyes, as if to hide his face while he gathers himself. 

Horror floods you. You’re starting to put it all together now. You’d been so distracted by your own terrible day that you’d not once thought to ask about Javi’s. You imagine him at the bomb site, picking his way through ash and rubble, flashing his badge at firemen and emergency responders, firing off questions, watching them load up body bags…

Oh, fuck.

Javi shakes his head sharply, as if dispersing the memories, and when he looks up, his eyes are red-rimmed and wet. “Querida,” he breathes, pinning you with an expression of open desperation. “I thought I’d lost you.”

Oh. 

It takes a lot to scare Javier Peña. You know this. He’s a fearless man. He has to be.

But this morning, Javi had been terrified. You recall his voice over the phone, tense and clipped, the blustered sigh of profound relief, the clattering footsteps as he’d raced up the steps, his eyes, not quick and efficient, but frantic as he’d taken you in, alive and healthy and wearing his clothes.

“I’m right here,” you whisper, unable to articulate just how profoundly you mean that. You’re still reeling from the implications of it all.

“I know,” Javi chokes. He blinks hard, almost like he’s baffled by it. “You’ve been right here the whole time.” He hitches a breath. “And goddammit, baby, I can’t sit here and listen to you say my name without wondering what the hell else I’m losing.”

Reality shifts and realigns in an instant. Fear and disbelief give way to fierce longing, and your voice comes out as a choked whisper. “Come here.”

Javi does, haltingly at first, as if wondering if you really mean it. You fall into his arms, and he pulls you close, reverently, as if you are the most precious thing in the world. He presses his forehead carefully to yours, catching your jawline with his palms and threading his fingers through your hair. 

“God, baby,” he rasps. “When I saw you… When I heard your voice…”

“I’m okay,” you remind him, reaching up to rub the back of his neck. “I’m okay.” 

He sighs deeply, and a bubble of tension you weren’t even aware of bursts at the sound. You melt into him, and he holds you tightly for a long, long time, swaying your bodies gently back and forth, your head tucked against his chest. 

You tilt your face to him, pressing your lips to his skin, and he huffs brokenly, his body still wrapped around yours like he’s reluctant to create any space between you. He’s shaking as he takes your face in his hands, pausing just long enough to fix you with a wild-eyed, pleading glance.

“Okay?” he breathes. 

“God, yes,” you gasp. “Yes.”

And just like that, Javi’s kissing you like a man without air, awkward and starving, catching the back of your neck with one hand, the other roaming beneath your shirt to stroke at your ribcage.

There’s nothing gentle about it. A month’s worth of desperation has been building in both of you, and now, Javi’s frantically mapping your body with his lips and tongue, peppering little licks and kisses and soft nips down your jaw and neck while you scramble awkwardly for the buttons of his shirt. You struggle to keep your fingers under control as one gigantic hand finds your ass and squeezes. You gasp, inadvertently popping his last button. 

Damn, you liked that shirt. 

Undeterred, you push it aside, finally free to explore his chest and back and belly for the first time in far too long. Javi’s skin is warm beneath your fingertips, his body smooth muscle and soft heat as he leans into you. His hands are snaking beneath your shirt now, one brushing the bare skin of your torso as it wanders up to grasp at your bra, the other gripping at the hollow of your hips. You arch into his touch, groaning low into his mouth, and he bucks in response, cock straining at his jeans, denim deliciously rough against your palm.

“What do you want, baby?” he gasps into the hollow of your throat. Those gorgeous hands have migrated back to your ass now, clutching with a greediness that leaves you panting. 

“Just…” God, you can’t even think, your brain flickering in and out, overloaded with pleasure and pent up emotion and Javier Peña. “Just you, Javi. Now. Please.”

He whimpers, his erection digging rock-hard into your belly, and the sound nearly brings you to your knees - cool, collected, suave Javier Peña, keening for you. 

Javi hikes you up so quickly that you yelp, hips pinning you as he drives you into the wall. You brace yourself for impact, but he’s already anticipated that - one hand cups the back of your head, cradling you protectively, the other reaching past your thighs to clench at your pussy.

You moan, rocking into him, bracing your elbows against the wall to grant him access. You shimmy your hips, and he hitches your skirt up with a fist, dragging your soaking panties to the side as he buries his fingers inside you.

“Oh,” you gasp.

Javi’s fingers pulse deep into your core, once, and then again, that come-hither curl of them driving you wild as he pumps through your juices. You scramble back, opening yourself as best you can with your limited mobility as he presses his knee beneath your leg to hold you in place. 

God fucking damn, there’s something about being pinned to the wall by this man that leaves you trembling and leaking.

Groaning, Javi sinks his mouth onto yours, and you arch up to meet him, sucking sloppily on his lips, his stubbled jaw, whatever you can get to. You tug his hair hard, mostly for leverage, and he gasps, throwing his head back in a way that allows you access to his neck. You love Javi’s neck - it’s delicious, all fascinating gentle dips between tight tendons, and you relish the opportunity to explore each of its arcs and hollows with your tongue.

He shudders as you nip and suck and bite at him, grinding your body against his as you clench your legs around his waist. 

You’re both panting at this point, skin slick with sweat. It’s hard to know where you end and Javi begins, but it’s so, so good, feral and desperate and heated, and somehow, he’s still managing to pulse his thumb at your clit.  The motion sets a fucking fire in you, slow, deep waves of hot pressure building in your core.

“More, Javi,” you beg against his clavicle, shimmying your hips against his hand. Any other day, you’d be content to stay here, caught between him and the wall as he wrings your orgasm from you with the pads of his fingers. But there’s something else building in you, a desperation that has both nothing and everything to do with physical release, and you just need him closer. “I- I need -”

Javi growls, gently dropping you to the floor as he shucks out of his jeans. You help him along with trembling fingers, giggling incoherently as your heads brush clumsily in your haste. You take the opportunity to shrug out of your shirt and bra, and then Javi’s pinning you with a gaze that’s almost predatory, dark enough to send shivers of anticipation curling down your spine. 

You back against the wall and raise a brow, daring him to come get you.

He does, hoisting you up easily - he really is stronger than he looks. One knee hikes beneath your thigh, his opposite hand clenched behind your ass, thumb digging deep into the hollow of your hip. You absently notice that he’s once again braced his opposite hand between your head and the wall, threading his fingers through your loosened braid, but you don’t have time to consider it, because he’s thrusting into you, quick, shallow pumps that leave you gasping for air.

It’s mind-blowingly amazing, and a wild, wanton part of you wonders why the hell you haven’t done this before - just kick off your clothes and go at it like animals in the hallway. You sink deeper onto him, angling your hips just-so, and oh fucking christ, he’s rubbing right against your clit, hard and fast and sloppy in the very best way.

You throw your head back, spasming around him, scrabbling at his shoulders for purchase. He’s still wearing his fucking shirt, and you cling to its open edges with enough force to rip. Javi hisses, rhythm faltering as he slips from you. For a moment, you pause like that, him holding you with shaking thighs, your lungs and skin burning, heaving breaths mingling hot on each other’s faces, but then he’s realigning himself, shifting his angle a little. You shimmy up the wall, desperate to accommodate. 

The second round is even more brutal than the first, choppy and shallow. Your abs are burning; it’s a difficult position to maintain, but that familiar fullness is building achingly delicious in your core, so you hold out, gasping. Javi’s breathing raggedly, sweat dripping from his forehead as he presses it against yours, eyes wide and unfocused as he thrusts into you. 

He’s trembling with exertion.

“Fuck!” He’s slipped again. You sink to the floor, reaching for his wrist.  He looks at you, face twisted in a resentful snarl. 

“Javi,” you gasp, kissing him before he can react. What you’re doing is hot as fuck, but it’s not working right now. You’re both too tired, too desperate and shaky, and you need release. “Take me to bed.”

“Hmm,” he moans into your mouth. It must be agreement, because pulls back - you shudder at the loss of contact - and then hoists you over his shoulder in a move that makes your head spin. You giggle a little, breathless and giddy and almost incoherent with need.

Javi carries you through the apartment like that, you clinging to him like a koala bear with your legs locked around his waist and your head draped over his shoulder. He drops you lopsided on his unmade bed. Automatically, you flop over onto your stomach and gather your knees to your chest, remembering how he loves to take you from behind. 

“No,” his voice is strained. A hand, surprisingly gentle, tugs at your shoulder, and you go with it, twisting so that you’re on your back again, sideways in the bed. “I need…” Javi’s panting, dark eyes burning a hole in you. “I need to see you, baby.” His voice breaks, his expression vulnerable, almost apologetic. 

A rush of affection overtakes you, and you reach for him, pulling him close for another deep kiss. Javi straddles you, palming himself in preparation, and you have the foresight to shove a pillow under your ass - if you’re going to be doing this face to face, then you want him as deep as possible.

When you glance up, he’s watching you open-mouthed, absently tugging at his leaking cock like he just can’t help it.

God, he’s beautiful. 

He sucks a startled breath, looking at you in wide-eyed wonder, and oh fuck. You’d said that out loud. 

“Javi,” you whine, yanking him closer. You don’t have time to feel awkward, goddammit. You just need him. For real. Inside you. Right now.

You both shudder as he sinks deep into you. He stays still for a moment, and you clench against him desperately, urging him to move, dammit, but he’s holding off. 

“Baby,” he rasps, glancing down at you, red-faced. “I’m not - I’m not going to last.”

That confession alone makes something swell tightly in you, and you buck your hips in response. “It’s okay,” you rasp, trying hard be good, to hold still, to not overwhelm him.  “I won’t, either.”

He rocks against you, a tiny pulse, just enough to fucking tease, but it must be an unconscious thing, because he’s still looking you in the eye like he’s afraid you’ll reject him, or condemn him.

“Javi, please,” you keen, patience thoroughly spent. You reach up, digging your fingers into his shoulder blades and tugging hard. “I don’t care. I just need you. All of you.”

That gets him moving.

Javi rocks against you, setting up an achingly slow, almost careful rhythm, his left hand still cradled around the back of your neck to brace your head as he draws himself to the hilt, then nearly all the way out again. It’s gentle and sweet, but dammit, you want more. You pull your knees to his elbows to encourage him deeper, digging your heels into his back. Javi gets the message, because he twitches and groans, curling around your body and bracing himself against your shoulders, abruptly driving into you with a force that punches the air from your lungs - hard, fast, and deliciously brutal.

It’s exactly what you need.

You curl up against his chest, abs burning as you glance past your breasts to the place where your bodies are connected. The edges of his open shirt skim the sensitive skin of your ribcage, framing the view and drowning you in more sensation. Heat is pooling in you, tension building and sparking and curling your toes. There’s something surreal and wonderful about watching yourselves work in tandem, his hips and yours, pulsing and perfect.

Javi shudders, and you drag your eyes back to his face, not daring to miss a moment. Fuck, he’s gorgeous, and that expression alone, that little purse-lipped grimace of pleasure, is enough to drive you to the edge. Controlled, careful, restrained Javier Peña coming undone for you, rattled for you, staring at you like it hurts to draw a fucking breath in your presence… goddamn, you twisted little shit, you’re really liking that.

His rhythm is faltering now, thighs clenching erratically, breath coming in ragged little pants. You know that he’s close. 

You reach up to stroke his cheek. “Javi,” you whisper. His eyes find yours, glossy and wild. His mouth is open, his brow furrowed. “It’s okay, baby,” you tell him. He trembles in response, a full body shudder, his eyes flickering shut.

“It’s okay. Let go.”

His breath hitches, and he bucks wildly, collapsing against your chest with a low, broken groan. The hot heaviness of him pulsing into you releases a shockwave of pleasure down you spine. You gasp as your core clenches, spreading his heat, but it’s not quite enough, you’re not quite ready, and you grit your teeth at the loss of friction as he softens inside you. 

You watch his face twitch, relief and ecstasy and something else, something fierce and sharp that you can’t possibly name.

You groan, reaching your fingers down to your core, battering against him. You tug at your clit, index finger tap-dancing in that perfect circular motion that sends you straight over the edge as Javi flops bonelessly beside you.

Desperate for contact, you sink into him, still working to salvage that orgasm, concentrating hard on the rapid rise and fall of his ribcage with each chugging breath, the heat of his body wrapped around you like a second skin. His eyes flutter open, and there’s a look of quiet desperation on his face.

“I’m sorry,” he babbles, reaching for you with wide eyes. “Babe, I -”

“Shh, shh, shh, shh,” you reassure him, batting his hand aside with your elbow before he can interfere. The waves are crescendoing now, almost painful in their intensity. You’re so fucking close, words and reason are beyond you. “S’okay, Jav, I’m close… I just need…  need you to…. “

“What do you need, baby? Anything.”

“Just - just be here.”

Javi inhales sharply, then gathers you closer to him. “Yeah,” he murmurs, resting his face in the crook of your neck, peppering you with the softest of kisses. One hand rests firmly on your head, its thumb working little circles on your uninjured temple, the other trailing down your body to splay at the sensitive underside of your belly. “I’m here, baby,” he whispers raggedly into your ear. “I’m here.”

Oh god, oh god. The pressure fucking hurts, burning in your toes, clenching in your core, and just when you think that you’re useless today, that sex is absolute bullshit and you can’t possibly take anymore, that -

“You’re so…  my god, baby, you’re fucking perfect.”

It’s not Javi’s tone, broken as is is. It’s the frankness of the confession, the rawness. Javier Peña is not a sweet talker, especially not in bed. He’s not pandering to you. It’s more like the words have been dragged from him at gunpoint, pulled from the very deepest recesses of his subconscious, and it’s that honesty, that awed, reverent authenticity, that drives you over the edge.

It all happens in an instant. The bubble of tension in your core bursts abruptly, and you come with a choked gasp, mind blinking in and out as you ride out wave after wave of sweet relief. Javi is with you the whole time, cradling you in his arms as you shatter. 

It’s not the longest orgasm you’ve had, or even the most intense, but there’s something about him holding you, about sharing the same skin and air and listening to him murmur sweetly in your ear, that transcends any release you've ever experienced. You ride the waves of your orgasm, swearing to the heavens that you’re breaking apart, and somehow, you’re taking Javi with you like you never have before, splintering and reconverging in a way that’s intimate and vulnerable and precious beyond words.

You come back to reality, breathless and trembling, and the first thing you notice is Javi staring at you with something like reverence in his expression. 

“Hey,” he breathes, running a gentle finger down your cheek. 

“Mmm,” you curl into his chest, just breathing him in, all warm, sticky skin and stale cigarette and perfect man. 

You stay that way for a long time.

“I missed you,” Javi whispers hoarsely, pressing soft lips against your ear. 

“I know,” you choke, because you do. That rush of clarity that had effused you in the front hallway is only more potent now. You and Javi had been dancing around each other for months, each of you too stubborn and too afraid to admit to the other that your feelings ran so much deeper than you let on. It’s so obvious now, how stupid you’d both been, and how much you’d missed by being stupid. 

You’re horrified to feel tears tracking down your cheeks. God, reality has caught up with you all at once, exhaustion and fear and horror and relief all snarled up with post-coital vulnerability, and you curl deeper into Javi, tucking your face down in an effort to hide.

He notices, though. He always notices. “Baby?” Javi tilts your face up, tracking over you with concerned, dark eyes. “What’s wrong? Are you hurt?”

Exposure turns your tears to choked sobs, and it’s all you can do to speak. “I’m fine,” you gasp, and it’s both the truth and a lie. You’ve never felt safer than you feel now, or more connected to another human than you are to Javier Peña in this moment. 

And that’s the thing. There’s still so much left to say. So many emotions, so many worries, so much grief. It all wars for dominance in you, everything at once, and you’re not even sure what the fuck you’re crying about until all of the sudden, you’re choking on words.

“Emilio,” you gasp. “He - he -”

Javi draws a sharp breath of understanding, wrapping strong arms around you as you cry. 

“He was… he was gone… and there was nothing I could do!”

“Oh, baby,” Javi murmurs into your ear, rubbing tiny circles into the bare skin of your back. “I know. I know. I’m so, so sorry.”

“And, and…” You’re sobbing so hard that your chest burns, and it’s all you can do to breathe, but the dam has burst, and it’s all coming out now, whether you want it to or not. “Oh, god, Javi, I missed you, too.”

He chuckles a little at that, peppering your forehead with gentle kisses and thumbing the tears from your cheeks. 

“Steve was right,” he confesses, tucking your head under his chin. “We’re both idiots.”

This startles a wet giggle from you. You imagine Murphy confronting Javi like he’d confronted you, red-faced and indignant and insisting that you both deserve one another. “Yeah,” you sniffle through your tears. “He was.”

“He’ll be insufferable about it, too.” Javi’s holding your hand now, the pad of his thumb rubbing back and forth, back and forth over your knuckles. You sigh breathily into his chest, crying until your sobs turn to shudders, and then finally, until you’re wrung raw and thoroughly exhausted. 

Javi holds you the whole time.

You exhale raggedly, noticing for the first time just how slimy you are. “Ugh, gross,” you mutter, covering your face with your hand as you draw away from Javi, horrified. 

Jesus Christ, if you’d just slung snot all over Javier Peña’s bare chest… god, you think you won’t survive the humiliation.

But Javi doesn’t seem bothered. He sits up, glancing around his bedroom for a tissue. Finding nothing, he shrugs out of his shirt, offering it to you silently.

You stare at it, then him. 

“What?” he asks, incredulous. He’s still holding out the shirt, eyebrow cocked as if to question why you won’t just take it. 

 “Nothing,” you say. And that’s a lie. There’s something so uniquely Javi about the gesture, wanting you to wipe your nose with the shirt off his back. But that’s just him - genuine, resourceful, efficient. It’s cute and perfect and ridiculous, and it makes your chest swell and ache.

But you can’t quite put all of that into words right now, and you know he wouldn’t understand even if you tried, so you take the shirt from him with a grateful smile and blow your nose in it like a goddamn heathen. 

Javi wads it in a tight ball when you’re finished, chunking it unceremoniously on the floor. 

You roll your eyes, and he smirks at you, squeezing your hand as he climbs out of bed. After his cigarettes, you think. “Pretty sure you dropped them on the kitchen floor,” you call after him. 

“Yup,” he verifies from the hallway.

You take the opportunity to duck into the bathroom and clean up, and by the time you’re done, Javi’s waiting for you, propped up against the headboard with his eyes shut, smoke curling from his mouth. He pats the bed beside him, not looking up, and you snuggle under his arm, sighing contentedly. 

This is new, the cuddling, sharing his bed, burrowing against his side as he smokes, and you savor every detail. His skin is still slick with cooling sweat, and you can hear his heartbeat beneath his ribs where your head rests, slow and steady. Neither of you need to speak, each just drawing comfort from the presence of the other.

Afterglow, you decide, is a very good word for it.

“Javi?” you ask after a long, long time.

“Yeah?” he whispers. You wonder if he thought you were asleep.

“What is this?” You wave your hand, indicating the tiny space between his chest and yours. You know what it looks like, and you know what it is for you, but you can’t stand the thought of leaving anything uncertain between you, not after all of this.

Javi takes a deep drag of his cigarette. He holds that breath for a long time, but the silence doesn’t scare you, not anymore. That’s just Javi’s thinking face, the one you know so well.

After a while, Javi turns to face you fully. “This is me,” he starts slowly, reaching for your hands and lifting them to his chest, “deciding that I’m not going to miss any more opportunities.”

Your breath catches. That sounds - well, coming from Javier Peña, it sounds an awful lot like a vow. 

“I’m all in, Ears.” Javi kisses each of your hands in turn. “If that’s okay with you.” He glances up almost hesitantly, the question burning in his eyes.

There’s something about the gravitas of the delivery that hints that his words are more than they seem. Javi’s gaze is pinned to yours, dark and serious, and a shiver runs down your spine. You might be lacking some context, but Javi’s resolve is impossible to miss. 

You consider it for only half a second. You’ve known for a long time now that there’s a lot more at stake in Colombia than just your career. Hell, you’d known that from the moment you let Javi walk away from your apartment for the first time. And he’s made his position pretty clear, too. You bite back a loopy grin as you remember him blowing past Martinez at headquarters. 

Yeah, there’s no salvaging this secret.

"All in," you say, gripping his hands tightly and wishing you could be half as eloquent and intense and awesome as he is. “I like the way that sounds.”

It’s the honest truth. 

Javi breaks out into a soft smile that shows off that single dimple, leaning down and pressing his lips to your forehead. “Looks like we’re on the same page, then.”

“Yeah,” you try to answer, just as you are interrupted by a huge yawn.

Javi snorts. “Go to sleep, Ears,” he says fondly, pointedly throwing back the bed covers. You shoot him a petulant frown, and he rolls his eyes, undeterred. “Seriously, baby. This is just getting stupid now.”

“Whole day is stupid,” you mutter darkly as you climb under the blankets - not because he told you to, but because you want to.

“Oh really?” Javi teases. “The whole day?”

“Well,” you pretend to contemplate. “Guess the sex was alright.” You grin wolfishly at him from beneath the covers. 

His response does not disappoint. “Alright?” He presses a hand to his chest, wounded. “Christ, baby, kick a man while he’s down.” He side-eyes you, frowning. “Guess I really do need to up my game, huh?”

“Your words, Jav,” you mumble. The full force of your exhaustion has hit you with a vengeance, and talking is hard. 

“I will make it up to you baby,” he growls in your ear, suddenly serious. “You know I will.”

“Mmhmm,” you sigh. Any other time, that voice would have gone straight to your core, but now, not so much. “I do.”

“Good.” He drops a kiss on your nose, then slips out of the bed. The loss of his body heat is enough to draw you out of your stupor, just for a moment. 

“Stay?” you call pathetically, just as the lamp flicks off. 

Oh. 

Javi settles back in beside you, wrapping his arms around your chest and nuzzling into the back of your neck with his nose. “Yeah, babe,” he whispers into your ear as you finally, finally drift off. “Not going anywhere.”

♠

Author notes/ confessions:

Whew, and that’s a wrap. Big, big notes here guys. I am incapable of being brief, apparently. 

First, I know a lot of you are chomping at the bits to know who the fuck bombed Ears’ apartment. I tried to place a few little clues here and there, but ROE takes place sometime between 2.06 and 2.07. To summarize, Los Pepes, the vigilante group targeting Escobar, is funded by the Cali cartel. In retaliation, Escobar starts bombing Cali cartel owned business - their drug stores in particular. This really heated up in Bogotá around December 1992, which is when ROE ends. 

Now, here’s the fun thing - Javi is absolutely already working with Los Pepes at this point - a relationship he initiated during the month that he and Ears were on the outs. Ears’ intuition in the car is correct - Javi does know, or suspect, more than he’s saying. This is a major plot point for a story that I have in the pipeline, but working that in here - god, guys, that’s too much, and ROE needed to end like 10k words ago, honestly. 

That being said, if anybody has interest in being a beta, or just letting me scream ideas at them, hit me up. This little “one shot” has turned into a full blown universe in my brain, and these ideas are dying to get out. 

The sex. Yeah, I know the sex isn’t great, but I wanted it that way. It was a strange choice on my part, both for Javi’s character and as a first foray into writing smut, but it just seemed appropriate. Sex is rarely ever as mind-blowing as depicted in fic, and besides, these two have had lots and lots of perfect sex. They’re a pretty equal match in that department, but this time is different. I wanted to put the emotions on display, rather than the physicality. It just makes sense that this time would be rushed, desperate, and messy. They are both emotionally and physically exhausted. Also, I really, really wanted to come full circle from the shower scene, where Ears never gets her completion, and also the scene on the sofa when Ears comforts Javi after a terrible day by saying, “I’m here.” There’s some sort of cathartic and earned about Ears bringing herself to completion while Javi just holds her. That being said, I know I owe Javi, and you guys, some smutty one-shots. I plan to deliver, I promise.

You’ll notice that I mention ears choking, coughing, sputtering, breathing, wheezing, feeling a tightness in the chest, aching… she’s got a small pulmonary contusion from being in such close proximity the blast zone. It’s a common injury in bombing survivors, and hers isn’t massive or life threatening, just inconvenient. Pulmonary contusion symptoms tend to develop hours or days after the injury, so she’ll steadily get worse, and when she does, the whole story of her experience with the explosion WILL come out. She’s still got a lot of trauma to process, both physically and emotionally, but Javi is gonna be there every step of the way (after he flips shit first, that is). I’ll let you guys imagine this one, though, because I have already dragged ROE out far longer than I really should have, and it’s mostly medical bs, anyway. 

Last of all, if you’re still here, thank you. From the bottom of my heart. I haven’t written in years, and this story pushed me far outside of my comfort zone. Your support, comments, likes, reblogs, reaction gifs - they all mean the world to me. 

@tiffdawg​, you are directly responsible for this dumpster fire. I hope you’re proud. :)

Much, much love, and a happy new year to each of you.

~ Jay

[podcastbigbang]

[ID: The image is a rectangular collage, horizontal, with 10 individual photos on the left hand side. 

In the top row, the first image is a pile of analog clocks; the second, an image of Big Bend in London with a cloudy sky; the third, a pile of logs alit in a fireplace.

In the second row, the first image is a foggy window looking into a street with a heart drawn into the fog; the second is black and white, showing five hands reaching toward one another, palms up. The third is a pink & gold mug with the text “Be a flamingo in a flock of pigeons” and a flamingo graphic.

In the third row, the first photo is a dark bedroom lit only by a bedside lamp. The second is of the Scottish highlands, showing a small, cozy white house in the foreground. The third is a spooky edit of a brown iris illuminated by bright green tendrils. The third is a rainbow watercolor with a heart & infinity symbol inked on top, the symbol for polyamory.

The background of this collage is mostly black with bright green smoke on the right hand side. Over the green smoke, white text in a typewriter style font reads: “One Hundred Years (again and again, every single day)” and in the same font, but smaller underneath it says, “A The Magnus Archives Fanfiction for the Fiction Podcast Big Bang 2022”.]

One hundred years (again and again, every single day)

Podcast: The Magnus Archives

Rating: M

Pairings: Past Martin Blackwood/Jon Sims, newly developed pre-Season 1 Polycule via time travel: Martin/Jon/Tim/Sasha (as well as all of them individually with one another)

The four of them are sprawled out on Tim's living room floor, heads pillowed on each other and limbs brushing lightly. Laughter and the warm scent of burning wood from the fireplace are in the air. It feels comfortable. Familiar.

The tickle of long, dark hair brushes against Martin's chin. It is a sensation he has missed dearly, and he almost can't believe that he gets to have this back. It still takes him by surprise sometimes, to find much less grey streaks in this head of hair than he did in Jon's - his Jon's, who died in his arms almost a year ago. A year ago for Martin, and yet, many years in the future from this specific point in time for all of them. It still catches him off guard sometimes, but it still hurts. Not as often as before - not nearly, but sometimes, the pain sneaks up on him and knocks the air out of him.

Martin can't help but look at Jon now, who is happy and comfortably nestled into him. He can't help but look at Sasha and Tim only inches away from them just the same. Once again, Martin is utterly torn between old grief and happiness.

It is still hard to believe that it is possible to have a second chance with all of them. He intends to savor every minute of it. Every minute with them. Time and time again, Martin is reminded of a life that might just as well have been.

AUTHOR

@banashee

Hi! I'm Banashee (They/Them), 27 and I've been writing for most of my life probably? In some way at least. I also do all sorts of other art, but writing is one of the things that I love doing the most. Enjoy the angst and queer love and yearning!

BETA

@herding-octokittens

Hi! I’m Brie, she/they/???, and queer podcast characters with eye imagery and knife boyfriends transed my gender :)

ARTISTS

@luckynumber-me

I draw a lot of ficart and I drink a lot of tea. I'm Lucky— both nominally and (hopefully) literally.

@clbl-arts

[angeli-marco-writes]

Sam Wilson - 1 step forwards, 3 steps back

A/N & WC - I am not trying to pretend I am Olivia Rodrigo at all: total credit for all songs and lyrics used here goes to her and her team. No disrespect is meant towards her. I do not own the songs, I also do not own the characters I’m writing these blurbs for. Please read the preface. 1.1k.

Warnings - swearing, talk of unhealthy relationships and therapy, angst, slight fatws spoilers.

“You wanted me?” Sam says with that suave, natural charm, appearing beside me almost silently.

I startle a little, surprised by his twinkling rows of teeth and winning smile. I do want him, but he’s five minutes late. It doesn’t usually take FRIDAY that long to alert people.

“Yeah. Do you mind coming in for a minute? I have tea.”

He claps his hands, swagger in his step, making his way into the room before I’ve even invited him. This no longer surprises me: his surface confidence is admirable. By the time I’m inside and settled at the piano, he’s drawing long sips from the mug.

“You’re gonna play to me?” he asks, an inflection of surprise lifting his final word.

“I was planning on it,” I say, tilting my head. “Is that ok?”

“Of course, bean.”

I start with repeated D chords, and a changing, descending bass, switching between D, A and G, creating a soft waltz rhythm, fitting for the 6/8 time signature that fits with the dotted rhythm throughout the verses. My voice begins with a soft lilt.

‘Called you on the phone today

Just to ask you how you were

All I did was speak normally,’

“No you fucking didn’t,” he snorts. God, he knows me too well, that my tone often gets the best of me even in situations I don’t mean for it to.

I smile in spite of myself, a chuckle breaking my voice as I start the next line.

‘Somehow I still struck a nerve

You got me fucked up in the head, boy.’

Sam took a practical approach with my breakup recovery, trying to get to the nitty gritty of what happened so he could help me heal in typical counsellor fashion. He recognised and validated the emotional and psychological turmoil I was subject to, and gave me ways to believe in myself and my pain… As it turns out, I’d been gaslighting myself for half of the relationship. Sam helped me get around that in his own way.

Never doubted myself so much

Like, am I pretty? Am I fun, boy?

I hate that I give you power over that kind of stuff

“Never give a boy power over you, bean.” Sam once said to me, a while ago now, before I was even dating, but every day he saw me after the breakup, he repeated it. He gave me that power back with a simple mantra. He’s saying it right now, I can hear it between clinks of china on his mug, can feel the semi-disapproving quirk of his eyebrows, can sense that he’s got one ankle resting on the other knee, leisurely sprawled on the sofa as he awaits the chorus. He’ll like this: the lyrics are very therapy-ish, and there’s a swinging undertone to the accompaniment, with F#m chords.

'Cause it's always one step forward and three steps back

I'm the love of your life until I make you mad.’

“Yes y/n!”

‘It's always one step forward and three steps back

Do you love me, want me, hate me? Boy, I don't understand.’

“And you shouldn’t be expected to,” he tells me, speaking over the chords that bridge the chorus and the verse, “boys minds are messed up, let me tell you. I’m a man and I got two little nephews, I was in the army!”

He’s making me laugh at the worst times in this song, but it’s enlightening to have his sensitive, cheerful presence so calmly beside me after such a period of tension between us.

‘And maybe in some masochistic way

I kinda find it all exciting,’

Sam tuts, but I ignore him, sighing derisively and laughing bitterly as I go into the next line, the taste of venom fresh on my tongue as my ex’s multitudinous personalities and moods slip back into my mind.

‘Like, which lover will I get today?

Will you walk me to the door or send me home cryin'?’

Even after the snap, when it seemed my relationship with Sam was irreparable, he still took the chance to laugh at me and joke about my boyfriend when I came home sad. It always cheered me up. When he was around and not in Louisiana with his nephews, at least. I understand his annoyance towards me for a while, but I’m glad this can ease some of the tension between us, having a good laugh even about something so… heartfelt. I even forget about the pain this song is supposed to be carrying, and focus instead on his expressive face, betraying every reaction. I repeat the chorus again, and as I broach the bridge, I incorporate blues elements in the accompaniment, even some syncopation to fit with the vocal line.

‘No, it's back and forth, did I say something wrong?

It's back and forth, goin' over everything I said

It's back and forth, did I do something wrong?

It's back and forth, maybe this is all your fault.’

I hear him draining his tea to the dregs, reclining against the cushions, and then clearing his throat. I cast a glance over my shoulder, smiling as the pedals do all the work for me. Instead of saying anything, though, he just raises his eyebrows and tilts his head in such a conspicuous way that it conveys his message loud and clear. It is all his fault: not mine.

‘Instead it's one step forward and three steps back

And I'd leave you, but the roller coaster is all I've ever had’

I thought Sam would knock my dad out when I told him about, well, everything. “No wonder you went for such an idiot,” he said. The up and down is what I based my life around, so healthy relationships haven’t exactly been in the foreground of my life. Sam appreciates this, and has a little chuckle to himself that adds a gruff bass to the soft, lilting outro of my song, my voice filled with rubato and grace notes.

‘Do you love me, want me, hate me?

No, I don't understand.’

The final note hangs in the air between us for a moment before I release the keys and turn around on my chair, standing up, striding towards him, and perching myself on the arm of the sofa.

“What do you think?”

“I think it’s great, Bean. Too Taylor Swift for my taste, but it’s still good.”

“There’s no such thing as ‘too Taylor Swift’.”

He tilts his head back laughing, “Shut up. But I thought it was good, and I’m glad you took some of my very valuable advice.”

Now’s my turn to laugh, joking, “Now it’s your turn to shut up.”

He pokes me. I poke him back. And maybe things could be going back to normal, but then he stands abruptly, his empty mug falling over in his haste, and dashes from the room without a second glance. Or maybe not.