#my brain the entire time I’m drawing this: MY HUSBAND. I MISS MY HUSBAND WHERE HUSBAND :[[[

[starswirly]

[ * Early morning coffee tea ]

[ * They make me so insane ]

(Nightmare -> Jokublog)

[tobesolonely]

it’s not christmas ‘til you come home

a/n: hello!! please enjoy this piece from my dad!harry universe! (u dont have to read any of them for it to make sense, but it would be cool if u did! loosely based on it’s not christmas ‘til you come home by norah jones <3 hope you enjoy! thank u to @harryysstyless​ for beta reading for me!! happy holidays everyone :)

warnings: SMUT, a bit of angst <3 word count: ~5.1k 

my ko-fi! thank you :)

December 23rd, 2:00 PM

For as long as you and Harry have been in a relationship, you’ve never not spent a Christmas together. 

Before expanding your family, you and he used to hop from party to party every Christmas Eve. Both of you would be absolutely trashed by the time Harry’s driver would drop you off at his house in the early hours of the morning. You’d sleep in until approximately noon, willing your hangovers to go away before finally making it down the stairs and into the kitchen to prepare two steaming cups of coffee. The two of you would then make your way into the living room and exchange gifts (where Harry always went way over the budget you’d set). 

Once you had your first child, Allison, your yearly tradition of party hopping and getting so drunk you could hardly put one foot in front of the other was no more. Instead, you and Harry opted for calm nights in, watching Christmas movies and drinking hot cocoa until she eventually grew tired and got carried up to bed. You would wait an hour or so before springing into action, playing Santa and setting out all of the gifts she asked for and then some. Harry never forgot to take a big bite out of the cookie and carrot left out for Santa and his reindeer.

This tradition stayed the same once your second baby, Oliver, was born. Even though he was too young to know what was going on, Harry was still excited to spoil him rotten this year as it was his first Christmas. However, given the current state of the world, you were afraid Harry would not be here for the first time ever.

“Mumma, when’s daddy coming home?” your six-year-old, Ally, asked for what had to be the seventh time that afternoon. “I made him a drawing for his gift ‘nd I can’t wait for him to see it!”

“Let me see what you drew for Daddy, love bug,” you say cheerily, purposefully glossing over her question. Ally proudly holds her drawing up next to her face. She looks up at you with wide eyes, awaiting a compliment from you. 

“That’s gorgeous, bug! Daddy’s gonna love it,” you inform her. “Maybe you can stick a lil’ bow on it and set it under the tree for him, hmm?” 

“Good idea, Mumma!” Ally runs to the box where you kept all the supplies for gift wrapping, digging around for a pink bow to stick on the corner of her drawing.

While she’s preoccupied with finding the perfect bow to place on her drawing for Harry, you take a quick glance at your phone. He still hadn’t gotten back to you since last night’s quick conversation when he very briefly mentioned he didn’t know if he’d be able to make it home.

He was filming in Los Angeles. You shared your uncertainties about him going before he departed but in the end, this was an opportunity you didn’t want him to miss out on. You read the Los Angeles Times free articles on your phone daily, keeping track of the state of the pandemic in Southern California. You knew it was much worse there than it was at home in London. You feared what you were afraid of was sadly bound to happen— Harry may get stuck in LA.

You didn’t want to say anything to your curious daughter because communication with him had been so sparse. You didn’t know anything for certain yet. But what were you supposed to think? You knew flying nationally wasn’t a good idea at the moment, never mind internationally.

“Hey bug, d’ya think you can watch your brother for a moment? Mumma’s gotta go make a phone call.” 

You hear your daughter let out a slightly irritated sigh. “I suppose I can, Mumma.” Ally responds with a voice laced with exasperation. You chuckle slightly under your breath at your overly dramatic (much like her dad) six-year-old and head into the kitchen, quickly dialing your husband’s familiar number.

“Hello?” 

You let out a sigh of relief upon hearing Harry’s low, hoarse voice. 

“Hi, honey. Just checkin’ in to see how things are going…” you hear shuffling on his end. “It’s December 23rd, you know.”

“I know, love.”

“Did I wake you?”

“Six in tha’ mornin’ here.”

“I’m sorry, H. S’just Allison keeps on askin’ when you’ll be home and ‘m just so worried you won’t make it home on time and you’ll miss Oliver’s first Christmas—“

“Darling,” Harry interrupts your anxiety-fueled ramble. “‘M gonna make it home. Have I ever not been there when I said I would?” 

“No,” you say quietly. “I’m just worried, Harry. I hear traveling is going to get very strict because they’re trying to prevent people from going anywhere for Christmas…”

“Fine, then I’ll get my own plane with jus’ me and a pilot. Wear a mask the entire time and whatnot. Yanno I can make that happen if it’s necessary, pet.” 

Harry’s calm demeanor about the whole situation brings you a bit of peace. Perhaps you were catastrophizing something that wasn’t as big of a deal as you thought it was a mere two minutes ago. If he wasn’t worried about not making it home, you didn’t see any reason to stress about it— not for one second longer.

“Okay then,” you reply, still a bit wary of his travel plans. “What shall I tell your daughter? She’s drivin’ me up the walls asking where you are every twenty minutes.”

Your husband lets out a breathy laugh, causing you to giggle along with him. “Tell her not to eat up all the Christmas cookies before I get a taste of one.”

December 24th, 8:45 AM

Part of you was hoping you’d wake up on Christmas Eve and Harry would be tucked into bed next to you, plump lips parted, the sound of his snores the only noise in the room. However, you were a rational woman, if nothing else. You knew he wouldn’t be by your side when you woke up. 

You make your way down the hall and peek inside your son’s room. He was fast asleep, plump thumb in his mouth. You smile at your sleeping baby and gently close the door behind you, deciding to let him sleep in a bit longer before waking him up to feed him. 

Next, you walk to your daughter's room, gently pushing open the door in case she was still sleeping. Instead, you find her sat at her desk, deeply focused on what appeared to be another drawing. 

“Good morning, lovebug,” you greet your daughter in a sing-songy voice. “You’re up early. What are you working on?”

“Makin’ a letter for Santa,” she replies, not bothering to look up from what she was doing. 

“A letter for Santa?” You start racking your brain for anything you and Harry could’ve possibly forgotten to get for Ally, but you finished your Christmas shopping for your children way back in November.

“Yes,” she answers matter-of-factly. “‘M askin’ him to make sure my Daddy is home by tonight so we can eat cookies together and watch Toy Story, Mumma.” 

“I’m sure Santa will make that happen for you,” you reassure her. “You’ve been a very good girl this year, been so helpful with Olly and doin’ so well in school. The least Santa can do is get you whatever you want.” You see her smile as she digs around in her crayon box.

“Can we wait ‘til Daddy gets home to make Santa’s cookies, Mumma?”

“Sure we can, bug,” Ally claps her hands together excitedly, bouncing around in her tiny chair. “Gonna go make some pancakes, does that sound yummy?”

“Can we have chocolate chip pancakes please?”

“Are you askin’ me that because your dad isn’t here to throw a fit about it?” You give her a knowing smile, causing her to giggle.

“Maaaaybe…” Your daughter turns to face you, swinging her legs back and forth.

“If I make your chocolate chip pancakes, you can’t tell your dad. Deal?” You hold up your pinky. Ally gets up and runs to you and you bend down slightly so she can link her finger with yours.

“I pinky promise, Mumma!”

“Our little secret, yeah?” she nods. “Keep an ear out for your brother for me, bug. I’ll be downstairs.”

December 24th, 3:00 PM

“Love? ‘M afraid I got some bad news...”

As soon as Harry’s voice comes through on the other line, you can tell whatever news he’s about to share with you won’t be what you’re wanting to hear.

“What is it?”

It’s silent for what feels like entirely too long. You get up from your position on the couch next to Ally, telling her you’ll be right back. After breakfast, she convinced you to watch Toy Story with her, which quickly turned into a whole Disney movie marathon.

“Not so sure I’ll be able to make it home.”

You’re not sure if it’s his calm tone that bothers you, the fact that you didn’t want him to go to Los Angeles in the first place, or simply the fact that you and your children missed him terribly and haven’t seen him in nearly a month–– but your mood changes from relaxed to undeniably outraged in three seconds flat.

“You’re kidding.” Your tone is sharp, venomous. Harry once again takes a moment before responding, knowing that the current tone of your voice means he’d best proceed with caution.

“‘M not, love. I woke up early and everything to try and get this sorted out, it’s 7 AM so I was gonna try and catch an early flight––”

“I told you I didn’t want you going to LA,” you cut him off, voice rising slightly. “You knew how bad the pandemic was getting there. I told you this would happen.”

“What do you suppose I do then, Y/N?” His tone is becoming equally as sharp. “Y’want me to tell ‘em, “Sorry, I don’t give a fuck about the travel restrictions. My wife wants me home so let's make it happen!” ‘S that what you want me to do?”

“Don’t be a smartass, Harry,” you spit. “I’ll give the phone to your daughter and you can tell her you won’t be home in time for Christmas, then.”

“Y/N…” his tone is calm again. Fearful. “Don’t make me do that.”

“She woke up early to write a letter to Santa to tell him she wants you home by tonight, Harry,” your tone softens as well. “Even Olly has been asking for you. Swear his new favorite word is ‘dada’.” He laughs at this as do you, and the shared tension that was present just minutes ago dissipates. 

“Just… lemme try a few more things before I tell her, yeah?”

“Harry, it’s already three here,” you gently remind him. “Even if you do make it home today, she’ll be asleep by the time you’re home. I think you just need to tell her.”

Your husband sighs, knowing you were undeniably correct. “Alright. Give Allison the phone, please.”

December 24th, 8 PM

“Almost time for you to head to bed soon, yeah Allybug?” Your daughter lets out a loud sigh in response, not shifting her gaze from the television to you. Ever since Harry told her he wouldn’t be home in time to eat cookies with her, she’s hardly said a word. She’s never experienced a Christmas Eve without her father so understandably, she was missing him tonight.

You shift Olly, who was falling asleep nursing on your lap, into a different position so you could face your daughter directly. From your new position, you can see just how tired she looks. 

“‘M not sleepy, Mumma. Gonna stay up and wait for Daddy,” she informs you of her new plans. “When Daddy is home that’s when it’s time for bed.”

“Ally, remember what Daddy told you on the phone earlier? Santa won’t come unless you go to sleep.”

“I don’t wanna sleep,” she’s quickly starting to grow upset. “Not until Daddy tucks me in!”

You purse your lips, not wanting to argue with your headstrong daughter when your son was so close to drifting off into his nightly milk coma. Turning your attention back to the movie that was quietly playing on the television, you decide to drop it for now and try again later.

December 24th, 9:05 PM

Not more than an hour later, Olly is upstairs in his crib fast asleep whilst Ally is still laying on the floor in front of the Christmas tree, fighting sleep. She was determined to stay up until her father walked through the front door, and you knew getting her to agree to go to bed was going to be a battle and a half.

“You’re not ready to go to bed yet, Ally?” Her eyes fly open once she hears you addressing her.

“Not yet, Mumma. ‘M not sleepy yet.” Her words are a little slurred due to the exhausted state she was in. You hum in response.

“Could’ve sworn your eyes just shut for a minute there,” you pause for a second to see if she’ll look your way. “Must’ve just been my old lady eyes playin’ tricks on me, y’think?”

“I wasn’t sleeping!” She immediately defends herself, frown lines indenting her forehead. “Can we drink more hot chocolate?”

You knew if you wanted your daughter to fall asleep within the hour, another sugar rush wasn’t the best idea. You instead offer her a hot cup of sleepytime tea and she excitedly agrees once you tell her it’s her father’s favorite type of tea to drink at bedtime. You place her down on the kitchen counter while you fill the kettle and wait for it to whistle.

“What are you looking forward to the most from Santa, bug?” 

Her eyes light up at your question. “Well, I really want a new bike! ‘Member Mumma? How I asked him for a pink bike? And I also want a cool swing set! Since we haven’t been able to go to the park in so long,” her smile falters and she looks down at her dangling feet. “I want Daddy to come home the mostest, though.”

Your heart feels like it’s going to break in two upon hearing your daughter admit that Harry being home would be the greatest gift of all. “So do I, lovebug. He’ll be here in the mornin’ to watch you and your brother open all the gifts Santa got you though, don’t you worry.”

For everyone’s sake, you hoped that was true.

December 24th, 11:50 PM

Sleep wasn’t coming easy. 

You finally got your daughter to bed at around ten o’clock and waited thirty minutes before laying out your children’s gifts. It took much longer than it usually did considering you had to do it all on your own. Harry was usually the one to quickly assemble the larger toys while you laid everything out around the living room. 

Despite it taking longer than desired, you were proud that you got it all done without waking your children up. Consequently, that meant you were now left all alone with your thoughts considering you had no more tasks to occupy yourself with. 

You kept contemplating calling Harry, but you weren’t sure if he was busy on set or not. Surely he was immersing himself in work to distract himself from the fact he would not be spending Christmas with his family. 

Deciding you may need a cup of the sleepytime tea you offered Allison earlier, you quietly get out of bed and open your door, sock-clad feet padding softly against the wooden floors. It’s unnervingly silent in your home–– the tea kettle coming to a boil being the only source of noise. You keep unlocking and re-locking your phone, finally deciding to call your husband to see how he’s spending his day. It goes to automatic voicemail.

You assume the reason for this must be that he’s busy filming on set and set your phone down with a sigh, standing on your tiptoes to retrieve a mug from the cabinet. You mutter a slew of curse words under your breath intended for Harry who always puts the mugs up far too high even though you tell him not to.

Right as you begin pouring the now boiling water into your teacup, the faint jingling of your front door causes you to startle so badly that you nearly drop the kettle on the ground. You try to think back to everything Harry ever told you to do in the event of an intruder but your mind goes blank from fright. Deciding to use the scalding water as your weapon, you slowly creep towards the door, your only plan being to fling the water on whoever it was as soon as they got the door open. As soon as you hear the lock click, you flick the lid open that covers the spout and draw your arm back.

“Shit––”

“Harry?”

Your husband jumps slightly, his eyes blinking rapidly in an effort to adjust to the dark living room. You reach beside him and quickly turn on the light, shakily letting out a breath you didn’t realize you were holding. He looks exhausted, his hair is an absolute mess, and his eyes are red from sleep deprivation–– but he’s home. You set the tea kettle down on the coffee table and fling yourself into his arms, breathing in the scent of the man you haven’t seen in a month. He drops his bags at his feet so he can properly embrace you, pulling you into him.

“Merry Christmas, darling,” he presses a kiss to the top of your head and stays like that for a moment saying nothing, just breathing you in. “Missed ya so fuckin’ much.

“How? I thought…” you trail off. “You said that they said…”

Harry laughs quietly. “Remember what I told ya? I said to ‘em, ‘Don’t give a fuck about your travel restrictions! M’wife wants me home.’” You laugh at him, knowing he was far too kind to talk to anyone that way. 

“Yeah, okay,” you reply sarcastically. You pull him in for another hug, placing wet kisses along his jawline. “I’m so happy you’re home. The kids are gonna be over the moon, especially Allison.” Harry hums, surveying the room.

“Looks like you did a good job in here, Mrs. Claus. See ya even assembled some toys all by yourself,” he quirks an eyebrow. “Were you jus’ pretendin’ not to know how to do it all these years so I’d be stuck with all the hard labor?”

“Maybe.”

He pulls you back into him, tickling your sides. “My sneaky girl,” he bends down so his lips are level with your neck and sucks gently, causing you to let out a quiet moan. You see his eyes land on the tea kettle that was sitting forgotten on the coffee table. “Making a cuppa? Can I have one? ‘M freezin’.”

“I can think of something else we can do to get you warmed up,” you reach for his hands, interlocking his fingers with yours. “If you know what I’m gettin’ at.”

“Hmm…” Harry releases one of his hands from your grip and taps at his chin, pretending to be deep in thought. “Not too sure I can say I know what you’re sayin’. Maybe you should just tell me?”

You frown. “You’re really gonna make me say it, huh?”

“Y’know I’d give you the entire world if you asked me for it. All you gotta do is tell me what you want from me and it’s yours–– ‘m sure you’ve known that since the first day we met, though.” Harry takes a step back, crossing his arms across his chest. Even in his thick winter coat, you can see the way his biceps flex, and it makes you even more feral for him.

“Fine,” you say quietly, feeling yourself start to grow shy under his intense gaze. “I’m kinda... in the mood.” You say it so softly that it would most likely be inaudible to Harry if he wasn’t standing mere inches away from you. Harry throws his head back in laughter and you quickly shush him, not wanting any of your children to wake up.

“In the mood? C’mon, pet,” he uncrosses his arms and reaches for one of your hands. “Tha’s not tellin’ me what you want from me. Tell me exactly what you want, lovie.”

“You know what I want, H,” you tell him with a hint of annoyance in your voice. “It’s been a month. Yanno I want you to fuck me, why are you makin’ me say it?”

Harry gives you a shit-eating grin. “You jus’ said it. I didn’t make you say anything.”

You roll your eyes at his immaturity, already in the process of lifting your nightshirt (one of his old t-shirts that’s become just a little too tight on him) over your head. “Are we gonna get to it or not? Because if not, I’ll just go back to makin’ myself some tea and call it a night––”

Harry takes half a step towards you and reaches up to cup your face, colliding his lips with yours. His lips are a little chapped and taste of his favorite rose lip balm. You feel your body relaxing into the kiss, knees going weak as he walks you back onto the couch.

“You’ve been eatin’ up all the sugar cookies, haven’t you? Can taste it on ya. Thought those were for Santa,” he’s pulled away from you to examine your face. “A bit naughty of you, wouldn’t ya say?”

“Please stop referring to yourself as Santa when we’re about to have sex, Harry.”

“You’re not bein’ very kind to the person that’s about to go down on you, are you?” He sucks harshly on the valley between your breasts, wanting to be sure a deep-colored bruise will appear on your skin later. “That’s okay. It is Christmas, after all. ‘M in a giving mood.”

“Stop talking and get to it then.”

Harry slides off the couch and onto his knees in between your legs, gently kissing your thighs. “Cute pair of undies–– s’like you knew I was comin’ home tonight.” Before you can respond Harry’s fingers are tugging at the waistband of your underwear, eager to get them off of you. He presses light kisses to your core, mumbling about how much he missed the smell of you and how sweet you tasted. 

One hand is resting across your stomach while the other one is in between your folds, spreading you open. You try squeezing your thighs around his head, overwhelmed by the feeling of your husband’s lips around your clit after being away from him for so long, but he removes his hand from your stomach and pushes your thighs back apart.

“Feels so good,” you’re breathless, tangling your fingers in Harry’s hair as his hollowed cheeks begin to suck more roughly on your clit. “Missed you so much. Missed this–– us.” 

Harry pauses momentarily to look up at you. “I know, angel. God, do I know.” He attaches his lips back on you, swirling his tongue around your clit as you  choke back your moans. The hand that is holding you open moves down to toy at your slit as he wordlessly checks to see if you’re okay with his fingers being in you. 

“Please,” you say softly, encouraging his next move. He spits on his index and pointer finger before slowly sliding both of them in you, immediately curling them up. “Oh, Harry. Fuckin’ love when you do tha’...”

“Know you do,” His response is curt, simple. He’s focused on the task at hand–– getting you off. He uses the hand that’s lying across your stomach to rub tight circles on your clit, sensing you’re nearing your orgasm from the way you’re starting to clench around him. “Such a good girl fo’ me, darlin’. Gonna make a mess on my fingers in a second, aren’t you?”

You nod as you try to control your breathing and the loudness of your moans. The last thing you wanted was for your daughter to come down to inspect the source of the noise. “Fuck, Harry.” 

“Come on, darlin’,” he gently pinches your clit, causing your body to jolt at the sensation. “Gimme a good one. A lil’ welcome back gift for me, hmm?” 

Your hips are bucking up to the rhythm of his fingers slipping in and out of you as your orgasm quickly approaches. “Har, I’m close…” it comes out sounding more like a warning than a statement. He moves the two fingers he has inside of you in a back and forth motion, coaxing your first orgasm out of you.

“Tha’s my girl,” he whispers, not stopping his movements even as your back arches as your first orgasm rolls over you like a giant wave. “Givin’ me a good one jus’ like I knew you would. Jus’ like you always do. M’ sweet girl.” As you’re starting to still, Harry pulls his fingers out of you and holds them up to your mouth, instructing you to suck them clean. 

You prop yourself up on your elbows so you can properly lean in to steal a kiss from him and notice a rather sizable tent has formed in his pants. Harry gives you a sheepish grin as he palms himself, hissing from the feel of his palm against his cock.

“Want me to do somethin’ about that?” You scoot over on the couch and pat the spot next to you, signaling for your husband to sit beside you. He lifts himself from his seated position, stretching his legs out a bit before plopping down beside you.

“Are you offerin’ me a blowie?”

“I mean, yeah?”

“Can we skip that an’ you can jus’ ride me instead? Think I’d quite like that.”

“Oh you would, would ya?”

Harry nods and unzips his pants, taking himself out. He licks his hand and gives himself a few pumps. “Still on birth control, I’m assuming?”

You roll your eyes as you move to straddle him. “Only been gone for a month, Harry. Of course ‘m still on it, you goof.”

“Can never be too careful. I don’t think now’s a good time for another lil’ one, do you? Think we should at least celebrate Oliver’s first birthday before we try for another one.” His hands are on his hips as he lines you up over his cock, helping you slowly sink down. You missed the burn of him which was even more intense than it usually was considering it’s been a while since he’s taken you.

“I think you’re right,” you reply. You rest your head on his shoulder while you adjust to the size of him, needing to take a moment to yourself before attempting to move. After a short adjustment period you begin rolling your hips, grinding against him in a way that was also bringing pleasure to your clit, still swollen and sensitive from your last orgasm.

Harry’s eyes are fixated on the way your breasts bounce in front of him, the way your stomach slightly jiggles each time you crash back down onto him. His lips are caught in between his teeth; you’re hoping he doesn’t break any skin so you don’t have to hear him whine about how badly the bruise hurts him later.

“Ridin’ me like your life depends on it,” Harry mutters. “Fuckin’ love takin’ you like this, angel. So fuckin’ deep.”

You simply hum in agreement, brain far too foggy to form a coherent sentence. Harry notices your movements starting to become smaller, lazier, so he puts his hands on your hips and decides to take over. He’s thrusting up into you like you’ll up and run away from him if he doesn’t give it his all. He cups your face with one hand and gently guides you towards him, pressing open-mouthed kisses against your lips.

“Fuck, H,” your eyes are squeezed shut and your wrap your arms around his neck, feeling your second orgasm quickly approaching. “Rub my clit please, almost there.”

Harry’s fingers immediately come down to rub at your slick nub, not faltering his relentless pace in the slightest. “Clench around me again, lovie,” his voice is higher than usual, whiny, and you know your husband is just as close as you are. “Love when you do tha’, jus’ need you to do it one more time.”

You do as he wishes once more, knowing once he cums you’ll be directly behind him. Harry lets out a string of expletives as he releases inside of you, pulling you tightly against his chest as he rides out his orgasm. You continue riding him, not slowly down as you chase your own release next.

“Harry,” you’re in a trance-like state, chanting his name over and over as you bring yourself over the edge. “Harry, fuck!”

“That’s my good girl,” he says quietly, rubbing your back as you rest your head on his shoulder while you catch your breath. You feel him beginning to soften inside of you so you lift yourself off and lay back on the couch, legs still shaking. It’s quiet for a couple of minutes as the two of you reveal in the afterglow of your orgasms, Harry gently running his fingers along your leg.

“Round two in the shower?”

December 25th, 6:42 AM

“Mumma! Santa came and he left lots of toys–– Daddy?”

Harry lets out a dramatic “oof!” as Ally jumps onto him, pulling the covers back. Her eyes are wide and she giggles are Harry pulls her into one of his infamous bear hugs, placing kisses all over his face.

“Mornin’, love bug! What’re you doin’ up so early?”

“It’s Christmas, Daddy! Santa came!” she sits back on her feet, a confused look on her face. “Did Santa bring you on his sleigh last night after me ‘n Olly went to bed?”

“Y’know what? He told me to keep it a secret, but he did,” Allison gasps in response to his news as she processes it, placing a little hand over her mouth. Harry sits up and gets out of bed, scooping her up in the process. “How ‘bout we go make Mum a cuppa before we see what Santa got for you and Olly? Tha’ sound good? Let’s let them sleep for a while longer, hmm?”

As you hear them exit the room you take a second to reflect on how lucky you are to spend another Christmas with you beautiful family before drifting back off into a deep, albeit short, sleep.

[wafflesandkruge]

One Early Morning in Os Alta

Nikolai accidentally drinks one of David's experiments and becomes obsessed with solving the mystery that is Zoya Nazyalensky. The Triumvirate is his most unwilling audience as he attempts to piece together where she goes at night with nothing but his caffeine-fueled brain and a chalkboard.

Written for the @grishaversebigbang mini bang! Thank you so much to the amazing @kolarpem (x) and @denndrawings​ (x) who created beautiful art for this fic 🥺 ❤️  

ao3

In their three short years of marriage, Genya and David had developed a morning routine. David, eager to get to the labs early so he could have the room to himself, would wake at the crack of dawn like clockwork and share a few sleepy kisses with her before getting on his way. After a few more hours of much-needed beauty sleep, Genya would commandeer some breakfast and find him tinkering away at whatever project Nikolai had put him to. It was a comfortable rhythm, a familiar constant in their otherwise hectic lives.

But today, Genya was just drifting off to sleep again after being woken by her husband when the door to their bedroom slammed open to reveal a very disheveled David. His glasses were slightly more askew than usual and his kefta rumpled. Genya let out a small yawn.

“David? What’s wrong?”

“There has been a development.” He didn’t elaborate further as he strode over to their wardrobe and pulled out her kefta. She tugged it over her head without question and followed him sleepily out of the room. They’d been together long enough that she’d learned not to try to get him to elaborate. He’d either clam up for hours trying to find the right words or talk in circles trying to fully explain a very easily explainable situation. Only the Saints knew what it was this time. She just hoped it was something easily resolvable so she could go back to sleep. Perhaps a puppy running loose in the labs, or an Inferni who’d burned off their eyebrows and wanted her to Tailor them back. Simple things.

But instead of the labs, David pulled her into Nikolai’s bedroom and Genya knew it was going to be a long day. Tamar and Tolya were already seated on a sofa, both with their arms crossed and similar scowls on their faces. Zoya was absent. And Nikolai was animatedly scribbling on a large blackboard that had been wheeled to the front of the room, “ZOYA NAZYALENSKY” scrawled at the top in large letters and circled three times for emphasis. The rest of the board was covered in near incomprehensible writing and doodles.

Genya frowned as David pulled her down into the seat next to him. “Did you steal that from the Little Palace, Nikolai? How will the children learn?”

Her king didn’t answer. He seemed busy working on a doodle of what looked like a five legged tiger on a corner of the board. David patted her hand absentmindedly as he opened his notebook and started scribbling as well.

“Is anyone going to explain this to me?” Genya asked mildly as Tolya slid a cup of tea towards her. She supposed the Triumvirate had seen worse, and their king acting like a man possessed didn’t rank particularly high on their list, but she still didn’t appreciate being woken up early for this. If anything, the twins should have just knocked him out and then everyone could get their well deserved rest.

Tamar crossed her arms. Her short hair stuck up in every direction as if she’d just rolled out of bed. “Well, your genius husband over there,” she starts, her tone not quite complimentary, “was working on one of his little experiments again.”

Genya nodded distractedly as she removed a small mirror from the inside of her sleeve. David took it from her obediently and held it up as she began Tailoring away the dark circles under her eyes. It wasn’t a substitute for her lost sleep, but it’d have to do for now.

“Coffee with a mild strain of parem in it for an extra stimulant,” David explained as she moved on to bringing more color into her cheeks. “Since you’re always complaining about the Little Palace’s coffee leaving you groggier than before.”

Genya’s hands stilled as she offered David a small smile. Even after knowing him for this long, his kindness never failed to surprise her. “That’s lovely, dear. But how does that relate to Nikolai acting like...this?”

Both of them jumped when Nikolai let out a rather concerning cackle. He had moved on from the deformed tiger to a caricature of someone who looked alarmingly like General Pensky. Genya scanned the board, barely able to decipher his scribbling. Secret lover...treason...illicit rendezvous? She furrowed her brows.

Tolya glowered at them from his spot next to his sister. “Nikolai drank David’s experiment. And now he refuses to administer the antidote because he wants to observe his behavior for the sake of science.”

“That’s not strictly true,” David said as he handed the mirror back to Genya and picked up his pencil again. “I don’t have an antidote ready. Instead of taking the time and labor to manufacture one, we might as well just wait for it to wear off naturally.”

Tolya opened his mouth again to argue, but then a piece of chalk flew by, barely missing Genya’s nose. Nikolai slammed his hands on the table and her tea splashed out of its cup. 

All four of their heads turned towards their king. His shirt was buttoned incorrectly, his hair wild, and a distinctly unhinged look in his eyes. His jacket was tied around his shoulders like a cape. It had to be the worst Genya has ever seen him, though there had been that time when Kirigin had convinced him to do a few shots of that whiskey from the Wandering Isles and he’d been convinced he was a saint—

“Friends!” His voice was entirely too loud for the intimate setting. “I have gathered you here today to solve one of our most pressing problems.”

“Our empty coffers?” Genya asked with a yawn.

“Impending war on three fronts?” offered Tolya.

“My brother’s incurable love for five hour poetry recitations?” 

David continued silently taking notes in his book.

“No,” Nikolai declared with an empathetic shake of his head, “we’re here to discuss the mystery of...Zoya Nazyalensky.”

He stepped to the side and for the first time, Genya was able to see the entirety of the blackboard he’d been writing on. Not a single inch of it had been spared from his rather enthusiastic scrawl and doodles like he was preparing to give them the world’s most fascinating lecture on the enigma that was Zoya. Genya felt a headache incoming.

“Perhaps we could do this at a more reasonable hour,” she began, but Nikolai smacked his hand against the blackboard which sent up a giant cloud of chalk dust.

“Nonsense! There’s no time like the present, and Zoya is away so it’s the perfect time to speculate upon her true intentions.” He waved his arm towards a bullet point at the top of the board, but in his eagerness, nearly knocked the entire board over. Genya let out another yawn and sank back into the couch. Maybe he wouldn’t notice if she dozed off.

“Where does she go at night?” Nikolai demanded as he began pacing furiously. The papers pinned to the board fluttered in his wake. “About once a week or so, the palace guards tell me she’s seen walking on the grounds late at night, alone. She’s almost certainly meeting with someone. But who? And why?”

“Are you sure you don’t have an antidote?” she whispered to David.

“Positive.” He scratched his ear, a sure sign he was lying. Genya sighed. She supposed she’d have him make it up to her later. She knew better than to talk him out of one of science moods. 

“A lover!” Nikolai continued. “She has a secret lover!”

Genya knew for a fact Zoya had no one in her heart other than their king as much as she liked pretending she hated him and his entire existence. In her own opinion, it probably had something to do with the very expensive gifts Nikolai routinely offered because Zoya was nothing if not a creature of luxury. Still, she took a sip of her tea and raised an eyebrow. “Oh? Do go on.”

“At first I thought it was General Pensky, but he’s been stationed at the border for over a month and the night walks haven’t stopped. So that leaves no other option than…” Nikolai’s eyes narrowed. He executed a sloppy about-face that any army commander would have had him running laps for and pointed an accusing finger at Tolya. “You’re Zoya’s secret lover!”

Tolya frowned and crossed his arms. “I would rather go back to Novyi Zem and become a jurda farmer. Less chance of sudden death.”

Nikolai grabbed at his hair. “But if you’re not seeing Zoya...and Tamar isn’t– you’re not right?”

“I’m married, Nikolai.”

“Right, right, right,” he muttered. He turned back to look at his board. “Then there’s only one other answer.”

“We all go back to bed?” Genya suggested.

Nikolai turned to her, an oddly intense look in his eyes. “How could you suggest we all retire when Zoya is plotting against the throne?”

Genya blinked. “How exactly did you get there?”

“It all makes sense!” Nikolai babbled excitedly. He waved his arms in excitement. “The late night walks. The secrecy. Why she’s always so mean to me—”

“She’s mean to everyone,” Tamar interjected.

“She’s working with the Fjerdans! Or the Shu! Of course, I should have seen it from the start…”

Genya tuned him out again as he went back to drawing on the board while muttering to himself about how the Fjerdan’s diabolical plan to have Zoya seduce him was working too well. She put her head on David’s shoulder and focused on the page of notes he was working on. Except instead of notes, it was a sketch of a woman’s face. Her face. As she watched, his pencil scratched out the curve of her lips, one corner lifted in a half smile. “What are you doing, dear?”

“Studying something beautiful,” he answered without a moment of hesitation. 

Genya’s lips curled into a smile as she let her eyes shut. “You’re sweet today. Maybe we should let Nikolai poison himself more often.”

“There’s a seventy percent chance his heart would give out if we attempted this more than once a week.”

“Regicide,” Genya said with a sigh, “How romantic.”

[iam93percentstardust]

If you’re still taking prompt, could you please write something with Steve loving Tony’s big doe expressive eyes, plus him giving tony lots of slow deep kisses and maybe a comforting talk bc Tony’s anxious about something? 🥺

Sure thing! Hope you like it!

(Thank you to @therollingstonys for helping me brainstorm and, as always, this fic can be found on my ao3)

~

Tony is already in bed by the time Steve comes up. Their room is dark, even the windows shaded to block out most of the light coming in from the city, and it takes Steve a moment to realize that the dark mass huddled under the blankets is, in fact, his wayward husband. He sighs softly and runs his hand through his hair, thinking of the dinner he’d prepared for the two of them that had sat out for an hour before he’d finally decided Tony wasn’t going to join him. He doesn’t know why he’d expected otherwise. He knows how Tony gets the night before something big and Tony’s been withdrawing from him for the last couple of days; he should have seen this coming.

“So this is where you’ve been all day,” he says quietly. Tony shifts but doesn’t move out from under the blankets. “JARVIS, lights to 15%.”

JARVIS obligingly turns the lights up, raising them just enough that Steve doesn’t have to strain his eyes in the dark. Tony doesn’t protest the change, which is a good sign. It means that he’s stressed and anxious but he’s not actively trying to hide away.

Steve crosses the room, shedding clothes as he goes so that he’s down to only his boxers by the time he reaches the bed. He climbs up and stretches out over Tony’s body, hovering above him on his hands and knees. From his vantage point, he can see the tiny tuft of hair that’s sticking out from the blankets but that’s it.

“Hey, sweetheart,” he murmurs. “You wanna talk about it?”

Tony makes a dissenting noise and the blankets shift, like he’s shaking his head.

“Can I at least see you?”

Another dissenting noise.

“Come on,” he cajoles. “Can’t I see those beautiful brown eyes?”

“No,” comes the grumbled reply.

He bites back a smile. Wouldn’t do to look amused when Tony’s clearly so distressed. “Are you sure? I haven’t gotten to see them all day,” he asks instead, voice low and teasing, devoid of anything that Tony might take as disapproval. If Steve is right about what’s going through Tony’s head right now—and he’s pretty sure he is—he needs to be very careful about what he says.

It takes a moment but Tony eventually shifts enough that his entire head is poking out from under the blankets. He looks exhausted, worn out from stress and worry, and there are deep shadows under those brown eyes he loves so much, but he’s still the most beautiful thing Steve has ever seen.

“There they are.” He smiles fondly at his husband and leans down to kiss him. It’s meant to be a quick, reassuring thing, but as so often happens, he gets caught up in the feel of Tony’s lips against his, how he tastes, how perfect he looks in that single moment before his eyes flutter closed, and Steve finds himself drawing the kiss out into something slow and lingering.

When he eventually pulls away, Tony’s eyes are dazed and slightly out of focus. Steve can’t resist leaning back down again and brushing a kiss over Tony’s right eyebrow. Tony’s eyes slip closed again as he sighs and Steve kisses each trembling eyelid before pulling back.

“What’s got you so worked up, hmm, sweetheart?” Steve asks.

Tony wiggles out from under the sheets just a little more, enough so that his whole head and the tops of his shoulders are uncovered. “I—” he begins and then bites his lip.

Steve thinks he knows what this is all about and he thinks Tony might be feeling too seen already to admit what’s going on in that big brain of his. He rolls off of Tony, onto his side, and slides under the covers, tucking himself up against his husband’s side, who rolls over to face him. Steve shifts them so that Tony’s leg is thrown over his hip, his head tucked under Steve’s chin, into his chest. He can’t see Tony’s face like this—he’s already missing the sight—but he thinks Tony feels like he needs to hide so he can be open as he should be.

“Better?” he asks.

Tony nods, his beard scratching on Steve’s naked chest.

“So is this about tomorrow then?”

Tony nods again, voice muffled when he says, “I’m going to be a horrible father.”

“You’re not,” Steve says, even though he knows it’s a platitude that barely even makes a dent in Tony’s lack of self-worth. He just can’t stop himself. He hates hearing Tony put himself down like this.

“I am,” Tony says matter-of-factly. “I’m going to be just like Howard and I’m going to ruin this child.”

Steve bites back a sigh—Tony would take it the wrong way right now—and instead presses a kiss to Tony’s hair. “You’re not going to ruin them.”

“How could you possibly know that?”

Because for one thing, I’ll be right here to help you raise them, which puts me ahead of Maria for one, he thinks. But he knows better than to voice that opinion out loud. He doesn’t know why Tony is so insistent on idolizing his mother, who was so frequently absentee, except that she was slightly more loving than Howard had been. And to Tony, so very attention-starved as a child, even slightly was better than nothing.

“Because you’re already thinking about them,” he says. “You’re already worried about how you’re going to take care of them, planning contingencies for every little thing that could possibly go wrong. Parents like Howard don’t do that.”

Tony is quiet for long enough that Steve lifts his chin up and kisses him again, trying to soothe away Tony’s anxieties with every sweep of his tongue. Tony’s arms slide around his waist, clinging to him as he kisses back. Time slides by as they kiss, minutes, hours, who knows? All that matters is the feeling of Tony’s body against his, the taste of his tongue in his mouth.

“This could go so badly wrong,” Tony whispers when he finally pulls away.

Steve tells himself it’s pointless to mourn the loss of Tony’s kiss and points out, “Sweetheart, that would be true even if we were the best parents in the world and had successfully raised five other kids.”

“But—”

“No buts,” Steve interrupts firmly. “You’re not alone. I’m here right by your side. Pepper and Rhodey are here with you. Nat, Bucky and Clint—oh wait, maybe we shouldn’t count Clint.”

To his relief, Tony laughs, tucking his head back under Steve’s chin as he shakes. Steve smiles and brushes another kiss over Tony’s hair, holding him as close as he can. He wishes they could be like this forever, but at the same time, he’s so excited for what tomorrow will bring.

“I just don’t want to mess this up,” Tony admits once he’s stopped laughing.

“That’s what parenting is,” Steve says softly. He’s just as terrified of getting it wrong as Tony is, but he knows that there’s no one way to get it right. “We’ll make mistakes, but we’ll do it together and hey, I think between the two of us, we’ll manage to raise a pretty decent kid. If they’re even a tiny bit like you, I know we’ll have done a great job.”

“Or like you.”

“Oh no, definitely not. I pick way too many fights.”

���But for all the right reasons.”

“That’s not what Bucky says.”

“That’s because you keep dragging Bucky into your fights.”

“That sounds like a him problem.”

“It wouldn’t be if you would just pick your battles.”

“I have picked them,” Steve argues. “I’ve picked all of them.”

Tony laughs again and raises his head to peck Steve on the lips. “Okay you’re right. I hope mini-Stark doesn’t turn out anything like you.”

“I hope they’re just like you,” Steve says, smiling down at him. He’s so lucky. Not everyone gets to spend their life with the person they love more than anything, but Steve not only gets to have Tony but their child as well. “Beautiful and generous and too smart for their own good.” He can see the argument forming on Tony’s face so he quickly adds, “Did Pepper ever decide what she wanted for her present for being our surrogate?”

Tony groans. “Jimmy Choo’s entire spring line.”

Steve winces. “Sounds expensive.”

“Good thing you married a billionaire then, isn’t it?”

He shakes his head. “Good thing I married you.”

Tony’s smile is soft and sweet. “Everything changes tomorrow, doesn’t it?”

“For the better,” Steve promises.

This time, Tony just nods and says, “Yeah,” instead of arguing. Then his smile turns a little coy. “Last night we’ll have to ourselves for a very long time. We should make the most of it.”

Steve grins and takes the hint, leaning in to kiss him again.

~

He comes home from his run a week later to find Tony asleep on the couch, a newborn Morgan Stark-Rogers also asleep on his chest. Tony’s hand rests on her back, keeping her safe against him. Steve smiles at the sight, a wave of affection for the two most important people in his life washing over him. He pulls out his phone and snaps a picture of the two of them together, setting it as his new lockscreen. Tony will have another anxiety attack eventually and when that happens, he’ll pull this picture out and show it to him.

Tony thinks he won’t be a good parent.

Steve looks at him and knows he already is.

They’re going to be just fine.

[pandoricpies]

SSO Horrors

A post diving into how dark this franchise’s storyline gets and ideas for a horror game that will never actually be created. SPOILERS for the SL books and SSO storyline.

This idea originally came to me after reading the second book of the SL trilogy, The Legend Awakens. Props to Helena Dahlgren for the Pine Hill Manor scenes in that book; I was completely left on the edge of my seat the entire time. Linda’s whole experience was definitely an unexpected thriller for the children’s genre; cutting her leg on a broken window, exploring an old creepy mansion owned by the centuries-old psychopath that was targeting her, her friends, and their horses, being chased down halls and having to barricade herself in rooms to be protected from the apparent non-human dark riders (not to mention the way Dahlgren describes the animal sounds and scratching that they made, chills), and, to top it all off, nearly dying from sepsis due to her cut becoming infected.... if that’s not horror game material, I don’t know what is.

If you can’t already tell from the title of this post, I am a huge fan of the horror genre. The suspense-packed and often deep moral stories are always a fun watch/read. I personally am currently making my way through some classic Stephen King books that I haven’t read yet which was sort of what inspired this post.

Taking a look at SSO’s storyline on the surface level, we see a classic dark vs. light story, with horses and female heroines as the main points. However, there are quite a few darker elements hidden among the story quests, most of which would only be noticeable to the eye of the older audience of the game. The potential for this plot to be upped to a more mature level as far as darker themes go is definitely there. Regardless, the already existing underlying themes have some heavy themes...

- Teenagers, around the ages of 15-19, have been tasked with saving the world from a demonic entity. They have been granted special powers to do this with. These powers however can be extremely dangerous, as we see with both Alex and Catherine with their Lightning Circle incidents, in which they almost killed living beings. These factors combined would no doubt take some sort of psychological toll on the Soul Riders, as they are so named.

- Brainwashing and cult-mindset was a huge theme brought up with Justin’s kidnapping. He was abruptly cut off from the outside world, had his memories removed, and his mind artificially filled with thoughts of Garnok and world domination. It’s clear when he is rescued and goes back to his home that he’s depressed; his Midsummer dialogue a year back was “My dad thought it would be good for me to get out. I don’t do that much anymore” (not exact but close enough). When he talks to his mother during the memories quests the first thing he jumps to seeing her pregnant with him is “I wonder if she’d would be so excited if she knew all the terrible things I did”. To add to that, upon getting Justin back home, Thomas tells our character “If he keeps having these dark thoughts, I’ll have to turn to the druids.” That in itself was pretty unsettling. All this dialogue was put there to draw attention to the mental affects of literally having your brain tampered with.

- Elizabeth’s story was probably one of the saddest in my opinion. She had to stand by while her friend group fell apart, one going on to die, one going missing, and the other two continuing to split away from her. She then felt it was her responsibility to make up for her sisterhood’s failures, staying with the druids and eventually helping recruit new Soul Riders. Seriously though, imagine that. She saw what pain the magical war brought to her and her friends; knowing that she was pushing four more kids into a situation like that would’ve been devastating (here comes the morals vs. duty idea). Our character must have been a whole other level of that feeling. She saw what Catherine went through with her magic - the fear, the near madness. Then of course she goes on to imprison her close friend’s son (it appeared from the quests that she was closest to Catherine so that just adds to the pain). And to end it all, she sacrifices herself to save a girl who she considered a daughter.... jeez. - Catherine is another issue here for obvious reasons. A teenage girl is entrusted with goddess-level powers, then nearly goes psycho from the inability to control them. You can clearly tell from her last few diary entries how exhausting that was and how happy she was to finally have a somewhat normal life with her husband and son.

- And finally of course we have the DC gang. Mr. Sands is a basket case all on his own, a man who has used mind control (arguably in my opinion one of the creepiest forms of dark magic out there) on numerous victims including his own grandson, a man who legitimately worships a demon, and not to mention has it out for a bunch of teenagers. His whole backstory with Rosalinda made me feel some sort of sympathy for his character (he watched her nearly be drowned to death), and I’m actually quite curious as to where they’re going to take that. Also, The Nightmare Institute? That could be a horror game within itself. All we know so far about that place is that humans and animals are tested on with dangerous materials (ex. Mr. Anwir). Let’s not forget to mention the dark riders who apparently have animal qualities now? (as it was described in the SL books) Ok so we can clearly see that SSO’s storyline gets a bit dark. But just imagine; a Pine Hill Mansion first-person POV game, where you’re in a situation similar to Linda’s, or even one in DC or the Nightmare Institute. Honestly this entire storyline could be turned into some Resident Evil plot lol.

But that being said, as much as it’s fun to speculate these types of things, I enjoy SSO’s storyline just the way it is. It’s enjoyable for me as an older player, but it’s also filled with great moral stories and motivation for young children, especially girls. I love the atmosphere of female empowerment, and it’s especially unique to SSO because around the time of it’s initial release, that wasn’t seen much in video games.

Might start during these ‘chat’ or ‘random things that come to my mind’ posts more often.

[jimlingss]

hi Kina! may I make a request for a sort of sci-fi au? yn dies but when she opens her eyes, some unfamiliar yet familiar dude takes off his vr goggles and goes “hEy hOw wAs iT?” maybe Joon? or JK? I don’t really mind

↳ Awaken Again

2k || 50% Fluff, 50% Angst || Kim Namjoon

You die with some regrets.

But mostly without. It was a rather unremarkable, mundane life but a happy one where you feel general satisfaction for the choices and decisions you made. Above all, you feel tired. Oh so tired. You’re ready to sleep for a long while. Perhaps forever.

So you surrender to the darkness. Not sure what’s next.

……………………

Suddenly, there’s a burst of light.

It floods your vision, stirring your senses, and a comfortable weight around your head that you didn’t know was there is lifted. A gasp is stolen from your lips, filling your lungs and you realize you’re alive again. It’s hard to see, for your vision to adjust as your lashes flutter, and you squint.

But it eventually does adjust and you see again. Namely, you discover a certain man with sparkling irises and a dimpled smile in front of you.

“Hey.” His voice is deep, soft. It ignites an emotion stowed deep in your heart. “How was it?”

Your mouth draws open and your feeble voice croaks out, “Namjoon?” 

His smile fades as he searches your expression and you fall out of the chair, frantically grabbing onto the sleeves of his white lab coat. You pull him into a hug and cry out, “Oh my god, Namjoon!” 

He’s stiff against your body, not returning your embrace, but you don’t pay any mind. You’re too overwhelmed from seeing him again. “Is-Is this heaven?” you ask while shutting your eyes and savouring the moment. 

“What? No.” He looks over his shoulder and you don’t know where to.

You pull away but keep him in your reach, your hands curled into his clothes. “But if this isn’t heaven, then how is this possible?”

Namjoon’s hands wrap around your shoulders and he takes a step back, lowering his height slightly to have his eyes connect to yours. “Y/N, do you know where you are?”

“What?”

“You’ve woken up to reality,” he enunciates gingerly and carefully. “You were just in a VR simulation for the past few years. We’ve been watching you.”

You don’t understand. It doesn’t make any sense. 

He’s scaring you. “What are you talking about? What’s going on, Joon?”

Namjoon leans back and looks towards the glass window. “Subject two has no recollection of past memories and no grasp of reality,” he deadpans in a monotone. “Will need monitoring for further investigation of potential symptoms and ramifications of simulation 230616.”

He turns back to you, a large distance kept between your bodies. As if you were strangers to each other. He merely says, “Everything will be okay.”

It does little to reassure you. And the Namjoon that you’re familiar with is nothing but reassuring.

Instead of dying, instead of surrendering to the darkness, you’ve been placed in a room with stark white floors, walls, a bed and a tinted window. Fluorescent lights burn your lids and you feel frightened, but it’s coming back to you. Slowly.

You cradle yourself, murmuring, “I am Y/N L/N.” 

They said you were placed in a simulation. “I am twenty eight.” The ninety years you lived wasn’t real. 

“I am a software engineer and scientist at Realtion.” 

You recall some parts as if they were distant memories of your childhood. Blurred. Faint. But even then, they’re merely fragments of a whole mirror, puzzles of a much larger piece. You remember being excited after you were picked to be one of the first to test the simulation. You remember getting into the chair, remembering placing the headset over your head and covering your eyes. You remember the countdown of a smooth, dulcet voice — the same one that had greeted you when it was all over.

The door opens and you jolt.

The person that enters is the same one you’ve been thinking about. 

Namjoon ducks his head to get in. “I don’t know why they make these goddamn doors so small.”

You smile unintentionally. But it’s easy to relax when it’s him.

“I hope I wasn’t interrupting,” he says.

“Interrupting what? I’m being monitored like a lab rat. There’s nothing for you to interrupt.” To prove your point, you open your arms to your surroundings. It’s pretty obvious what they think about you considering the walls and floor are plush. This isn’t any different from a padded cell save for the few furniture pieces.

Namjoon shuts the door and gives you an incredulous expression. “Don’t be like that. They’re just worried.”

“Of my psychological state? Yeah.” You lean against the wall, seated on your bed. “Might be normal though considering I thought that simulation was my reality and I barely remember anything of my actual reality.”

He snorts. “The simulation has a few kinks, but we can iron it out. It might be a bit too immersive.”

You deadpan, “You think?”

Namjoon grins and takes a seat on the uncomfortable white chair by the desk. “It’s good to see you returning to yourself. Everyone’s missed you, Y/N.”

You hum a low note, looking away. 

It’s hard to cope and you’re still traumatizing on multiple levels, but that doesn’t mean your entire personality will suddenly up and vanish. If anything, you know you’re being rather snippy towards everyone — that you’re taking out your anger on them even though it’s unwarranted. It’s not like they were the ones who forced you to step into the simulation. It’s not like they knew this would happen.

But that doesn’t mean you aren’t upset.

Everything you lived for, everything you loved, your entire life — it’s been a lie. A virtual reality.

“Why are you here?” you ask after the silence is prolonged.

“I just wanted to check up on you.”

You pause. “How many.”

“How many…?”

You look back at him, gaze meeting his. “How many people were watching?”

Namjoon hesitates, but he answers you. “Just three. Me, Jimin and Hoseok.”

A scoff emits from your throat and you roll your eyes. You can’t believe all of the private moments in your life were being observed and recorded by others the entire time. You really were a lab rat and you still are.

“It’s confidential, Y/N,” Namjoon says. “You know that. Nothing unnecessary will be written in the final report.”

“It’s still intrusive,” you spit and soften, knees pressed against your chest as if physically curling into yourself is all the protection you have left. “It’s just….it’s just hard to cope with.”

“I know,” he murmurs gently.

“I don’t think you do,” you bite back. “I lived this entire life, this full life and to know everything was just a figment of my imagination, that nothing was real, that we—” You interrupt yourself. “Never mind.”

You know if you get too upset and your blood pressure spikes, a whole team might run in. Or maybe they already know Namjoon’s in here with you.

“You don’t need to worry about it,” he pipes up, reassuring but in the moment you want it least. “The world you were in, it was constructed by your subconscious. You couldn’t control it. And relationships are built on the people who are close to you.”

There’s a moment of quiet. You hope he doesn’t say it, but he does—

“So it’s only natural that we ended up married and with kids and all that.”

You scoff. 

There’s an array of emotions that overwhelm you. Hurt that Namjoon could brush off sixty years of your marriage like that and what was so entirely real to you. Mortified that others saw how your subconscious built an intimate relationship with a colleague of yours. Confused at what you feel, how you yearn for the man across the room who you once called your dear husband— but it wasn’t real. It wasn’t real.

So these feelings aren’t real.

Right? 

“If it’s only natural, then how come we’re not together in this ‘reality’.” It’s a bold question, but there’s no point in reserving yourself. You’ve already lived ninety years, so you know what kind of regrets are born in the face of hesitation and miscommunication. Confrontation is easy after so much experience. “You saw everything, didn’t you? You watched it all?”

Namjoon is quiet. “I did.”

“Then what do you think?”

You want to ask him how he felt about it. If he viewed that life with cold eyes and an impassive mind or if he possibly felt something, even as a bystander. 

“Was our relationship really just a wild part of my subconscious, Namjoon?”

The hurt you feel burrows deeper when he turns away from you in an extended silence. Your lips part, about to tell him to go away, so you don’t confuse the simulation with reality. But he beats you to the punch—

“It was my fault,” Namjoon murmurs and your head whips up to him. Your gazes connect. “That night before you were going into the simulation, I said something I shouldn’t have.” 

“What do you mean?”

“I….I knew you were going into the simulation for two years, so I thought I’d take my chance and if the outcome was bad, I would’ve been gone by then. I was an idiot. I didn’t know this would happen, that it would affect your subconscious so much.”

You slide off your bed, brows furrowed. “What did you say to me?”

Silence.

You come closer to him, raising your voice— “What did you tell me, Namjoon?!”

“I said I couldn’t stop thinking about you!” Namjoon’s eyes are darkened with regret, burning with embarrassment and shame. “We went out for drinks and I drank too much and I told you that if you wanted me to, I would wait for you. Until this was done.” He pulls a hand through the blonde strands of his hair, and he gets up from his spot. “There’s no point. You don’t remember it.”

But you grab him before he leaves, clutching the sleeve of his white lab coat. “What did I say?”

Desperation aches deep within you. A curiosity that eats at your brain.

Namjoon looks back at you and relays the memories you don’t have. “You said I shouldn’t wait for you, but if things don’t change and the timing is right, you’ll give your answer when you get back.”

Your breath hitches in your throat. Namjoon searches your expression. It’s an intimate moment without interruption where you don’t care who might be watching or if there’s someone on the other side of the window. It feels like there’s just you and Namjoon. All that really matters.

Yet he forces you to let go of him. “I don’t want you to get confused with the simulation and reality.”

“Does it matter if it was real or not? What I feel is real. What I feel for you is real,” you spit as your annoyance surges. “Everyone keeps telling me what’s real or fake but no one wants to acknowledge that my experiences were real to me! Isn’t that the point of the simulation?!”

Namjoon’s eyes have widened. Your breathing is ragged, chest falling and rising. “I spent sixty years with you, Namjoon! We grew old together. And do you know what my first thought was when I saw you again?” You laugh bitterly. “‘Thank god he’s here, I can be with him again’.”

There are tears in your eye, welling up and blurring your vision. 

Namjoon doesn’t utter a single word. He doesn’t make any excuses, any rebuttals, and doesn’t argue. He stops invalidating what you feel and instead closes the distance and embraces you.

His arms wrap around your shoulders and you lean into him, savouring it and shutting your eyes.

You know Namjoon’s worries have merit to it, that the others will think the same as he does. They’ll think you’re confusing the simulation with reality, that your ability to differentiate has weakened, that your feelings were manifested and nurtured by the simulation. They’ll think this isn’t real. 

But time will tell.

You’ve already stood the test of time with Namjoon once. You have a feeling, a second time won’t be difficult.

[megthemewlingquim]

Rest

Summary: The holidays exhaust you, mentally and physically. When you go to get up for a yet another early shift at work, Loki keeps you in bed via cuddle lock.

Pairing: Loki x Reader

Warnings: detailed descriptions of what retail workers go through when they have bad days at work taken from personal experience and the experience of the person for which I am writing this, crying, anxiety, feelings of loneliness, hurt/comfort.

A/N: This is a late Christmas present for @ragnarachael, to cheer her up after what has been (for her) a very hard and exhausting Christmas season. Anyone else who needs this can use it as a way to help themselves. I just wanted to cheer up a friend, so that she knows that she is in fact wonderful and good enough, even when bad days arise.

You wake up the morning after Christmas Day, and all you want to do is go back to sleep. The alarm clock reads 6:45 A.M, and it yells at you. It also blinds you, interrupting the darkness behind your eyelids with white light.

WAKE UP, WAKE UP, WAKE UP, WAKE—

You click the alarm off with a muffled groan. You struggle to move, your eyes betraying you and getting used to the darkness yet again. Your body betrays you as well, slowly getting used to the warmth the covers provide you. Sleep seems quite inviting. Those sleeps where you wake up earlier than you want, but then go back to sleep to get those last few hours in? Heavenly.

Also lovely when you have someone beside you to trap you in his arms as if to say, “Don’t go. It’s not time yet, and I still want you here.”

Sometimes, he says that literally.

Loki hates it when you have to get up early. He hates having the feeling of your body beside him be taken away by your job. Sometimes, your schedule is quite nice, with weekends off and shorter shifts on more days during the week to leave you with time for leisure. When it isn’t like that it’s horrible, with multiple days during the week but with longer shifts, and the weekends taken up as the cherry on top. In addition, sometimes you have to get up early. Very early. Like, being there when the store you work at opens to no one early. 

This time, it is a Saturday, and you have to get up early. The day after Christmas.

You had had a two-day break with Christmas Eve and Christmas Day. Before Christmas Eve you had worked a couple of days in a row.

The holidays completely exhaust you. Christmas especially is probably the worst season to be a retail worker. You’re stuck at the register for your entire shift, waiting for the unhappy customers who, unfortunately, take their confusion and dissatisfaction on you, the person who has no control over what you sell, what you have sold out of, and your prices. Of course, this happens year-round, but due to the hectic nature of the Christmas shopping season, the general unhappiness of the human race is revealed even more.

Every day, your feet ache from standing for hours on end, and every day you go in, you dread working with people who don’t care about you and working for people who don’t appreciate you. On very special days, you are practically yelled at, and then you have to go into the bathroom on your break to cry your way out of your anxiety.

The only good thing about working today will probably be how the Christmas season is drawing to a close. This means less busy days, less busy people, fewer moments with your managers that leave you shaky and terrified.

With that thought doing a little bit to motivate you, you move to get out of bed.

However, you’re held back. Loki’s arms are around you before you can tell, and their grip from behind is warm and comforting - not at all helping you to get out of bed.

“Stay,” is what he pleads. Rather than hearing a groggy voice filled with annoyance at your movements, you hear one that is softer, quieter, “Stay here, please.”

“Loki,” you protest, fighting sleepily against his grip, “I have - I have to get ready, you know that. I—”

“No, you don’t,” he says, waking up fully now. His eyes open and, upon seeing you fidgeting against him, he lets go of you only slightly. “I don’t want you to go.”

“Why?” you ask, grateful that he has allowed you to turn around and look at him. You are not mad, just a little annoyed, but your tired brain is unable to let that show. “I’ll be home right afterward.”

He sighs, breathing in and out deeply through his nose. “Sweetheart, you’ve been working all week. You try so hard to mask what’s bothering you, but I know you, and I know how you are with these things. You’re exhausted, you fall asleep almost as soon as your head hits the pillows, and every day you have to go into that dreaded workplace, I see you as if you have a weight on your shoulders. I can tell, you dread working there with those people. You hate the schedules, you hate how they treat you. You hate the time spent away from home, from me.  So, why do you keep going when it’s in your better interest to stay?”

“Money pays the bills,” you say with a sigh of your own.

“Do you know who you’re talking to? I’m a prince, and I was once a king. We’re married. If you take me up on one of my many offers, you’ll never have to work again.”

“Stop that,” you say. “Please. I appreciate it, but I can’t depend on you for that. I’ll feel bad about it.”

“You shouldn’t,” Loki says. “I want to do that for you.”

“I am aware, but I don’t want that for either of us. I’d rather play a part in our living.” You move to get up again, but that’s when Loki moves as well, taking you in his arms for the second time.

“Loki!” you whisper angrily, “I have to—”

“No,” he says, a little more stern now. “You do not have to go in today.”

“Why is that?” you huff.

“Because you need to rest.”

“Loki, please let me go, I need to go. I’m supposed to be in the shower already, that’s why I woke up so early.”

“If you will not accept my offer for our future, at least accept this. Accept the rest you obviously need and deserve.”

You have a hard time being mad at him. Yes, you’re annoyed but mad? Never. You sigh. “Loki. I have to work.”

“Do you want to?” he asks.

“No,” you say without hesitation. “Of course I don’t. But I know I have to. I’ll get in trouble if I don’t go.”

“So there are a lot of reasons you need to go, and those are all valid reasons, but you’re not thinking of one thing: your health.”

“I feel fine.”

“Do not try to lie to me. You’re not ‘fine’, as much as you’d like to convince both of us that you are. As I said before, you’re exhausted, and you’re mentally drained whenever you go. You often come home in tears, but you practically fall asleep as soon as we get to bed, so I cannot comfort you. How I wish that you would see this… I want to help you, to give you strength and rest and love, all things you deserve.”

“Loki—”

“I’m not taking no for an answer.”

All this time, Loki’s voice continues to remain gentle. It’s nice to see that despite your persistence, he is not mad at you.

You squirm, trying to get out of his arms. At this point you might even have to call into work, saying you’ll be late. Sorry, my husband wouldn’t let me out of bed. What kind of excuse is that?

His grip holds. “Stay,” he whispers, and suddenly you feel tears rising in your eyes.

You haven’t realized, all this time during the holidays, that you’ve missed him. You’ve missed your husband so much, but seeing him has been hard. With your long hours and your exhaustion and your anxiety, it has been extremely difficult to see Loki and to spend any time with him. He doesn’t seem concerned about this himself, not too much, but he only seems concerned about you, and that makes you feel even worse.

But still, he misses you, too.

“No,” you whisper back.

“Stay...”

Your eyes shut and the tears pour down. “No!”

“Stay here. Stay here with me.”

You stop struggling, completely breaking down and crying fully into your pillow. He lets you go, realizing how you are. Then, with a small, sad sigh, he turns you around to face him. You’re practically limp, motionless as you sob.

“Sweetheart...” he croons, his voice low and soft and everything you’ve been missing. “Sweetheart, c’mere...”

You cling to him, relishing in his touch as he draws you to him for the first time in what seems like years. Your breathing is choppy, rough, and you cannot seem to get yourself calmed down. It’s as if everything you’ve shut out from your mind these past few weeks has been completely unlocked and has come crashing down onto you.

All the while, Loki keeps you close, shushing you gently and rubbing your back in circles. He calls you the prettiest words and praises you as you cry:

“I know, my love, I know. I’ll take care of you. Of everything.

“That’s it, sweetness, let it all out for me.

“This is just one simple thing you need: a good, long rest and some time with someone who loves you. Just rest here with me. I have you here, and I’m not letting go of you.”

As you cry, you notice your exhaustion taking hold of you again. Though it doesn’t seem possible, the covers seem more warm and even more inviting, and the darkness seems to make your eyes even more heavy.

Loki’s hands keep themselves on the back of your head and on your back, all warm and strong and still infinitely tender. He kisses your cheeks and your forehead, all the while continuing to comfort you in the best way he knows how.

“I love you. I love you so much and it breaks my heart to see you this way. You deserve so much... and you haven’t been accepting anything for yourself. You need to do that, beloved.

“But don’t... don’t worry. My love, I’m here. Here to help you. For now, let’s stay here. Stay here together. You need this, and you know it. I love you so much, my dearest. I love you with all my heart.”

[sailtoafarawayland]

The Chicken Debacle

Summary:  There’s nothing Emma loves more than watching her husband work up a sweat, but being right certainly comes in a close second. In which a hot day, a flock of fowl, and a naughty Emma work together to make good use of some patio furniture. 

Rating: Explicit 

Tags: Humor, Pregnant Emma, Pregnant Sex  

Many thanks to all of my lovelies over on the discord - a truly inspiring bunch who prompted my muse to take what was a rather frustrating real life situation and turn it into something a bit more fun, and a bit more naughty.  

AO3 - FF

The Chicken Debacle

“You're not going to help?” Killian asked, eyebrows darting up in surprise as he swept his arm across the backyard, gesturing toward the small flock of chickens currently digging through the garden and flower beds.

Emma caught the edge of her bottom lip between her teeth, her cheeks warming as she bit back a smile.

“Nope, sorry, babe,” she shrugged, running her hands down the large swell of her stomach, “I probably shouldn't be chasing chickens seven months pregnant. Besides, I'm not the one who forgot to shut the latch on the gate.”

His eyes narrowing at her accusation, Killian looked as if he were about to argue, but finally sighed and started toward the closest chicken, the heavyset, yellow fowl bobbing her head suspiciously as he drew near, her feathers ruffling as she shook herself and pecked viciously at the ground – readying herself for a fight, Killian imagined.

“I'll keep you company though,” Emma called out, grabbing her iced tea and laying back on the lounger – smothering a laugh behind her hand as her husband leaped toward the chicken only to have it kick up a cloud of mulch in his face and dart between his legs, making for the nearest bush.

“I'm very grateful indeed,” her husband quipped as he turned and reevaluated the situation, casting his eyes around the yard to see if there was anything he could use to ensnare the unsuspecting birds. “Enjoying your iced tea, Swan?”

“Yup, delicious,” she purred, enjoying the way the hot sun was glancing off the sheen on his chest, the summer hot enough that even the smallest amount of activity outside was enough to make them both sweat. “Perfect for a hot day – oh, our little one just kicked!”

A look of genuine contentment washed over Emma's face as she rested her free hand on her belly, her hair falling to frame her cheeks as she whispered something he couldn't hear to the child growing within her – and just like that the frustration fell from his shoulders, replaced with a love so deep he wouldn't begrudge his beautiful wife anything, not even the opportunity to hold something as trivial as the chicken gate over his head, but...that didn't mean he couldn't make his Swan work up a sweat of her own while doing it.

Emma had just looked up from the gently undulating swell of her belly when she saw Killian standing in the middle of their yard, his fingers folded around the edge of his shirt as he lifted the hem up and over his body, his abs and pectorals flexing as he tossed it to the ground nearby, shoulders rolling as he stretched and eyed the closest chicken with a determination Emma recognized immediately– those poor birds were in for it.

She watched as he lunged forward, his sneakers shifting in the grass as he chased the chicken toward a corner of the fencing, just managing to snatch it by the leg before carefully folding its wings in and lowering her over the fence back into the run, the only sign of a bruised ego some few ruffled feathers.

He rounded on the next bird, a smaller one that Emma liked to call Cinnamon – although they were pretty sure she'd never laid, and were somewhat concerned she didn't seem to know she was a chicken at all, preferring to spend her time stubbornly following around the chipmunks and squirrels that frequented the yard. While she wasn't the smartest of the bunch, she was quick, and Emma had to bite back a chuckle as Killian stumbled more than once trying to get near her – eventually giving up and moving on to the larger fowl digging in the raspberries.

Emma enjoyed the cool slip of iced tea down her throat as she feasted on her husband – his skin glistening in the sun as he moved, each hard line and muscle calling out to be touched, stroked, lavished with the sweep of her tongue as she slid her palms over the ridged planes of his stomach, moving lower until she could curl her fingers around the waistband of his shorts and slowly peel them down, her nose parting the thatch of dark curls that surrounded his thick, glorious –

“Ha!” Killian let out a triumphant yell, drawing Emma's mind back to what he was doing, two rather disgruntled looking hens fidgeting in his arms as he hurried them back to the pen and plopped them over the fence.

Her eyes were locked on her husband as he paused to catch his breath, his biceps curling as he ran his hands through his inky mop of hair, a curtain of it falling once more over his face as he bent and tightened the laces on one of his shoes, giving her an eyeful of just how firm and perfect his ass was in those particular shorts – if her husband wasn't made in the image of the gods, then she wasn't sure there ever was such a thing.

The straw she'd been sucking on finally let out a loud gurgle as she drained the last of her drink, her cheeks flushed as Killian turned around and shot her a look that said he knew exactly what she was thinking, and indeed, as she shifted on the lounger, she could feel her desire slick and wet between her legs – but there was still one chicken left to catch – Cinnamon, and her pirate wasn't one to give up before the job was done. She set the glass down on the patio, her fingers brushing against the firm coil of the hose they used for watering the garden, and as she watched Killian sprint across the yard after the last, stubborn bird, she got a perfectly wicked idea.

He'd made a few passes around the yard, Cinnamon dodging into the raspberries when he rooted her out of the garden, but no matter how quick he was, she was faster, her beady eyes never leaving him as she pranced through the grass like a tiny, cheeky dinosaur, always just out of arm's reach. It wasn't until he paused mid yard to catch his breath that Emma struck, the hose already primed and ready as she pulled the trigger and let a spray of cool water douse him, his muscles tensing as he jumped out of range and spluttered, wiping the rivulets of clear water from his eyes, his hair plastered to his head.

“Oh, you'll pay for that, Swan,” he promised, stepping forward with a dark intensity that had her scooting back on the lounge chair, her hands raised in front of her to ward off any tickling he was likely make her suffer.

“You looked so hot,” she begged, her voice rising an octave as he drew closer, droplets spraying from his hair as he shook his head and graced her with a sinful smirk, “hot and thirsty...I just thought – ”

She was about to scream, her body already on edge at the mere thought that he might tickle her, but then he stopped, both of their heads swiveling to the garden shed where they could here the clamor of something knocking and a plaintive bock that sounded for all the world like it was coming from the bottom of a well.

“Well, your punishment will just have to wait, love – that's too good an opportunity to pass up,” Killian grinning, walking swiftly to the shed where Emma could just see the fluffy bottom of Cinnamon framed by two flapping wings, her head stuck in the open neck of an old water can.

Triumphantly, Killian picked up both the bird and the can, soothing her with quiet sounds as he coaxed her free and dropped her back into the pen with her sisters, her soft orange feathers looking only a little worse for the wear as she rejoined the flock with a confused warble.

Emma's heart thumped in her chest as her husband finally turned his attention back to her, no more chickens to distract him, and advanced across the yard, the ripple of his muscles as he moved making her core clench and her nipples harden beneath her tank top – fuck if she didn't always want him, and pregnancy hadn't done anything but make that need more sharp, more constant.

“Killian,” she pleaded, licking her lips as he strode toward her, that same determination she'd seen earlier now focused entirely on her. “You could have gotten heat stroke. It's got to be ninety – ”

She yelped as his large hands gripped the bottom of the lounge chair and pulled it closer, its wheels grating against the patio as she held on, her bare foot running along the side of her leg in anticipation.

“You were quite right, love – I was getting quite thirsty.” Letting go of the chair, he kept his blue gaze locked on hers as his palms traced the firm lines of her calves, pressing deliciously into her muscles and sliding up towards her thighs as he leaned closer, “and now that you've sated that need, I can focus on more important matters.”

“Oh?” she breathed, every other part of her brain shutting down as her body screamed for him to touch her, to  take her right there on the lounge chair, “and what would that be?”

“Well, a bit of hard labor always makes a man hungry, Swan,” he growled, his hands swiveling to press against the inside of her knees, her legs falling open on the lounger as he filled the space between them, his fingers deftly pulling the adjustment on the side of the chair and carefully lowering the head rest so she was nearly flat, her view of him suddenly blocked by the roundness of their child – it was the only thing she missed, being able to see him so sinfully enjoying himself between her legs.

“And I intend to enjoy every last bite of my dessert,” he finished, his fingers making her jump as they brushed against her inner thigh, pushing the light fabric of her shorts and panties to the side as he exposed her. “I knew you'd already be sopping wet for me, love...”

Emma whimpered as she felt the welcome press of his stubbled cheek against her leg, his breath hot against her damp folds for only an instant before the sensation was washed away by his tongue lightly dragging through her arousal, her back arching as he curled the tip of it around her clit, just barely nudging beneath its hood to tease the sensitive nerves within.  

“Oh my god,” she hissed, her fingers wrapping tightly around the edges of the lounger as she pushed forward, desperate to have his mouth sealed over her, sucking and licking and making her feel as if she could shatter with one flick of his tongue – knowing she would. “Killian, please...”

“Now be a good girl,” he whispered, pulling back as she writhed closer. “I intend to savor this, just as you savored watching me chase those bothersome fowl around the yard.”

“You shouldn't have forgotten to lock the door,” Emma whined – why she was arguing, she wasn't sure, after all, it wasn't talking she wanted his mouth occupied with.

“Ah, but I didn't let the chickens out this morning,” he chided, licking a stripe along her leg before returning to her drenched folds, teasing along the edges of them as he drank down her essence. “I was dropping Henry off at work, if you recall.”

“Oh!” Emma gasped as his tongue slipped into her, stroking another wave of wetness from her walls as his lips massaged her flesh – oh, that was right, she remembered it now, letting them out, dropping the lid to the feed bin on her foot and forgetting to latch the gate. “Oh my god....fuck...Killian, please...”

She could feel his grin against her as he pushed her legs wider, the top of his head bumping against her belly as he moved up. The flat of his tongue licked straight through her wetness and encircled her clit, his lips pursing as he sucked on her small, swollen nub, his scruff razing her thighs and countering the overwhelming roll of pleasure that was spiraling between her legs.    

“So delicious, Emma,” he moaned between her sharp gasps, leaving her only a moment's relief before he returned to making her crumble around him, alternating between sucking and laving her clit, his fingers reaching between them to slide into her tight sheath, her walls grasping and pulling as soon as he entered, eager to be filled. “I could feast on you like this all day...”

Something between a cry and a scream fell from her lips as she clutched the lounger, the pleasure building in her core spiraling and writhing and threatening to pull her apart as his rough fingers stroked her swollen walls, his tongue darting down to swallow every drop of arousal that was slipping from her, his breath fast and needy against her hot flesh – and then with a rough press of his fingers and soft flicks of his tongue, she was falling, tumbling, breaking apart around his mouth as her orgasm rolled through her like a storm.

She eased her hips up without realizing what was happening, Killian's strong hands caressing her flesh at the same time he slipped her shorts from her body, leaving her half clothed in their backyard, her mind still spinning from his incredible mouth, the sounds of the outdoors and the cars in the distance only just filtering back to her.

“That was...”

“I know,” he smirked, tossing her shorts to patio as he hooked his fingers into his own and drew them down over the impressive length of his cock, its swollen thickness bobbing against his stomach with urgency, “and now that I've eaten, I think we can move onto taking care of my other needs.”

“Killian,” she rasped, her words muffled against the material of the lounger as he gently lifted and guided her, turning her still reeling body over so that her hips were raised in the air, her sopping folds open and framed by her pale thighs as her face rested against the cushion.

“Yes, love,” he hummed, drawing a groan from her as he ran his cock through her folds, coating it in her arousal before slapping it cheekily against her bottom. “Is there something you wanted to say, perhaps?”

“I left the...accidentally...” she mumbled, coherent thought fleeing her as she felt the thick press of the head of his cock against her pleading center, her folds parting around its velvet roundness as he slowly entered her.

“What was that, darling?” His hardness slid unhurriedly into her, his strong hands holding her achingly in place as she sought that burning fullness that came when he was in her completely, but her walls pulsed longingly around just the tip of him, anticipating when they would be stretched to their limit.

“Fuck...Killian, please, need you in me...all of you,” she begged, wriggling against his grip as he grunted and gave her a few shallow thrusts, the swollen head of his cock so close to that sensitive, ribbed place inside of her that would scream with pleasure as he rolled over it.

“Aye, I know what you need, Swan, but you won't get it just yet...” He pulled out slowly, his fingers grasping her full bottom and squeezing as he watched his cock slip from her, only the flushed, glistening edges of her folds still brushing against his sensitive flesh. “Not until you admit what you did.”

“I forgot,” she hissed in a rush of air, pushing hard against his grasp, his nails almost certainly leaving red marks in her pale skin as she struggled to slide herself back onto his hard length, needing it like she needed to breath. “I left the gate open for the chickens to get – get out...”

“There we are, Swan,” he crooned, his grip easing as he swatted her on the bottom and leaned forward, a keening whimper falling from her mouth as he lodged himself completely within her, her nails dragging across the cushion as she rolled her hips to adjust to his girth. “Now was that so hard?”

She would have laughed if she didn't think she would cry from how amazing it felt to have him buried inside of her, every inch of her core throbbing around him and begging to be stroked by his beautiful cock.

“Very hard,” she breathed, squeezing his member inside of her and reveling in the deep groan it pulled from his chest, a mischievous smile twisting her lips.  “Are you mad at me?”

“Never, Emma,” he whispered, his words ghosting along her back as he leaned over her and placed a reverent kiss to her shoulder, his hand trailing along her body until it came to rest against her swollen stomach, drawing small circles against her taut skin. “There's nothing I love more than indulging the beautiful...” He thrust roughly into her, her cry of pleasure lodging between his ribs like the most exquisite knife as he withdrew “...forgetful...”      Another drive of his hips buried him in her once more, her body trembling as her walls clung desperately to his cock “...mother of my child...”

A wavering cry hung between them as he sunk deeply into her again, stilling for only a moment before his hips snapped back and he set the punishing pace she was craving, greedy, desperate pleas falling from her lips as he pistoned into her, his skin burning with a heat that roared from deep in his gut to blaze along every inch of his body.

Emma clung to the lounger as Killian filled her over and over again, his member caressing the most intimate parts of her and pulling from her noises she'd only ever shared with him, her panting breaths lost amid the slap of their skin meeting, the back of her thighs stinging from the scrape of his hair as he pounded into her, whispering things into the air that had her core throbbing with sinful pride.

It didn't take them long, the hot sun beating down against them as he roared over her, her upper body limp and clutching the cushion beneath her as he finally came, the vicious pulsing of his cock sending her over that beautiful horizon once more, her tight sheath squeezing him as he washed her insides with his release, their bodies shivering and trembling together as those last waves licked their skin – electric and burning and perfectly right.

His cheek was rough and hot against her back as his cock finally softened and slipped from her, pulling a last whimper from her lips as her wet flesh was left cool and exposed, everything throbbing pleasantly. His fingers traced soothing lines along her legs and sides, a soft chuckle reverberating against her back.

“Something funny, pirate?” she murmured, her back starting to ache even though she felt too boneless to move.

“It just occurred to me that I may very well find the chickens loose more often after this...lovely afternoon interlude.”

“I make no promises,” she quipped.  

“I've have always said you've a little bit of pirate in you, Swan,” he rumbled, pinching her bottom before gently rolling her to lay sideways on the lounger, his arms pulling her close to his chest.

“Well, more than a little,” she reminded him, drawing his calloused palm over her stomach, their not-so-little pirate rolling happily against them both as they soaked in the warmth of another lazy afternoon. Everything was bathed in that burnt, hazy afterglow that comes with summer, nearly tempting them to fall asleep – at least until something moving across her field of vision had Emma's eyes springing open, her mouth opening in surprise.

“Is that...Killian, did you check that the latch was actually shut after you put the chickens back in?”

Her husband's stubble scraped her skin as he peeked over her shoulder and watched the slow march of fowl making their way around the edge of the garden, scratching and pecking and looking far more recuperated from their last encounter than he currently felt.

“Bloody hell...”  

END

Tagging: @justanother-unluckysoul​ @kmom0f4 @the-darkdragonfly @teamhook @zaharadessert​ @xarandomdreamx @jrob64 @wefoundloveunderthelight​ @tiganasummertree​ @pirateprincessofpizza @lfh1226-linda @alexa-fangirl-forever @alifeofdreams @superchocovian @donteattheappleshook @hollyethecurious @caught-in-the-filter @snowbellewells @itsfabianadocarmo @stahlop 

[hockeyboysiguess]

dear winter | c. parakyo

a/n: this one was entirely inspired by and written to dear winter by ajr. highly recommend listening to this while you read. this is your reminder that vince dunn isn’t the only player on the blues. enjoy!

warnings: a little swearing. otherwise, alllllll fluff. 

word count: 6K

You sighed as you felt a firm kick to your bladder. You had to give it to her, your baby had great aim, something she’s definitely inherited from her dad since you couldn’t hit the broad side of a barn with a baseball even if you were being coached through each movement. You rubbed your growing bump softly, a vain attempt to get her to relax, before you grabbed the full file box. Colton would be upset if he knew you were moving boxes without him. You loved Colton, god, did you ever love your husband, but he was treating you like you were going to break any second. He had as soon as you’d told him you were pregnant. You tried to fight him on it, but if Colton wanted something to go a specific way, there was pretty much nothing you could physically do about it. He was a physical immovable force. You settled for doing things when he wasn’t home.

You huffed out a loud breath as you sat down on the couch with what would be your fourth box of the day. You had been trying to go through everything in the room that was going to become “Little P’s” nursery, as Colton called her. You were also using it as an excuse to actually clean out your catch-all spare bedroom instead of just moving the problem of having too much stuff from the bedroom to the attic.

You sucked in a deep breath before blowing off the layer of dust from the top of the box. You lifted the lid and sighed. It was absolutely packed with papers and notebooks, Colton’s notebooks. He religiously kept notebooks, not a diary, not a journal. He rolled his eyes whenever you called them that, telling you that they weren’t diaries or journals because he wrote anything in them, from grocery lists, to hockey plays he thought of, gift ideas for you, anything. He also refused to get rid of a single one, much to your chagrin, but the least you could do was label them with the dates they contained to organize them. Thank god you’d pulled the label maker out for the last box so you didn’t have to get up. Getting up wasn’t your specialty anymore, thanks to Little P being a little less little since her father was a large human being.

You cracked open the first notebook after shaking off more dust, flipping to the first page to grab the date and the last page for the final one. Colton’s notebooks had never been any of your business. You thought he had every right to his private thoughts, something that had absolutely floored him when you started dating. Every other girl had tried to read over his shoulders, sneak a peak when he wasn’t around, but you trusted Colton, which is what you’d told him then and still told him now every time he picked up another notebook. The next notebook opened with a silly drawing, it made you giggle, but you didn’t pry further, simply adding your label and moving on to the next one.

Your brows furrowed when you came to a notebook toward the bottom. Unlike the rest, which were heavily worn in, the pages wrinkled and fanning out, making them appear thicker, this one was only partially started. The wear stopped about three-quarters of the way through it. You found it odd. Colton always finished everything he started, even if it was virtually impossible for him to do so. He was the least wasteful person you’d ever met. You shook off your thoughts. His notebooks were his business, not yours.

Still, regardless of you trying otherwise, your eyes flitted to the first entry in this notebook. The start of it pulled your eyes in unwillingly. It was a letter, a letter to someone else. Your heart sank and you slammed the notebook shut. No, you thought. Colton would never, but then who was he writing to? Your heart was aching in your chest. You trusted and loved your husband more than you ever thought possible for yourself, but your mind was running through possibilities and you needed to know. When your eyed scanned the first words, the tears started to slip out even though you willed them not to.

Dear Winter, I hope you like your name I hope they don't make fun of you When you grow up and go to school, okay? 'Cause Winter is a badass name

Colton’s words continued and your tears kept flowing.

Sorry if you don’t love it, baby girl, but I do and unfortunately for you, one me and one other person get to vote on it and I’m all in for it. Also, I’m not really sure where I got the idea to start this, but I’m two sentences in and I hope one day you think this is as cool as I do right now.

Anyway, I wanted to start by telling you what made me think of your name. I was walking through Forest Park (I’m playing for the Blues right now, in case that ever changes, so I’m in St. Louis) because I was having a pretty terrible day. I botched something at practice, couldn’t get the play right, and coach got angry at me. You probably know I don’t handle people being angry with me well because I doubt that’s ever going to go away. I found out the woman I was seeing actually cheated on me (I know, weird to read from me, but I hope you stick through this one) and I’m missing my family a lot today. (Side note: please come home more, Winter. I love you.)

So I was having a terrible day and decided to take a walk. It was chilly, but sort of comforting. It smelled like it was about to snow. I really hope you know that smell too, sort of like Christmas Eve, my favorite day of the year, as I also assume you know. Then, it started to snow. It was that beautiful, promising fluffy snow that makes me think of hot chocolate and peppermint and family. That’s when I really thought about you for the first time, Winter. I thought about us outside in our front yard, your mom on the front steps, and you catching snowflakes on your tongue. I thought about how you’d ask me to build a snowman with you, even though the snow wasn’t even sticking to the ground. I thought about you, Win. Winter. Some people hate winter. Some people love it. That’s also why it’s your name, Win. You might not be everyone’s cup of tea, Winnie, but that’s okay. You’re not meant to be for everyone. You’re meant to be exactly who are you as you’re reading this. 

I'm hoping that some day, I can meet you on this Earth But shit, I gotta meet your mom first

Love, Dad :) 

You placed your hand gingerly on your swollen stomach as the tears flowed freely. Colton wrote the first letter in the notebook seven and a half years before today. He’d been writing to her, the little girl still growing in your belly, for years, before you’d even moved to St. Louis let alone met Colton for the first time. Of course Winter would take that moment to kick you in the stomach. Winter. You loved her name too. You’d been racking your brain all day since you’d found out that Little P was a girl, not the boy you were convinced you were having based on your apparently flawed mother’s intuition, so when you found out Little P was a girl, you’d be wracking your brain all day for both a way to tell Colton and what you might name her. Somehow, even though he didn’t know yet, Colton had already taken care of another worry of yours, a man who didn’t know how to love you wrong. 

You couldn’t stop yourself from turning to the next page to read the next entry. Unlike his notebook he used every day, the next entry picked up a few weeks later.

Dear Winter, I hope you talk to girls Or boys or anyone you like

It’s been a few weeks since I’ve written to you, but I heard something out a bar that made me come home and immediately grab this notebook. Sorry if this is a little unclear. Dad’s just a little drunk right now, but I want you to know how important this is and I wanted to tell you as soon as possible.

This guy at the bar was being... absolutely awful, Win. This girl was just trying to have a good time with her friends. She was wearing a pin on her jacket with the pride flag on it. This guy started asking her about it. She shrugged, said she was bi, and she moved on. Except he didn’t move on. I heard him talking to his friends, talking terribly about her. He was talking about her sexuality and what it could do for him, how good it would be for him that she was bi. It didn’t sit with me right, so I warned her what he said and she said something that stuck with me so I wanted to tell it to you. She said, “God, thank you for telling me. I’m so fucking tired of guys sexualizing my sexuality for their own sexual gratification. It has nothing to do with them, you know? It’s my sexuality. It’s for me and me alone. I thought it got through all of the bad stuff when my parents kicked me out for it. It just keeps on coming, you know? Fucking sucks.”

Winnie, whoever you like, boys, girls, both, neither, people who don’t identify any particular way, if you know deep down you’re not my little girl, but you’re my son, I’m always, always, always, always going to love you. I will always be in your corner, Win. My love for you will never change. My support for you with never waiver. I will stand with you a pride parades. I will advocate for you. I will do anything I can to make sure you know you are loved and supported and that you can always come to me. I will always protect you, Winter. I will always love you.

If you’re reading this and you haven’t come out yet, the door is open, Win. And I’m standing right there, arms wide open, ready to love the truest version of you, the version of you that makes you feel like your most authentic, happy self. Whenever you’re ready, I’m ready.

Love, Dad

You felt your heart pound hard in your chest. Colton had never wavered on loving whoever your baby was going to be, but this, this was something special. You took a deep breath and looked down at your bump again.

“He loves you so much,” you told her softly as you gently rubbed your bump. “You have the best dad in the entire world. I just hope my genes don’t screw you up too much.”

You flipped to the next entry, laughing to yourself at how it was filled with entirely with car buying advice. Apparently, Colton has just bought a car the day he wrote it and he was keen on sharing his newfound wisdom with Winter. He also talked about how he was going to help Winter buy her first car and exactly what that would entail. It was such dad advice, but somehow it was perfect and it was Colton.

You kept reading, an entry an unknown amount of dates deep, caught your eye. You weren’t sure how deep into this you really were. You were flying through entries, Colton’s loving words pulling you through each page at a lightening pace. This one caught you eye though.

It really doesn't seem like there's anyone for me But dear Winter, I hope you like your name You know I cannot wait to teach you how to curse But shit, I gotta meet your mom first

You think your mom is going to like that I’m cursing in these letters? Probably not. But hopefully she’ll deal. I mean, I play hockey. Cursing is part of the game basically. I hope I teach you well. :)

You know, Win, I saw a couple out at a restaurant today and they were so in love. I, on the other hand, got stood up on a date today. Super fun, right? And super weird to hear from your dad, but it’s the truth. As smooth as I’ve tried to make myself look your whole life, Dad’s not really all that fucking smooth, Winnie.

But anyway, I wanted to tell you that it doesn’t matter if you ever find someone, Win. I wanted to tell you this because I need to hear it right now and even if when you first read this, you don’t need to hear it, I’m betting at some point in your life you will need it. You can achieve every single dream you have without a partner. You can have the life you want. You can have a family. You can make a beautiful life for yourself all on your own. Because you aren’t looking for your other half. You’re a goddamn full, beautiful, powerful person all by yourself. You are complete just as you are and that’s fucking amazing, Winnie.

Am I writing this for you in the future or me now? That’s debatable, but someday you’re going to need a reminder that you are a galaxy of beautiful, stunning possibilities. You are the sun, moon, stars, planets, and everything in between. A galaxy doesn’t need anyone or anything else. Always remember that anyone you let into your life should be in wonder at the galaxy that is you.

Sorry, Dad’s going to get off his weird soapbox now and go to bed. I’ll write you soon. Pinky promise :)

Love always, Dad

You gripped the notebook tightly in your hands, careful not to wrinkle the pages. You briefly thought about how you’d never read one of his notebooks before so maybe pregnancy hormones weren’t the best time to start, but this notebook was for someone. It was for the baby in your belly, so you kept reading. 

Dear Winter, 

I met someone today. I don’t want to say too much, in case it doesn’t work out. It never really works out for me, does it, Winnie? I hope a) that your mom has much better luck with men than I do with women and b) that you inherit her luck. At least I got her phone number, right? Maybe I can figure out how to sounds less like a guy that really like writing in notebooks and puzzles and more like a guy who is all about parties and adventure?

Actually, no, Win. No. Don’t listen to that. Be whoever you want to be, whatever that looks like. If some guy doesn’t like you because you’re a homebody, reject him and toss him out in the street. He’s clearly no good. Be whoever you want to be, Win. A homebody, a busy body, whoever that is, I’ve got your back for the rest of my life. 

(Side note: this girl is super, super pretty and she’s wicked smart with an incredible sense of humor. Kind of hoping this one works out? If not, then I guess on to the next one, right? If not, I’ve got to meet your mom one day, Win. We’ll see when it happens, I guess.)

Love, Dad

Your eyes scanned back up the page to the date. You breath hitched it your throat when you saw it and your hand came over your mouth as your eyes started to fill with tears again. It was about you. That was the day you met Colton for the first time. That memory was burned into your brain forever because it was honestly one of the worst days of your life, until Colton walked in.

You were about to give up. Four cups of coffee at varying degrees of strength had done nothing to stimulate an idea in your brain. Well, it would have been five cups of coffee if you hadn’t spilled the third cup down yourself and stained your favorite sweatshirt that was now a crumpled mess in your backpack. Despite that, you were still face to face with a blank Word document that needed to be six pages long by midnight tonight, which was less than twelve hours away. Procrastination always got the better of you. Today was no exception.

You had opened your day with a trip to the dentist and of course, you had a cavity. You didn’t realize until you got back to your car that your house key wasn’t on your key ring, so you couldn’t go home and your roommate was going to be out all day, so you’d had to post up in your fourth favorite local coffee shop as shops one through three were completely packed. You’d had to park six blocks over because you couldn’t find a spot. All of this chaos had wasted almost two hours you were supposed to be working. Then there was the spilled coffee, which you spilled because your terrible ex-boyfriend had shown up and tried to talk to you. In an effect to escape, the coffee had gotten spilled. To boot, after actually drank coffee number three, your mom had called you and told you your childhood dog had cancer. It was just one of those days. She was fifteen, so you couldn’t say she didn’t live a good, long life. Still, it was a terrible, horrible, no-good, very bad day.

Your music was blaring in your eyes. You were rapidly flipping through Spotify trying to find something that might provide some inspiration. You sighed and rested against the back of the chair as your head fell back. You let out a long sigh and carded your fingers through your hair. Ideas or not, you needed to get started. That went out the window when you saw a large man standing next to your table when you lifted your head. He gave you a sweet smile and a small wave. Your eyes rolled up and down him quickly. He was massive, broader and taller than most people you knew. His size could make him intimidating, but there was something cautious and nervous about the way he moved. One of his large hands was shifting around his iced coffee. The other was fidgeting in his pocket. His smile was kind and inviting. His shoulder were low, hunkering down as if to try and look smaller than he was. It was his eyes that took your breath away for a second, a pair of beautiful baby blues framed by dark glasses.

You yanked one of your headphones out of your ears and raised your eyebrows at him.

“Hi,” he said softly. “Um, all the other tables are full. Do you mind if it sit? I’ve got an appointment in half an hour, so I won’t be in your hair for too long.”

You almost stuttered, but pulled yourself together in time to say, “Oh, yeah, sure.”

He thanked you with a sweeter, wider smile as he dropped down into the chair opposite you. He dwarfed it, and the small table you had stationed yourself at. He was just slightly too big for everything around him, but he didn’t seem to mind much. 

“I’m Colton, by the way,” he told you as he opened up a book you hadn’t realized he’d been carrying. 

You told him your name softly before you tried to get back to work. Every minute you had was precious at this point to meeting your deadline. Beautiful man or not, you had to get this done. Except he seemed to have other ideas. 

“What are you working on?” he asked you after a few minutes. You’d caught him eyeing you as you finally got some sort of an idea, so your fingers were blazing across your keyboard.

“Oh, just this project for work,” you answered flatly, not even looking up from your screen or pausing your furious typing to answer. “I got into this fight with my boss about it because I think her premise is wrong, so I’ve been having some issues trying to write this condensed summary of her position considering I disagree with it. But, hey, a job’s a job, right? At least I’m employed enough to keep my cat fed, the hungry bastard, and support my own coffee habits without a sugar daddy.” 

Colton laughed and like your life had sudden become a movie, the sound took your breath away. You couldn’t stop a smile from pulling up the corners of your lips as he laughed. His laugh sort of made you forget how embarrassing what you’d just said was. 

“Is he fat?” Colton asked before quickly adding. “Your hungry cat, is he a fat bastard as well as a hungry one?” 

“The fattest bastard of them all,” you laughed as grabbed your phone from next to your laptop to show him a photo. 

Colton whistled when he saw the photo and nodded softly. 

“Put a ribbon on him and you could enter him as a prized heifer in the county fair,” Colton joked, making you smile widely, your first genuinely thrilled smile all day. 

“I got him fat from the shelter,” you tried to explain. “I’m trying to put him on a diet, but he’s just not having it. Honestly can’t blame him. Diets are dumb. But the fatso won’t exercise. I got him one of those cat wheels, like a giant hamster wheel but for cats. He barely fits on it and even on the days he finds his balance enough to fit on it, he won’t use it. I’ve sort of thrown in the towel.” 

“I think he’s decided how he wants to be in life and you might just have to accept it,” Colton told you. “I’ll stop bugging you, sorry. I said I wouldn’t.” 

With that, he turned his attention to his book and you went back to your paper. You sat across from him for the next thirty minutes, occasionally taking glances over at him. You found out later on that he keep looking up at you over the top edge of his book the whole time. You somehow just never caught each other.  

As Colton got up to leave, he paused for a second with his phone in his hand, spinning it nervously. 

“Um, I know this is probably sort of random and you’re probably not interested, but would you maybe want to get coffee again sometime you don’t have to do work?” Colton asked you, stumbling over practically ever other word on his way to asking you on a date.

You smiled softly as the memory faded out. You placed your hand on your bump again. Thank god the first three coffee shops had been full that day. You gently turned to the next page then the next one and the next one, stopping when the start of another grabbed you. 

Dear Winter, don't move too far away And please don't say I'm hovering When I text you to ask about your day I wanna hear about your day Will we still hang out and talk when I'm no longer in charge?

I’m sorry if you ever think I’m hovering, Win, but I promise you, I just want to hear about your day, every single day. Sorry if you move far away for some incredible opportunity and I don’t handle it super well. You know me, your old man, I just want you to be able to catch up with you whenever I want to. I’m a little selfish that way, I guess. 

Who knows? Maybe by the time you move, teleportation will be real :)

But if you can, Winter, try and stay close to home. I miss my parents a lot, more than I can properly explain. I know you’re going to be so cool and smart and amazing and you won’t need me someday, but I hope you want me around anyway, even though I’m a lot sometimes. 

(Side note: That girl I talked about a while ago, she’s the one who made me think of this letter. I told her I was scared I was hovering too much, that I was smothering her, and she told me she wanted me around even more. I think you’d like her, Win.)

Hold on for someone who cares about you exactly as you are and loves the way you care about people. You shouldn’t have to change the way you care for someone. They should just feel it. 

Love, Dad

(P.S. Whenever you read this, please come home for a visit, even if you were here yesterday. I’ve definitely missed you since then.)

Your mind flashed back to Colton’s first road trip a few months after you started dating. You had a busy day, absolutely packed with meetings and work, so you’d barely had any time to glance at your phone all day. When you finally had a second to glance at it on the way to your car, you groaned. Two missed calls and four texts from Colton. Of course, the day he managed to find some time away from the guys to call you when you were supposed to be done with work, you had been kept late and missed him. 

You were already dialing his number as you dropped into your driver’s seat to begin the traffic-filled journey home. Colton answered on the second ring. 

“Hey.”

Your brows furrowed at his tone. He was trying hard to sound calm, but you could hear the nerves edging at each letter. He swallowed hard, hard enough you could hear it over the phone. 

“What’s up, babe?” you asked him as you slowly backed out of your parking space. “Is something wrong?” 

“No, nothing,” he said too quickly. He knew he’d said it too quickly the second it had left his mouth. He sighed and you heard some rustling on his end of the phone, following by a door being shut. “I’m sorry I bugged you today.”

“What?” you asked, even more confused than you had been previously as you turned on your right blinker. “You didn’t bug me, Colt. I asked you to call if you were free anytime outside my work hours. I just ended up working late today, that’s all.” 

“Oh, okay.” 

You could tell there was still something bothering him. His pitch was too high, responses too short. He was still on edge, something bigger dancing on the tip of his tongue. He knew you knew. You could read him like an open book even through the phone and he knew better than to not tell you when he was upset. “Relationships thrive with windows and doors open,” was what you always told him, and it takes two people to keep them open all the time.

“Am I hovering?” he blurted out. “Am I bothering you? I just, when I called you again, the guys started-”

“Those idiots that couldn’t keep a girl if they had a carefully curated list of instructions from the girl they liked to tell them how to keep her? They don’t know anything,” you jumped in. “You’re not bothering me, Colt. You never bother me. I want as much of you as I can get. If my life was you just and me, having our favorite lazy Saturday where we go to the farmer’s market, play Scrabble, make bad cocktails, and cook unnecessarily complex dinners before we watch some niche movie practically no one else on the planet has ever seen, I’d be so unbelievably happy. I want as much of you as I can have, Colt, and sometimes I feel like I’m asking for too much. You’re not hovering. I want you right here.”

“You’re not asking for too much,” he replied. Of course, Colton would ignore everything you had said to comfort him in favor of comforting you. “You’re sure I’m not too much? I can do less, if that would be better for you. I can, fuck, I don’t know, whatever you need.” 

“Colton, I love you,” you sighed. “That’s the easiest thing in the world to say to you. I love you, Colton. I love loving you. I love being loved by you. At least, god, I hope you love me back because now I’m realizing we’ve never actually said that and I’m sort of freaking out, but I love learning to love you better and I love finding new ways to show you I love you. Today’s way is actually telling you I do, I guess.” 

“Of course I love you too.”

Colton’s words had reminded you of a prayer, a prayer of a grateful man whose longing, desperate words to something out there that he’d whispered ages ago had finally been answered. You didn’t know how long he’d felt it, definitely longer than you, but love wasn’t a competition. There wasn’t a yardstick, a to-do list, or a formula. Love was whatever you made it to be. You loved Colton, and finally told him, and he loved you, and finally told you. That day, that was all either of you needed.

That day was so clear in your mind. It was the day that set your life on the path it was on, the day that really had started the path that ended up with little Winter being more than a figment in Colton’s mind when he wrote these letters. She was real and you were going to meet her in just a few short months. Your mind wandered forward, seeing Winter’s wide baby blue eyes, you imagined she’d look like Colton as well, hoping your genes didn’t taint his too much to ruin her, as Colton had her sitting on his broad shoulders, securing her safely to him with hands around her ankles as you walked through the zoo. She would be pointing at each animal, tugging on his hair, making sure he saw each and every one. He would be patient, kind, and caring, matching Winter’s excitement in kind with each animal. You would catch him on Google the night before, making sure he knew at least one random, uncommon fact about each one for her, just to make her day. That was the kind of thing Colton said he would do for her to you when you’d shown him the positive pregnancy test, and one of an ever-expanding, never finished lists of reason you wanted to have kids with him. 

You sighed as you felt her flip over in your stomach. She was constantly in motion, something that brought you peace because it told you she was healthy, but as much comfort as it brought you, it brought you more discomfort at the very feeling. You shifted on the couch as you turned to the next entry.

Dear Winter, I hope you like your name I hope you let me take a shot with you on your twenty-first But shit, you gotta ask your mom first

I really hope you let me take a shot with you on your birthday. I’m asking because I was at a restaurant early today and saw the dad order two shots of tequila at a five star restaurant for him and his daughter, who had to be about twenty-one when her birthday dessert came out. She thought it was hilarious and you could tell she she did the shot with him that she loved her dad a ton. So naturally I thought of doing it with you. I know you’re definitely not going to think I’m cool by then, and you could be living in Canada instead where the drinking age is lower, but either way, I hope you don’t mind taking a shot with your old man. 

But, even if you don’t think I’m cool, even if we have to do the shot together over Facetime, even if Facetime doesn’t exist and you have to text me to ask me what it means when you read this, I hope we do one together. I promise, your old man could drink once, Win!

So, go ask your mom and I’ll break out the good tequila for you! :)

Love, Dad

You would definitely have to approve of the aforementioned tequila shot now that he’d been planning it for almost twenty-five years based on when this was written and when Winter would be twenty-one base on her estimated birthday. You laughed lightly and shook your head. Colton was already winning parenting debates with you and he didn’t even know it. Actually, maybe he did. It would be Colton to have planned this all out just so. You smiled as you flipped to the next entry. 

Dear Winter, I'm looking for your mom I gotta find a girl that doesn't mind that I'm inside my head a lot Winter, it won't be too long First, I just gotta find your mom

This whole writing to you as I’ve looked for your mom is how this whole notebook started. 

And Winter, boy do I have some good news about your existence for you. 

That girl I mentioned a while back? I asked her to marry me today. And somehow, she said yes. 

I found her, Win. I found your mom. She’s the most incredible person I’ve ever met in my entire like, that is, until I meet you. And, Winnie, she’s so excited to meet you too someday. 

Here’s hoping she likes your name :) 

Love, Dad

Your eyes were filled with tears again and you were so caught up in the moment, you missed the sound of Colton fusing with the lock on the front door as he entered the house.

“Baby? Why are you crying? Is everything okay? Is Little P okay? How was the appointment?”

Colton’s questions were flying out of his mouth almost faster than you could understand. You heard his gym bag hit the floor and his feet hit heavy on the hardwood as he rushed over to you. Colton rounded the back of the couch and stopped when he saw what was in your hands. You closed the notebook gently in your hands, careful with the soft leather binding, before pulling the elastic over to keep it closed. You turned your head toward your husband. He was white as a sheet, nervousness coating his features. His baby blue eyes were jumping between your puffy eyes, your stomach, and the notebook in your hands impossibly fast. He swallowed hard, waiting for you to say something because his mind was running too fast toward the brick wall of having to ask you what you thought about what was in your hands to actually speak. 

“Colt,” you breathed out softly before placing a hand on your stomach again, “Little P is a girl.” 

“A girl? Really? I’m going to be a girl dad? Really?” 

Colton’s voice cracked with each word and tears began to spill over almost instantly as he sank onto the couch beside you. Hesitantly, as if he didn’t know if he was still allowed to, he reached a hand out toward your stomach. You grabbed his large hand with both of yours and placed it on your swollen belly. 

“Do you want to tell her what her name is?” you asked him softly. 

His eyes snapped up to meet yours. He took his bottom lip between his teeth and looked at with cautious, hesitant joy. 

“You like it?” Colton asked you, his voice barely above a whisper. 

“I love her name, Colton, and since you came up with it, I think she should hear her for the first time from her incredible dad who already loves her more than she can possibly understand.” 

You reached a hand out to cup Colton’s face as you spoke. He leaned softly into your hand, his free hand cupping over yours, completely dwarfing it. He smiled at you softly before he placed a gentle kiss onto your palm, a silent way of telling you he loved you. His fingers wrapped around your hand, pulling it down to your belly along with his as his eyes shifted to it. 

“Hey, Winter, it’s me, your dad.”

[jeromesxreader16]

Such a Joker (53)

Part 52 Here!

~o0o~

I pack two sandwiches in my purse and proceed to cover my hair with the large silk scarf. "Where are you sneaking off to?" Babs asks walking past me and downing a drink. "Secret date? I figured you would get sick of the pale faced clown." I smile at my hands. I could never tire of my boy. I'm as crazy as him, maybe more, but he would never turn me away, and I could never leave him.

"I'm married." "Even better." I narrow my eyes at her. "Babs, I'm going to see my dad." She widens her eyes. "Now you're asking for a death wish." I walk out the door, my heels clicking every step. "If you say so."

I walk into the GCPD and can sense the chaos and tension thickly canned in the air. Not seconds later two individuals start brawling over bread. "Hey! Break it up!" My father pushes them back. "For all the new people here... everyone is welcome in Haven, but there are rules. And one of them is we leave the fighting outside. Government already thinks we don't deserve help. We have to show otherwise. Gangs want to tear themselves apart outside, that's their business. In here, in Haven... we help each other survive."  I hum with a slick smile as the two dispute the issue and the tension falls. Saved for another day.

I walk up to him nudging his arm. "Nice speech. I think it worked." He turns to me and gasps, but recovers quickly. "(Y/n). You're so big. No... Just-" "Pregnant, dad." He nods smiling. "So what happens when they find out the government abandoned them?" He sighs, shaking his head. I pat his back. "Come on paper man. You need some real food." I pull him into his office and remove the disguise. "Italian sub for you, and tuna for me." "You hate tuna." I smile sitting down. "They don't." I pat my swollen tummy. "So there are two of them?" I nod smiling.

"And you're happy? He treats you well?" I nod again smiling at him. "Of course he does. He's not a monster, dad." He grabs my hand over the desk and squeezes it. "I don't... like him. You know this. He destroyed the damn city for christ's sake, but he is the father of my grandchildren, and the husband of my only daughter, so I can promise you... I will never kill him." I kiss his hand and smile. "Who knew that'd be so comforting to hear."

~

I walk into the elevator with the smile ghosted over my lips. Crackling from the speaker erupts my mind causing me to shake and grab the wall in fright. "Aw, honey, I'm sorry." Ecco's voice pipes up from the speaker. I wave my hand in front of the camera with a smile. "No worries. All good here." I laugh placing a hand on my stomach. "Where is Jerimiah?" "Working down below. Would you like me to get him?" I smile up at the camera. "Let me go down."

"Uh... Miss, I think we should wait. He doesn't want you around the-" I press the button to the bottom floor faster than light. "Oops," I smirk up to Ecco as the elevator skips the main floor and descends below.

The two doors slide open revealing a steamed room with the funk of hard labor. I step on the uneven ground and see Jerimiah fanning himself as he watches his workers. I rest my hands on his shoulders and kiss his cheek. "You're working hard." He spins around with a glare. "And you're not supposed to be here." He grips my hips pulling me towards him.

"I missed you." I nuzzle into his chest. He hums as we rock back and forth. "I missed you, my love. Come on. No lady should be exposed to this heat." He places his hand on the small of my back leading me to the elevator.

Holding me the entire way up and then carrying me to our bed, never letting us go. "Are my darlings all suggled up?" He asks resting my head on his chest. The icy colored flesh proving wrong to the touch of fire on my fingers. "Yes, Jer." I mumble feeling my eyes draw to a close. "Never will I go a day without my family... even your father." He kisses my head before I can ask the question.

~

Jeremiah POV:

My workers work endlessly day and night to break the walls of the under the earth. Slowing down each day, getting on my nerves in the end. You're pushing my men way too hard. "We're not gonna break through for at least a couple more days. There is absolutely no way to make it on schedule." The leader of the pack of sweat cogs comes in.

My wife doesn't need to be kept in this filth any longer. How dare he disrespect my future.  "Well, not with that attitude, you're not." I slice the man's throat, as he falls to the ground, blood flowing on the dirt.

"Now... everyone... let's reach inside and dig... a little deeper, shall we? 'Cause that's the only way you're all making it out of this hole." I hum watching their fear thicken.

Two taps on my shoulder break my gaze from the project. "Oh, Echo. Are these all the recruits?" Skinny, no brains, slim Whitted. These are my soldiers?

"Well, I thought you would want quality over quantity. Not everybody can pass a .38 caliber test of faith." I smirk thinking of the trials and tests they've suffered.  "Yes... you certainly have set a very high bar for devotion."

"Oh. Almost forgot. Bruce Wayne and his sidekick Curls... Or is he the sidekick? Anyway, they tried to infiltrate our little operation here."

"Oh?" " Oh. And Curls can walk, really well, especially... for a paraplegic. Ah. And she wants to kill you." I glare at her with a snarl. This doesn't help that my wife is being cared for in the same building.

"A lot, FYI. If I see her, I'll give you a shout. Oh... and kill her." I nod rolling my eyes. Finish the job and move on for the better of my wife and children.

~

I walk into the GCPD questioning room with my scarf wrapped around my head, and my belly protruding out. Quite the look I must say. I open the door to see Victor Zsasz pushed on to the table by Harvey.

"Ow. This is a really nice table." I snicker and take my glasses off. "You do realize her thrives on the pain." The three pairs of eyes look at me.  "We got a dozen witnesses that saw you walk out of that building before it went kabooey."

"Yeah. I heard some gangs had taken over." Zsasz says turning his eyes to me.  "Figured, with you guys occupied, I might help myself to some of your supplies. Hey, do you guys have any canned peaches? Man, I'd trade an arm and a leg for that right now. Not mine, somebody else's. Maybe little baby Maniax's." He laughs reaching for my stomach before Jim swats his arm down.

"If you're innocent, why shoot up a city block full of cops?"

"Because it was full of cops." Zsasz and I say at the same time.

"Who were also trying to shoot me. And, guys, those were warning shots. I mean, if I really

wanted to kill you... you'd be dead. You got a pen? I want to write this guy a thank-you letter. Do the math. If I blew up a building full of people, I would have covered

every inch of my body in sweet, sweet scars. Mrs. Valeska...  want to do a strip search?" He winks before my father punches him. "She's married, pig."

I lock arms with my dad and walk through the station. "Got Lucius on the horn for you, Cap."

"Lucius, talk to me." I grab the phone holding it close enough for the both of us to hear. "Haven wasn't destroyed by a bomb. It was an RPG, like the one that took down the chopper."

"You sure?"

I'm holding what's left of it in my hand right now. We found pieces of it in the rubble. It was fired through the basement window, detonated the fuel oil tank. And we're still trying to figure out exactly which rooftop it was fired from.

"Rooftop?"

"Yes."

"Dad, the only angle you could hit this place from is above. Zsasz was on the ground. Looks like you need a new suspect. I think we need to-"

"Jim! Ah. I know the wheels of justice turn slowly, so I'm here to provide- a modicum of grease."

Rushing up towards the front, Oswald, the Mayor of fallen Gotham, stands tall and proud.

"You need to leave right now."

"Still claiming he's innocent, is he?"

"Yes. And as much as I hate to admit it, the evidence is backing him up."

Harvey busts out, "What the hell's going on?" "Harvey, according to Lucius, Zsasz couldn't have done it."

Oswald huffs with a smile. "I did not expect you to go soft, Jim. Actually, I did. Behind a grandpa and all must've changed your ways. Which is why I didn't come alone." Several gunmen come out armed and ready to fire. My father huddles me close and shields me from the view of guns.

"Bring me Victor Zsasz!"

"Leave, (Y/n). Go home!" Jim pushes me away towards the doors.

~

Jeremiah POV:

I wave my hat fanning my pale skin placed upon the crippling bones. It's so damp and hot in here, but I'm freezing. My heart has gone cold without her scent around. Not a touch, not a wiff, not a glace for days it seems. Where is my angel with my bundles of joy?

"You see, a river cuts through rock not because of its power, but because of its persistence. So what do we do when we feel like giving up? Dig a little deeper. And what do we do when we can't possibly go on any longer? Dig a little deeper. And what do we..." A sharp blade stabs into my side crippling my speech. I look down seeing the masked figure in the striped coat. I gasp feeling my footing slide as the attacker shoves the blade into my stomach further.

"Deep enough?" The individual removes the mask revealing the little pussy of them all. "Well, Selina, I must say..." She pulls the blade out plunging it back in sharply.

"Don't say anything." Over and over again the blade is shoved into my side. The light dimming, the hot steam hitting my brow, the devilish laughter of my brother. This is near my end? Maybe so...

"Selina!" The rat is stripped away from me causing me to fall to the ground barely clinging to the life of happiness I have.

"Selina!" Bruce Wayne holds the fierce kitty back. "Stop. It's done! It's over."

~

The building is quiet. The entire place is quiet... Not one swing of an ax hitting limestone, making a light clink sound. Not the ring of my husbands voice calling to his men. Not even Echo meeting me at the door with my slippers and milkshake. Something is not right.

"Jeremiah?" I call out as if he could hear me from below. If not him then someone. One of the members at least, but no one came. I proceeded to enter the elevator only to see blood on the buttons and floor. They were having the graduation today, not everyone makes it.

The doors  open to the pool room and I could almost drop to my knees at the smell. Thick scent of blood coating the walls. I walk out of the elevator and down into the pool counting the dead. No Echo or Jeremiah. Good so far.

I make my way down to the tunnels where silence has taken over. Just a simple lone man sitting in a chair. "Where is Jermiah?" I panic pulling my jacket closer. Could he have left me?

"Mrs. Valaska!" "Where is my husband?" "He's off in the tunnels. He's got injured. I'm supposed to take you to him." "Well, go on!" He shuffles his feet in a pace of nervousness, tripping over rocks and pickaxes. "How did he get hurt?" "Someone came in and just stabbed the boss. She was taken away by Bruce Wayne." I feel fire ignite in my blood. Selina and Bruce. What a treat. Trying to kill my husband in my own home.

Down the tunnels I hear him. Groaning in pain as Echo stitches him up. "How could you let this happen?" I shout at her. "She was fast." "And you're supposed to be faster." I glare at her as she cowers at my words.

"Don't stress, darling. It's not good for the babies."

"Jeremiah." I kneel down next to him grabbing his face. "Are you alright?" He places his hands over mine, kissing them each. "I'm still alive. One thing I've still got on my brother. How are you, my love? I'm sorry. You must've been wrecked with worry." Jeremiah pulls me into his lap. I nod with my bottom lip out. "Yes, I was. I was so scared, Jer." He pulls me to him. "Aw my darling. I know. I know."

I shift my weight slightly causing him to jet in a sharp inhale. "Oh, honey. Stitches still sore?" He nods. "Never would have happened if you wore that armor I prepared." Echo hums, causing me to roll my eyes. "That bullet makes you sentimental of the wrong things." I huff out pushing her out of the view.

"Why would you not check who was working? You always do. You're always prepared." Jeremiah places his hand on my cheek again. "I had to let Selina thrust the knife into my flesh at least once. Verisimilitude trumps precaution, you see." "They think you're dead." I think putting everything together.

Echo stands to the side bouncing with information. "What is it?" She giggles jumping on her heels. "All systems go." Jeremiah lifts himself, placing a hand on the small of my back and leading us along behind Echo.

"You could've died." I whisper looking at the dirt. "I didn't." "But you could have, Jeremiah. That's my point. You have two children growing, and soon they'll be out in this world. They need their father. You've kept me safely away, but that won't mean shit if you're not around to protect your children." I move ahead of him in a fit of fire.

A hand grabs my shoulder spinning me around. Jerehimah dips me and pushes our lips together. His grip on my arm and hip so tight, keeping me pulled to him with no fight. He pulls away only an inch, looking at my eyes, looking into the soul. "Now, you may not understand everything I do, but I do it for you and these two kids. I think and I plan for hours. You sit up in the bed resting your feet like I tell you. When you start questioning if I'm going to make it, that's when this will fall apart. You're my darling. You've been mine for thousands of years. Never doubt me, (Y/n)." He places his hands on my stomach and pecks my forehead. "Come along now. We have things to do."

Leading me through the tunnels I start to see less of the dirt and more solid grey rock already formed into tunnels. "Where are we?" Jeremiah giggles pulling me alongside.

"Doctor. I'm hearing good things." Jeremiah says holding in laughter.

What is he up to?

The Doctor nods. "The bandages are ready to come off. Your assistant thought you'd like to see the results." Echo shakes her head in praise like a dog while Jer nods his head. "Indeed, I would."

He turns to me. "You won't want to miss this, (y/n)."

The Doctor unravels the bandages on the individuals faces revealing a profile built from professional lifestyle and diets. This is Thomas and Martha Wayne before my eyes... ALIVE!

"Oh, you two look beautiful." I smile looking down at her pearl necklace. "Down to the very detail with you." Jeremiah kisses my cheek. "I love family reunions, don't you?" "More than Christmas!" I cheer and giggle.

[lovingmyselfcore]

(and it dies) a million little times

Part 1 of 2:

For you I would ruin myself

I have to post something so I still feel like I'm accomplishing things while I write (what was going to just be the other half of this) the second part of this. And also while I wait for inspiration so strike for Protect You or Skate Into My Heart because I promise I haven't given up but I have commITMENT ISSUES LEAVE ME ALONE

ANYWAY this is for@the-love-yourself-journal (or I guess @perseusjackson-jasongrace) who is the literal queen of Jercy idc. She got me to ship them in the first place so thanks babe

Ps Percy isn't white because canon Percy isn't white fight me

It felt wrong, hiding such a secret from her. He and Annabeth had always been honest with each other, it was why they had been drawn together from the moment they met.

She was definitely the best marriage option he had seen. Despite that, despite being able to converse with each other in a way that most married couples they knew could not, there was something missing.

When he’d met the blonde-haired boy, he realized what it was.

Percy had struggled his entire life with this. This sickness. It had always been drilled into his mind that people experiencing what he was experiencing was wrong, sinful, in fact. So he never spoke of it. Never spoke of being attracted more to the boy next door than the girl. Never spoke of the fact that aside from his wedding night, years ago, he’d never had sex. He couldn’t. Not with her. Not with any her.

Laughing blue eyes, annoyingly perfect teeth.

He couldn’t tell her. At best, she’d laugh, then ignore it. At worst, she’d tell everyone, and he couldn’t imagine what would happen to him then.

A horrific death on the street, most likely, followed by a long, agonizing stay in Hell for his sins.

A small, faded scar on his upper lip from his childhood.

Percy was sitting at his desk in his office, pretending to work while actually waiting for him to appear. As always before he actually showed up, Percy’s mind ran rampant. His own brain spat insults at him, his gut twisted at what he was doing. What he was doing to Annabeth. His heart screamed at him for not being able to stop himself, from not fighting harder to go back to being in love with Annabeth, despite knowing he’d never been. His soul longed for its other half.

The way his nose would scrunch when he laughed, the laugh only Percy could draw out of him.

Percy shifted in his chair. His tie was too tight around his neck, he was going to suffocate. Maybe he should. The clock continued ticking, as it always did.

The feel of his hands, on his face, his hips, his back.

“He is here to see you, Mr. Jackson.”

“Send him in.” Voice professional, practiced, despite the lurch in his gut. His brain, his heart, his soul all screamed louder, arguing their own points. Waging their violent war within him.

As always, the sight of him quieted them all.

Percy stood, adjusting his tie, and made his way over to the man leaning against his now closed door. His throat bobbed as Percy approached.

Percy lifted a hand and traced that scar, his voice barely above total silence, “I’ve missed you.”

Jason Grace’s breath was hot on his hand. His voice matched Percy’s, “You will be my ruination.”

“You are already mine.” Then Percy lunged forward, capturing his lips.

Looks like his soul had won this one. Again.

~~~~~

Piper McLean fidgeted uncomfortably with the hem of her skirt. She’d ruined many perfectly good skirts like this. Sitting. Waiting.

“Sooner or later you’re going to completely unravel one of those.” Piper looked up and was met with gray eyes. The same gray eyes that had been staring at her all day. She’d been staring right back.

“The children’s break is short,” Piper murmured back, standing from her stool.

“Indeed,” Annabeth replied, moving forward to take Piper’s hands.

“What are we doing?” Piper’s voice was hoarse, scratchy. “We have husbands.”

“Indeed.” Was all Annabeth said again, her grip on Piper’s hands tightening.

“I love Jason,” Piper said, mostly to herself.

Annabeth’s lips pursed, “I love Percy.” She took another step forward, Piper was almost completely pressed against her teaching desk. She dropped Piper’s hands to cup her face, and Piper’s eyes fluttered closed in response. “But not like I love you.”

Piper opened her eyes, “We are going to destroy each other.”

“I would gladly destroy myself for you, moya solnishka.”

“Don’t you feel bad?” The distress in Piper’s voice forced Annabeth to pull back. Her eyes held a level of concern that made Piper’s breath catch.

“I do,” She conceded after a moment of silence, “For lying to Percy. For lying to everyone in my life. For having to hide you. For having to hide us. But I do not feel bad for loving you.” Her voice held a note of desperation, she was begging Piper to understand. “Do you?”

Piper didn’t respond for a beat too long, Annabeth pulled further away, her face flushed.

Their time was up, the laughter of the children echoed through the schoolhouse as they returned.

“I’m sorry,” Piper said.

Annabeth shook her head, “No, Piper. I’m sorry.” Her eyes were miserable, “Forgive me.”

For what? Piper tried to ask but the lump in her throat stopped her.

“I have ruined you,” Annabeth said simply. “I am forcing you to go along with my sins.” Her back was straight, her face was empty, but Piper could see how hard she was fighting to keep it that way.

Piper shook her head but Annabeth didn’t see it, she was walking out of the door already.

Oh, gods. What had she done?

~~~~~

“How was your day?” Jason asked his tone the same forced lightness it had been for months.

“It was good! Nothing out of the ordinary.” Her tone was the same.

Jason nodded from his seat at the couch, “Good. That’s very good.”

“What about you?” Piper’s hands were shaking as she laid the plates on the table.

“My day was the same,” Jason said as he slid into a chair at the table.

Piper looked at him for a long moment and came to a decision.

“Jason?” She asked, clutching her fork tightly.

“Yes?” He looked up from his plate.

“I would like to visit a friend after dinner.”

Jason nodded, “Of course. I’ll invite over one of my coworkers while you’re gone.”

As they resumed their meal, they seemed lighter than they had all evening.

~~~~~

Piper knew she couldn’t very well just appear on Annabeth’s doorstep, so after she washed the evening dishes she called her.

Her fingers were heavy as she slid the ring to dial the numbers she had long ago memorized.

Piper’s hopes were answered when Annabeth was the one to pick up the phone.

“Annabeth,” She was breathless. “I-” She remembered Jason and her voice dropped low, “I need to see you.”

Annabeth was speechless and Piper wished she could see her face, “May I see you?”

Annabeth’s voice was just as low with an edge Piper couldn’t name, “Yes. Yes. Meet me.”

She didn’t have to say where. Piper knew. The place they’d always meet at. That secret place, filled with their sin. Their secrets. Their agonized love.

Piper hurriedly stuck the phone back in its place and pulled her coat over her shoulders. She kissed Jason on the cheek and was out the front door before he could respond.

~~~~~

Jason sat, bouncing his leg until Piper had been gone for long enough. (It may not have even been long enough, it was just until he could not wait any longer.)

He raced to the phone and dialed the number engraved on his heart.

“Hello?” Percy asked. Thank god. Jason hadn’t thought of a decent excuse to give Annabeth if she’d been the one to answer.

“Can you get away tonight?” Jason asked.

Percy waited for a beat, as if in thought, before responding. “Yes, I can.”

Jason smiled, “Piper is out for the evening. You could come here.”

“I’m on my way.” Jason laughed at how quickly the words fell out of his mouth and the hurried click signifying he hung up.

~~~~~~

Annabeth trailed her lips up the column of Piper’s throat, and breathed deeply through her nose, “Is that a new perfume?” They were in their spot, a dark, shadowy corner in between two factories, hidden away from the rest of the world.

Piper dug her fingers into Annabeth’s shoulders, “Yes,” She knew what Annabeth wanted to ask, but knew she wasn’t going to put Piper in that place. “It’s for you.”

Annabeth froze and pulled an inch away from her spot on Piper’s jaw. “It smells good,” Her voice was hoarse and she resumed her ministrations along Piper’s jawline.

“Annabeth, about this morning-” Annabeth cut her off, shaking her head.

“No. It’s alright, sweetheart. You don’t need to apologize for your feelings, ever.”

“The rest of society would disagree.”

Annabeth understood her meaning and ducked her head to hide her face. “How long can we keep doing this?” Desperation.

“I don’t know,” Piper wrapped her arms around the other girl’s shoulders and pulled her flush against her.

Piper breathed deeply, feeling the warmth of Annabeth’s body, a stark contrast to the metal of the factory wall at her back. “All we can do is live in the moment.” Piper pulled Annabeth’s face away from her neck. “Damn the rest to hell.”

Annabeth nodded, “Damn the rest to hell.” Then they were kissing again.

~~~~~~~

When the doorbell rang Jason raced to answer it, feeling like an excited puppy.

Percy was leaning against one of the pillars on the porch. He was beautiful; Jason had yet to see a time where he wasn’t. Shining green eyes, so painfully alive, that black hair Jason knew he frequently fought with to make it ‘work appropriate’. The lean, toned body that Jason often found himself staring at, or thinking of.

Percy was surveying the neighborhood, the picture of unruffled aside from the tightness in his lips. When he heard Jason open the door, that tightness vanished, replaced instead by the grin that Jason had fallen in love with in the first place.

Whoa. Reel that back in. Calm down, Grace. No love here. Just a drug that always gave him the high he needed. No love. That makes it too serious. This is harmless fun. Well, not harmless.

“Jason?” Percy interrupted his spiral and Jason realized he’d been staring silently, that he hadn’t let Percy inside.

He shook his head, “Sorry.” He stepped back, opening the door wider. Percy walked in and threw himself on the couch, looking perfectly content and at home. As if what they were doing wouldn’t result in pain, physical and emotional.

He could always go back, he reminded himself. There was always an out. He was addicted to the poison that was Percy Jackson, but he could always escape.

The click of the door closing was a death sentence.

He could always get out, right?

~~~~~~~

It had been a few days since Annabeth and Piper had seen each other, the two women were teachers at the same school, yet they always seemed to miss each other. In the hallways, the break room, before and after classes, they could never catch more than fleeting glances and the swish of hair and hips around a corner. Annabeth was determined to change this.

She saw a flash of brown hair that she immediately registered as Piper, glancing at the clock to make sure she had enough time before her students were expecting her, she nearly sprinted after the other girl.

Piper was leaning against the wall when Annabeth found her, grinning. Her eyes, shards of multicolored glass Annabeth always found herself drowning in, were glittering in the harsh light. Annabeth stalked closer and Piper’s grin didn’t fade.

“Oh no,” She drawled, leaning enough to rest a hand in the curve of Annabeth’s waist, attempting to tug her forward. “You caught me.” Annabeth couldn’t resist Piper’s smile and met it with her own, the smile she only gave Piper. “What will I, this poor damsel, do?”

This was risky. This was really fucking risky. They were basically out in the open, where another teacher or staff member or even the students could easily find them.

Piper reached up and drew the pad of her finger against that crease in Annabeth’s brow and Annabeth knew she was done for. Piper smiled, this one soft and adoring, and Annabeth melted through the floor.

Annabeth gave up on trying to stay as unaffected as possible, pressing her lips to Piper’s. Piper pressed herself closer as if she was trying to mold them into one person. The soft, smooth contours of Piper against Annabeth’s sharp, hard edges of Annabeth was like some kind of poetry. It was probably a metaphor about who they were as people, blah blah blah. She didn’t have time to think about damn metaphors. Not while Piper was here, kissing her like she actually wanted this. Like she’d do anything to keep this. Annabeth knew it wasn’t true, knew Piper wouldn’t ruin her life for this. (She didn’t blame her, but it was nice to pretend sometimes)

Piper smiled into the kiss and mumbled, “This is nothing like how the fairytales normally go.” Annabeth let out a surprised laugh.

Piper pulled away, staring unflinchingly into Annabeth’s eyes, the storms she was responsible for keeping at bay. “Gods,” She turned her head and Annabeth had no idea where this was going with this. “This is better than any of those fairy tales.” Then she moved, winding her hands into Annabeth’s hair, and kissed her again.

Gods, she’d fallen for this girl. She had no idea when it had happened. Maybe 30 seconds ago, maybe the first time they’d met, three years ago. Maybe it was when Percy was on business trips, which meant that Annabeth could work without anyone to make her sleep, eat or anything ‘healthy’ and Piper would come over. Make her take breaks from her work. Listen to Annabeth rant about things she knew she didn’t understand. Annabeth had so many plans, to escape this hell town, fight for her rights, build something permanent somewhere she loves with someone she loves and be unafraid to live. She also had even more impossible dreams; to build something. Piper humored her, always listened to her, attention never wavering. It was more than Annabeth could ever ask for.

She was more than Annabeth could ever ask for.

Annabeth pulled away, telling her as much and something flashed in those kaleidoscope eyes but she didn’t respond.

“Piper?” Hazel’s voice echoed into the hallway they were in. Piper leaped off of her, hurrying to straighten herself.

Hazel rounded the corner right as Piper and Annabeth had gotten themselves together.

The woman smiled at them and looked at Piper when she spoke, “Leo needs to see you,” Piper opened her mouth but Hazel cut her off, “I have no idea why.”

"Okay, thanks," Piper said, definitely too out of breath for it to be anything but suspicious. Piper hesitated a second longer, fighting to not look back at Annabeth but finally, she walked off.

Annabeth smiled awkwardly at Hazel and the other girl grinned but it quickly turned somber, "I don't know what you're doing, Annabeth." She shook her head, "I don't want to know. But I want you to know this," She stepped forward and clasped the other girl's hands in hers. "I care about you. I care about Piper. Be careful, please." Her wide gold eyes were begging, "Be careful, Annabeth."

"I'm trying," Annabeth tried to say but it came out a choked whisper. "I'm trying."

Hazel nodded and leaned forward so they were touching foreheads. "I'm scared for you."

Annabeth wanted to reassure her, but the words got caught in her throat. They both knew Annabeth couldn't promise anything.

~~~~~

Percy was staring at Jason.

This wasn't a rare occurrence, the opposite, actually. Percy could often be found staring at Jason.

But there was something about Jason Grace under the moon and her stars that was absolutely breathtaking.

His head was tilted back, eyes closed, breathing deeply, a small smile on his lips. The starlight seemed to wrap around him, shielding him from the world, announcing him as one of them. His blonde hair was damp from their earlier shower and the moonlight danced through the silky strands. Gods, Percy thought, taking him in, he's ethereal.

He was leaning back on his hands, ankles crossed over the edge of his porch.

They were in Jason's backyard, sharing a smoke; Percy took a long drag, trying to ground himself. Piper would surely be back soon, he didn't have much longer. He needed to come back to earth and distance himself from the star that was Jason Grace.

When Jason's eyes fluttered open and he turned those crystal-blue masterpieces on him, his smile growing into something wide and soft and fond, Percy knew he was done for. Fuck coming back to earth.

Jason reached over, and plucked the cigarette from between Percy's lips, and brought it to his own. He leaned back to stare at the sky again and Percy leaned sideways until his head was pillowed in Jason's lap.

Jason kept one hand on the deck to prop himself up and ground the cigarette out, dropping it to comb his free hand through Percy's hair.

"We should leave," Percy said suddenly, breaking the peaceful silence.

Jason's hand stilled briefly. "What?"

"Leave town, together."

"Where would we go?" He didn't sound angry (thank the gods), he kept his voice soft, but Percy could hear that note of disbelief.

"Anywhere," Percy replied and Jason huffed a laugh above him.

"That's not much of a plan. Besides, we have lives here."

"You're all I need," Percy said, way too sincerely, tracing a pattern on Jason's knee with his index finger.

Jason's hand stilled again and Percy cursed himself and everything that existed to make him say that. Now I've scared him away, Percy thought bitterly and got off Jason's lap.

Jason was staring at him with a look Percy couldn't decipher, his lips parted slightly. Percy wanted to kiss him; this wasn't the time to kiss him. Keep it together.

"Perce-"

"Jason!" Piper's voice carried out the back door and wrapped around the two of them like a vice.

Jason went considerably pale and Percy stood up. "I'll see you whenever I see you?" Percy said.

Jason just nodded, still staring at him.

Percy opened the backdoor and stepped inside, saying a brief 'hello' and 'goodbye' to Piper before finally making it back to his car.

He slammed his hands on the hood and cursed, "Stupid, Jackson. That was stupid." he opened the car door with considerably more force than necessary and sat down heavily. "Fucking idiot." And now he had to go home to Annabeth and pretend nothing was wrong. Great.

~~~~~

It started with the notes. Sticky notes with slurs scrawled on them (against his race, his orientation, anything they could get a hand on), in horrible handwriting, stuck to his desk at work. Jason didn't mention any, but when he took his coat off and draped it on Percy's couch, one fell out, crumpled as if Jason had furiously shoved it in his pocket.

Percy had picked it up, saw what was written there, and knew that this wasn't a coincidence. Someone knew. Someone knew about them and wasn't very happy about it.

He'd briefly wondered if it was Annabeth, but no, she didn't seem to be angry at him or disgusted, but she had been colder lately. When the notes started appearing in places that weren't as public as his desk, Percy got more concerned.

He still hadn't talked to Jason about it; the notes and what had transpired on Jason's porch either.

They'd elevated too. Notes in his car, calling him a disgrace to his family and god. But Percy wasn't as worried as he probably should've been. After all, this person was hiding behind ink and paper, if they had something to say, they could do it to his face.

But when they started threatening him, Percy finally spoke to Jason about it.

"Have you been getting notes?" He asked.

Jason was sprawled on Percy's bed, sans shirt, arm thrown over his eyes as if shielding him from the light.

Percy himself was sprawled next to Jason, head on his chest, legs twined together.

Jason peered down at him, blinking wearily. His glasses were sitting on the side table. "What?"

"Notes," Percy said as if this explained everything. "That are calling you-" He swallowed and Jason's eyes tracked the movement.

"Yeah," Jason said finally. "I haven't been too concerned." A lie. If Percy knew Jason at all (and he did) the other boy had been worrying himself to death over this, afraid to tell anybody, panicking and overthinking alone. The thought made Percy's chest ache.

"I wasn't going to mention it," Jason said.

"Me either, but this recent one," He trailed off, already doubting if he should be worrying Jason over this. But it did technically involve him.

Percy pushed off of Jason and the other boy made a whining noise in the back of his throat. Percy grinned as Jason flushed in embarrassment.

Percy pulled the crumpled note out of his discarded jacket and read aloud to Jason, who was still on the bed, "I know all about your illicit affairs-"

"Oh, how proper."

Percy snorted, "Tell me about it." He cleared his throat, "Anyway. -with Jason Grace." Jason stiffened. They knew his name. "If you don't do what I want I will tell Annabeth and Piper all about it. And maybe more than just the two of them, too.”

“Mhmm. And we believe them?”

“I’m not sure,” Percy said tossing the note onto the nightstand and belly-flopping onto the bed next to Jason.

“If you did, you wouldn’t be here,” Jason said, practically.

“And how do you know that?”

“Because I know you.”

Percy smiled, "Yeah, I guess you do."

Jason smiled back, only for a few seconds before his face fell; Percy felt his heart jump to his throat. "What are we going to do?"

"You already have an idea," Percy said, staring at him.

"You're not going to like it."

Percy sighed, "Let's hear it."

"We can't see each other."

Percy shot to his feet. "No! I'm not letting some heathen," He pointed angrily at the note. "Bully me into staying away from the man I love."

Jason went deathly still and Percy's brain finally caught up to what just happened.

"'Man you love'?" His voice was quiet and Percy didn't know how to read that.

"Yeah," Percy whispered. "Yes."

Jason wasn't looking at him and every second that passed, Percy felt his heart chipping away.

"I-" Jason swallowed and wet his lips. "I love you." His voice was hushed as if he was scared to be heard.

Percy stared at him for a beat of bated breath before lunging at him. Jason laughed as his back collided with the mattress.

Jason held Percy's face in his hands and looked him over, drinking everything in before kissing him.

The notes could wait.

[mrs-han]

Here With Me

Heeey could i request an scenario where the mc is stood up by Jumin , like she waits for him at the restaurant but he doesnt arrive bc he forgot since he has been stressed out with work all week and suddenly Jaehee lets him know and its all angsty but with a happy ending pleasee♡♡♡♡

~~~

Sure thing! Thank you for your submission!

~~~

"Madam, would you like to come inside?"

"No, no. My husband should be coming shortly, and I'd like to be here when he shows," you smiled, securing your scarf over your shoulders.

As the valet entered the building that chilly august evening, the thought of Jumin kept you warm, even gave you the strength to stay outside and wait for a little while longer. It had been over a month, and you two had finally scheduled a date night—no work, no distractions - just he before your eyes and you before his.

You fiddled with your lace gloves and primped your hair, glancing at the glass window as it acted as your mirror. You were fully decked out in the most delicate lavender twill dress, six-inch stiletto pumps, and fastened in your hair was a pin Jumin had picked out himself for you to don. You always wanted to look your best for this man, and frankly, you were excited to see how he would react.

Cars passed by the grand venue - you straightened and eventually slouched as you noticed a few of them stop, but none of the occupants were Jumin. Snow began to drizzle over you, and, with a faint shiver, you checked your watch.

0950.

You blinked and tapped the watch - that wasn't right. You had only been waiting for half an hour, not an hour and a half... right? You dug your phone from your purse and tapped his icon.

"This is Jumin Han, Director of C&R. Thank you for your call, but I am away -"

You ended the call quickly and called him again. And again. You were greeted with the same voice message, and your heart sunk in your stomach.

He didn't forget... did he?

~~~

"Mr. Han, it's getting late," Jaehee smiled forcefully, gripping her pen in one hand and her travel mug in the other. "This is a good stopping point, don't you agree?"

"Not quite," Jumin sighed, pushing his hair back and tapping his diamond pen against his desk. "We're missing something... something important."

"A meeting with the Prime Minister of Sweden is no small feat," Jaehee huffed, pressing her back against the chair. "But I assure you, we've covered everything we need to cover. You know everything about him, perhaps too much."

Jumin examined his notes and furrowed his brows. "No... no, something is missing."

Jaehee raised a brow and crossed her arms. "I assure you, Mr. Han. This missing artifact has nothing to do with the prime minister."

"I don't see what your hurry is. Tomorrow is Saturday, you have plenty of time to rest then."

"Until you call me in to do something," Jaehee muttered under her breath. "Listen, Mr. Han, with all due respect. It is going on twenty-two hundred hours and fifteen minutes, and I would like to go home."

Jumin looked dubiously shocked. It had gotten that late so quickly... his eyes widened. "Today is Friday."

"Yes, today is Friday," Jaehee nodded.

"No, no, no." Jumin slammed his folders closed and adjusted his tie, a frantic air about him.

"What is it?" Jaehee asked, observing his facial expression turn to one of confusion to one of realization.

Jumin dashed past his chief assistant, muttering slurs under his breath and heading towards the penthouse's front door. "I don't have time to explain."

"Mr. Han, if you're heading outdoors, you'll need your coat -"

Jumin flung the door open... and there you stood, shivering and dripping wet from the melted snow. You lifted your eyes and met his apologetic gaze.

"My... my love... I -"

You shoved your way past him, wrapping your scarf around your reddened face. There was no way you were about to let him see you cry.

Jumin stumbled back and tried to reach for you, but you were too fast. You ran down the hall and into the guest bedroom, slamming the door behind you.

"MC!" Jumin called while chasing you, slamming against the door as it closed. He pressed his palms against the wood, then his forehead. "MC, please."

Jaehee quietly gathered her coat and murmured, "I will see you on Monday, Mr. Han."

Jumin, too distracted by you, didn't care to hear her. "MC? MC, may I come in? Darling?"

He placed his hand over the doorknob and gripped it, ready to turn the handle - when he heard your sobs. Every sniffle, every sad moan, he listened to, desperate to soothe you.

"My love... my love -"

"Go away! Get away from me!" You hollered, throwing several objects at the door. "I don't want to see you, I don't want to talk to you!"

Jumin closed his eyes, your words piercing all parts of his heart. He waited for more words to come from you; he wanted to hear from you, even if your words had the potential to kill him from the inside out.

But you didn't say anything. Instead, you wailed and sobbed... and those sounds alone did more damage to him than any insult.

Jumin pressed himself against the door and sank slowly, his hand still on the doorknob. He would respect your wish and leave you alone, but he refused to be too far away. When you were ready to talk, he would be there.

His determination did not falter after an hour had passed, and another. He sat patiently outside of the guest bedroom and began to nod off when he realized - there was no sound coming from the other side of the door. It was utterly silent.

"MC? I'm opening the door," Jumin cooed, pressing the door open slowly.

He peeked in and saw you, not sound asleep as he had imagined. No, your back was facing him. Your gown, gloves, shoes, and jewels had been thrown onto the floor, a thick blanket the only thing covering you. You sat erect, like a graceful statue, gazing at the city below.

Jumin waited for you to throw him out with your words again, but no such thing happened. You were completely silent. He wasn't much of a risk-taker, and he didn't pride himself on being one. But for you, he was willing to do anything.

Jumin stepped into the room and closed the door behind him, his eyes squarely on your figure.

You didn't make a sound.

He walked towards you, slightly shier than his naturally confident stride.

You didn't make a sound.

He sat down beside you and, without hesitation, wrapped an arm around your body.

Your statuesque figure faltered, and you crumbled at his touch.

"My love -"

"How could you," you trembled, covering your face with your hands. "We had planned this date for a long, long time now! How could you forget!"

Jumin didn't say a word. He hung his head shamefully and pulled you closer to him, grateful you didn't draw away.

"I looked like such a fool, waiting for you out in the snow!" You sniffed. "I, I watched cars come and go, and I thought, that's him! In that car there! But it was never you, Jumin, you never showed up!"

Jumin looked at you, sorrow and regret the only legible expression on his face.

"I'm so embarrassed, and so... I'm so disappointed, Jumin... and I've never felt so much... anger towards you before..."

You wiped at your tears many times over, but they continued to bombard you, and your vision blurred. "I'm so angry," you sobbed. "So, so angry..."

Your emotions pounded within you, overtaking you; you curled into yourself and trembled vigorously.

A soft thump. That's what you heard. He's gone, you thought, moving your hands away from your eyes.

But no. Jumin was still there with you, now on his knees.

"What... what are you -"

Jumin grabbed your bare foot delicately and kissed your arch once, twice, three times over. "Forgive me," he whispered fiercely, pressing his forehead against your cold skin. "Forgive me, MC. I was a careless man, a thoughtless man, and my foolishness meant leaving you out in the cold, waiting for me..."

Your lower lip trembled, and, as much as you tried to stop it, more tears came flooding down your cheeks.

"I hurt you," Jumin whispered, kissing your ankle, your calf, your knee. "I hurt you terribly, my angel... and I beg you to forgive me."

"Jumin..."

"I'm so sorry." His hot breath created goosebumps through your bare legs and up to your bare arms. "I'm so sorry."

You fell to the floor and tried to wrap your arms around him, but he was much faster than you. Jumin pressed you to his body, engulfing you entirely. You sobbed against his chest as feelings of anger turned into feelings of complete and utter devotion towards this man, your husband - your Jumin.

In his arms, you stayed until exhaustion overcame you. Jumin glanced down at you, lifting your chin to meet his eyes - you were fast asleep. Many thoughts ran through his mind - you needed a warm bath and a warm bed, who knows how long you had been standing in the cold. He needed to snap to it and make you as comfortable as possible.

But as he moved to pick you up, you pressed your head to his chest and let out a small groan. You were no longer crying, no longer in a state of despondency... no, you seemed to be in a place of peace. Perhaps he could treat you to a nice, warm bath, luxurious bedding, delicious food, and an enjoyable movie - whatever you wanted. For now, he wanted to watch you sleep. Indeed, he wanted to etch the peaceful expression in your face into both his brain and heart.

Besides - he was in an extremely uncomfortable position, his legs falling asleep and his back steadily aching. Yes, this well deserved, self-inflicted punishment would work magnificently.

[randomingoftherandomness]

Squeals and flails! Your writing is so good! Have been stopping myself from asking for continuations of pretty much every piece, especially the childhood, omega Lao Wen going into heat and possessive Ah Xu ones! Could you write a 5+1 fic with five times Ah Xu dotes on his Lao Wen, and one time Lao Wen is sweet to Ah Xu please? Was thinking that the first moment could be Wenzhou stargazing with Lao Wen falling asleep in Ah Xu’s arms and then Ah Xu hugging him closer? Thank you!

A/N: So this is going to be a 3 + 1 instead of a fiver because I’m sleepy and I want to finish this before bed haha... Sorry...

1. It’s a little too late in the season for them to be indulging in a spot of stargazing on the roof of the Manor, but Lao Wen had complained that they’d barely had any time alone (lies; they’ve stolen plenty of time alone because his ass sure as hell remembers those times alone) and had pulled out his trump card of telling Chengling to gather the kids for a spot of camping out in the plum forests as a form of cultivation exercise.

Zishu isn’t sure what sort of bribery Lao Wen had promised the brat, but he hopes Chengling bargained hard for it.

So, here they were. Up on the rooftop, wrapped up in their cloaks, passing a bottle of pear blossom wine between them as they watch the heavens twinkle down at them. In the distance, Zishu can clearly see the dull glow of the firelight and he feels assured that the kids haven’t gone too far.

“Ah Xu, pay attention to me,” Lao Wen harumphs, wriggling himself into his arms with a laugh. Zishu wraps his arms around him, burying his lips to the crown of his head and kissing him there with a smile. 

“I’m always paying attention to you,” He says.

It takes Lao Wen a beat to reply and when he does, it is a quiet but fond, “I know.”

Under the moonlight, they enjoy each other’s company; reminiscing of their first time stargazing together and all the hijinks that night had entailed. They talk about the progress of the disciples, about Chengling and his upcoming trip to Nanjiang to visit Luta, about the extension they will need to make for the new students that are coming next month.

It is about an hour into this when Zishu realises that Lao Wen has fallen silent. Worried that he may be struck by a bout of strange moods again, he looks down only to find that Lao Wen has fallen asleep in his arms. 

Smiling, he adjusts their cloaks so that they’re bundled up warm in the night chill. Curling a touch to Lao Wen’s cheek, Zishu settles in against him.

2. When Lao Wen sulks, he doesn’t do it in half measures.

Chengling winces at him in sympathy before backing away slowly like he is trying to escape a spooked tiger. In a way, Zishu thinks that this situation probably warrants a strategic retreat of some kind. 

Still. He glares at Chengling’s winning smile as he darts away to safety. That little traitor.

“So when were you planning on telling me that Lord Seventh,” Here Zishu notes that Lao Wen spits the syllables of Beiyuan’s title as if rolling something extremely distasteful in his mouth. “Was coming to visit?”

He mulls over what to say; well-versed as he is in taming Lao Wen when his darkest impulses flare to the fore, Zishu needs to weigh the next things that come out of his mouth before he digs this grave any deeper.

“Or were you not planning on telling me at all?”

The thread of hurt in those words strike true in twisting his heart. Looking up at where Lao Wen has his back to him makes it worse and he hurries across to him, pulling him into his arms and peppering kisses over his cheeks, the bridge of his nose, his brows, the plush heat of his lips, as he seats both of them on the divan. 

“I really was going to tell you, I promise,” Zishu says, brushing back his hair. Letting Lao Wen nuzzle against his throat, he sighs. “I know how you are when Beiyuan visits and I didn’t want to make you uncomfortable with him being here, but he’s one of the few people in the world who knows me as well as you do. He’s a friend and there are times when I just want to have my friend with me.”

“I don’t hate him...” Lao Wen mumbles softly.

Zishu has to laugh at the blatant lie. Anyone with two brain cells to rub together can tell that Lao Wen gets an eye twitch or two when Beiyuan and he exchange some inside joke or two that excludes him. It’s such a little thing; petty by the standards of others and Zishu knows that he isn’t actually jealous or trying to be controlling, but is instead curious and yet dreading all the secrets that Beiyuan may let slip about Zishu’s life before him and all the persons that came before.

Now, that he is jealous about.

He doesn’t say anything to the contrary, merely pull Lao Wen tightly against him. “Alright, alright, if you say so,” He says agreeably, peppering kisses to his husband’s cheek.

3. Absence, as those who claim to be wise, would say, makes the heart grow fonder.

What Zishu finds is that it makes him a fucking misery to be around.

Chengling had long since given up in trying to coax him into some sort of reasonable mood a good week ago and had taken off in the night, leaving a note to say that he will rendezvous with him in another week. That disciple of his is getting better at picking up the subtle things that people are telling him without saying a single word.

He downs another cup of wine. 

It has been horrible to travel this far without Lao Wen. He’d had to contend with constantly looking over his shoulder for a smiling face and the quick-fire wit of his beloved. He has had to draw upon every self-control he had in him not to scream at the Sect Leader they were visiting to further their alliance.

Zishu fumes and drinks two more cups in quick succession.

If Chengling isn’t back in time and if he has to delay his trip back to the Manor just to wait for his silly disciple, he will absolutely without a shadow of a doubt, leave the idiot behind to fend for himself.

He’s done his best to equip the kid for surviving in the wild. No one can fault him for wanting to run back home with the stash of wines he had found on his travels. Zishu had bought them to share with his Lao Wen of course; there were some well-loved flavours and then some others that could be considered rare enough that a former Lord of the Ghost Valley would definitely find delight in the taste of.

Zishu finds himself calming somewhat at the thought of laying out his gifts for Lao Wen; of how those beautiful eyes would widen at the sight of all the wines, of how his lips would curl in a smile as he tastes each and every one of them, savouring them in the only way a connoisseur can; the sounds he would make in his enjoyment that could only come from a place so deep in pleasure--

No, no, no. Zishu is not going there tonight. He downs three cups and sighs. He’s already rubbed himself raw from missing Lao Wen this entire trip. If he does anymore, he’ll probably...

Yeah. Best to just save it til he gets home to his beloved.

+1

Lao Wen likes to think that he is an attentive husband. Certainly, Ah Xu has never wanted for anything when he was with him. Be it in bed or outside of it, he loves to cater to his beloved’s needs. 

As such, when it comes to his birthday, Lao Wen will die before he admits that he doesn’t know what to get him.

In the end, the answer comes simply. 

After the birthday dinner with the members of the Manor, he steals Ah Xu away for a bout of kisses that leave them both weak-kneed and aching jawed. “Get into bed. I’ll bring you your gift,” He says, hands on Ah Xu’s slender waist. Smiling, he swallows down his moan, licking the taste of wine and good food off Ah Xu’s tongue. “You’ll love it.”

He watches his husband stumble back, eyes a deep desire dark.

He cannot wait to see how his Ah Xu unravels when they put into play the little gift he had custom made for him; an exquisite jade that sits on a bed of silk in a lacquer box, hidden in the folds of his second-best robe. The same jade he may or may not have spent a small fortune in carving into the shape of his own cock. 

If he was being honest, this was an entirely selfish gift to be giving someone else on their birthday, but what does he care? This is something Ah Xu and himself can utilise over and over again, and this was something that could be the first of many to come. 

Absently and with glee, he thinks of the day he gets to help Ah Xu model for a jade phallus of his own. 

Oh, Lao Wen is going to have so much fun tonight.

[the-lady-of-stars]

Wishing you were somehow here again -  Pt. 2

Commander Wolffe x Jedi ! Reader

Summary: The time has come... execute order 66

Warnings: Character death!! Injury/fighting/violence. Angst... and lots of it. I would say I’m sorry but I’m really just out here living my best life writing some lovely heartbreak 💞💖💘 

A/N: I listened to across the stars the entire time I wrote this for that extra angsty vibe  😇 hope u enjoy bb. If you haven’t read part 1 I recommend giving it a read before this! : ) Also dw I am not leaving it at this, there will be a Part 3. I’m not that mean ☺️ 

Tags: @wille-zarr @chaotic-noceur

Cato Neimoidia. What a beautiful city to fly over. 

You, Master Plo and the rest of the 104th Batallion had been assigned to the planet in hopes of besieging a Trade Federation stronghold. 

You peered out the windows of your starfighter at the rocky arches of the surrounding environment, enjoying the brief moment of peace and beauty this war had offered you. In front of you flew your master, Plo Koon, behind you Commander Wolffe, your beloved, then the rest of the pack trailed behind. 

You ran a finger over the makeshift grass ring that adorned your left hand, your heart skipping a beat at the mere thought of the previous week’s events. Your husband, in spirit at least. You planned to have a real wedding in the future, perhaps on Naboo if you could manage to pull a few strings with Skywalker. His marriage to the Senator had been no secret to you, so surely Anakin would not mind helping you with yours. 

You could picture it now, a marble balcony overlooking the waterfalls of Naboo, the burning orange sun gleaming from them as you kissed each other like no one was watching. Your master would be there to officiate it- he knew about you and his Commander, of course. You never had been able to hide anything from him. Master Plo had always been somewhat of a father figure to you ever since he took you as his Padawan when you were little, so of course he quickly noticed the bond forming between you and Wolffe. Much as Qui-Gon had turned a blind eye to Obi-Wan and Satine, your master had said nothing about the subject except that he wanted you to be happy, and if Wolffe provided you with such happiness then he was more than willing to protect your little secret, although you briefly remember Wolffe mentioning something about receiving an ‘if-you-ever-break-her-heart-you’re-dead’ speech from him, but you decided not to inquire further. The rest of the pack would be there of course. They were family, and without them to watch it would be no wedding at all. 

Being in a starfighter, you had no means of communicating with Wolffe except over the comm channel which also included the rest of the battalion, and you weren't in the mood to put up with Boost’s usual quips. You could, however, radiate love in his direction through the force, so that’s what you did. 

Wolffe’s chest pounded as he felt your force signature surround him like a ghostly embrace. It brought a heat to his cheeks, hands gripping the controls tighter. Any nerves from the mission dissipated and he was left feeling warm and whole. He thought to himself then that he did not ever want to feel any other way. Blissful. He was no Jedi, didn’t have a lick of force-sensitivity, but he could damn well try to return the sentiment. He found himself furrowing his brows and squinting slightly, while with all his might he mustered up his favourite memories of you, trying his best to radiate the way you made him feel. He hoped you could feel it. 

You could. A soft, breathy chuckle burst from your lips at his efforts, at how truly sweet your tough Commander was on the inside. There were few things you could be sure of in life, but the dream of really marrying him was one of them. One day, hopefully soon, you would see him stood o- what was wrong? The adoration Wolffe was radiating suddenly cut off as though someone had flicked a switch, nothing but neutrality emanating from him now. Opening yourself up to more force signatures you felt the same emotion from the rest of the boys behind you. Something was wrong, and your master clearly sensed it too as the only real emotion you could sense was his confusion. 

“Men, is something the matter?” Plo spoke over the comm channel. 

There was a momentary pause, then Wolffe was the next to speak.

“General Plo Koon, General Y/N Y/L/N, you are both subject to execution under Order 66 due to crimes against the Republic.”

Before either you or your master could say a word your ships burst into flames, your own men firing right at you. The engine was destroyed- there was nothing you could do but wail Wolffe’s name in one last desperate plea as your ship began to plummet down towards the rocky terrain of Cato Neimoidia. Smoke. Heat. Burning. Sharp. Pain. Then nothing. The world went black as your starfighter made contact with the ground. The last thing you saw before your eyes closed was the sight of your master laying dead on the ground nearby.

-----------------------

Your ears rang, a sharp tone muffling the sound of shouting voices. Clones. A pang of fear shot straight to your heart as you remembered how they had attempted to kill you, and how they had succeeded with your dear master. You flinched up instinctively, wanting to run but collapsing the second you so much as moved due to the piercing pain that struck your entire body. You whimpered, tears pricking at your eyes, hearing the clones get closer. 

It seemed that the crash had thrown you from your starfighter and into an alcove in the rocks, which gave you the slightest bit of shelter. As the ringing in your ears subsided a little you heard a pair of footsteps drawing closer to your position. You dug your fingers into the ground, desperately trying to get to your feet so you could defend yourself but with no luck. There was a small cave entrance a few metres away which could offer you a hiding place, but you weren’t fast enough. A boot planted onto your back, pinning you down and earning a yelp.

You craned your head back, trying to see who had a hold of you through the tears which had welled up. 

Wolffe. But he looked nothing like the Wolffe you knew. Your Wolffe never so much as glanced at you without tenderness, but now? A snarl had replaced his smile, eyes glaring down at you like a predator.

“Wolffe-” you choked out, which resulted in him pressing his foot down further.

“Jedi,” he practically growled. “You are to be executed for your crimes against the Republic.”

Before he could make another move, you mustered all the strength you could find and pushed him away from you and into the cave entrance nearby with the force, enough to keep him subdued for a minute or so. Still riding the spike of energy, you pulled yourself to your feet, making your way over to the miniature medical droid which was kept in each starfighter, which had clearly fallen from the crash with you. You brought it to you with the force, pressing the on button once it was in your hands. The droid buzzed to life, whirring around you in circles, clearly in distress at your state. 

“Not me,” your voice was coarse. “Give the Commander a full head scan. I’m looking for something. A chip, possibly?” You nodded your head in the direction of Wolffe slumped over in the cave entrance, the droid zooming over to him immediately. 

When you finally made it over to the cave the droid repeatedly made a beeping sound over one particular part of Wolffe’s head. 

“What’d you find?” 

The droid pulled up a hologram, a red circle highlighting a small piece of organic matter. 

“This appears to be some kind of tumour, which is not normally found in human brains,” it announced.

Your eyes widened, all the breath leaving your body. Fives had been right all along. There really was a chip hidden in the clones. 

“Remove it.” 

“But- General- I don’t think this is the place to-”

“Now!” you spoke sternly, trying to keep your voice down so the other clones wouldn’t find you. They’d notice sooner or later that their Commander was missing, but you had until them to remove that chip. 

“Very well, General. You may want to look away for this.”

A anaesthesia shot was pricked into Wolffe’s neck before the droid protruded an arm with a red laser attached to the end, beginning to cut a hole into his head. You winced, closing your eyes and holding on to Wolffe’s hand, intertwining your fingers with his.

 “You’ll be okay, my love,” you spoke under your breath to him, rubbing soothing circles on Wolffe’s palm. “I’ve got you.”

The whirring stopped. You opened your eyes again to see what was going on when the droid announced, “The procedure has been completed and the chip has been successfully removed. The Commander will awaken momentarily.”

“Thank you, you can shut down now,” you told the droid, shuffling closer to Wolffe so he knew you were there when he woke up. 

About thirty seconds later, Wolffe began to stir. With a groan he reached a hand up to his head, thumbing over the gauze the incision had been covered by. 

“Ahh, where am I?” 

“Wolffe? Wolffe, my love, look at me. Look at me, please.”

With a grimace he turned his head to look at you, blinking a few times before his eyes widened like saucers. 

“Cyare! What happened to you? Are you okay? Who did this to you?” he panicked, getting to his knees so he could rake his eyes over you better. 

“Oh, Wolffe...” he was back. Your Wolffe was back. You couldn’t hold back the tears any longer, throwing yourself into his arms and sobbing wildly. 

“Oh shhh, shhh easy Cyare. I’ve got you now, you’re safe my sweet girl,” he cooed, rubbing his hands soothingly over your upper arms. “What happened?”

Wolffe paused, looking over at your burning starfighter, at his brothers slightly behind it stood around the body of General Plo. General Plo. Order 66. Oh. He launched himself away from you, breathing frantically. 

“It was me. I’m what happened. I- I did this. Order 66. I killed General Plo and I nearly killed you- oh stars...” Wolffe looked down at his shaking hands, thinking about what he had done with them. 

“Wolffe, look at me. Hey. Look,” you got closer to him, taking his hands in yours to ground him. Still trembling he brought his eyes to yours, tears streaming down his cheeks. “That was not you, my love. That was Sidious. He was controlling you and all the other clones through the chips in your brain. They were planted there for that very reason. I do not blame you, nobody blames you. This was not your fault at all.” 

Wolffe broke down into a flurry of “I’m sorry” and “forgive me” but you just pulled him into your chest, holding him tight, pressing kisses to his temple and his cheeks to reassure him. 

“Wolffe, my love, we don’t have much time. Your brothers are still looking for me to check if I’m dead and I’m sure they’ve noticed you’re missing by now. They’ll find us. I removed your chip but they’re still under control of Sidious. We have to leave.”

“No,” Wolffe choked sternly.

“No? What do you mean no?”

“You don’t have a ship any more, and if you ran now they’d see you and kill you on sight. I need to go back, to tell them I found your body and disposed of it. Then you run when we leave. Run and never come back, you hear me?”

Wolffe spoke through tears, clasping your shoulders tightly to make sure you heard every word. 

“No, no, Wolffe you can’t do that. I’m not going anywhere without you. I’m not leaving you to Sidious. I love you.”

“Y/N, please. My sweet girl. Oh, look at you. I wanted to marry you so bad. More than anything. But now I realise what I want more than anything is to keep you alive, even if that means I can’t be yours any more. I love you, Y/N. I love you so much,” he moved his hands up to cup your cheeks, wiping your tears away with his thumbs. “Don’t you go coming back to find me now, you hear me? Run and never come back. Make a life for yourself. You do that for me, hmm? Promise me,” he wept, wet eyes looking straight into yours.

“Okay. Okay I promise,” you felt your heart tearing in two. 

“That’s a good girl. My good girl,” he spoke softly.

“Wolffe-” you whimpered. 

“I know, I know, love. Everything will be alright.”

Wolffe sighed, heart visibly breaking. His glassy eyes observed your face as though it would be the last time he would ever see it. And it would. 

Unable to find any other words to say, Wolffe leaned down and kissed you one last time, tears mingling on your cheeks. His lips pressed hard against yours, clinging on to the moment as long as you both could. When he finally pulled away you chased after him, not ready to let go. 

“I have to go, cyare. Back to my brothers. I’ll be alright, don’t you worry about me, hmm? You stay safe now, I mean it. I love you Y/N.”

“I love you too.”

Wolffe stood, absorbing the sight of you. How this was the last time he’d ever see his girl. With one final sigh he tore his eyes from you and tipped his helmet back on, exiting the cave and leaving everything he ever loved behind. 

The war left its scars on everyone, but Wolffe knew these ones would never heal.

[omg-imagine]

⊱ Drabble #3 ⊰

Pairing: Keanu Reeves x Reader

Prompts:

51- “I missed you so much.”

53- “I’ve been thinking about you all day.”

Words: 1.6k

Warning: fluff, smut

A/N: Not really a drabble lol. I also went full on with the smut here. Hope you like it!

Requested by @eevee-of-rivia​ ♡

The house sat still, cold and empty, the late-night chorus of crickets sounding from an open window, its irritating tune echoing in the hushed atmosphere. For what seemed like hours, you tossed and turned under the warm silken sheets, incredibly restless and deeply yearning for precious sleep to come soon.

Sighing, you flipped over to lay on the left side— Keanu’s side— of the bed. It was dull, uneventful evenings such as this which made you miss your husband a bit more than usual. Undoubtedly, if he were home right now, the night would have been more pleasant. You always slept so soundly with Keanu, feeling loved and secure with him curled up behind you, holding you close.

As expected, your mind continued drifting off to thoughts of him, silently wondering what he was up to at this hour. Though Keanu had sent you a few texts here and there, today had been the first time he couldn’t call you from where he was on the other side of the world, his packed shooting schedule this week taking up most of his energy and focus.

You couldn’t blame Keanu, of course. Even though there had been many, many times when you wished you and him weren’t separated by thousands of miles, the long absences were sadly part of his job. Over the years, you had learned to accept it, but that didn’t stop you from feeling so lonesome throughout the day, wanting nothing more than to see him and hear his voice.

Finally, fatigue took over, and you eventually succumbed to sleep with the slight hope of seeing Keanu in your dreams, just like every night. For tonight, your consciousness conjured up a familiar scenario; a vivid memory, to be exact. It brought you back to the day almost six years ago when you and Keanu exchanged vows on a sandy beach near the bright, blue Pacific waters; in a ceremony that was intimate and perfect, filled with so much joy and love. 

As your dream-self stood there holding Keanu’s hands, anticipating your first kiss as husband and wife, the scene around you began to melt away, your physical body rousing from its deep slumber and emerging into the real world. 

Carefully, your eyes fluttered open, your brain still thick with sleep as you observed your dark surroundings. That’s when you heard it—the sound of the wooden floorboards creaking as if someone were walking out in the hall.

Sitting up on the mattress, you let out a scream when the door suddenly cracked open, and a shadowed man came into the room. Then you heard him say your name, and it took you less than a second to figure out who it truly was.

“Keanu?” You uttered as you reached over to turn on the light, your racing heart soon relaxing.

At first, you couldn’t believe what you were seeing. You wondered if you were still asleep; if this was merely part of your dream. But when Keanu approached the edge of the bed, his kind cocoa-hued orbs gazing down at you, you were then convinced that this was actually happening. 

This was all real.

“Sorry, I didn’t mean to scare—”

You didn’t allow Keanu to finish his sentence. Without warning, you jumped out of the covers and quickly scrambled towards him, pushing yourself up on your knees to kiss him. Capturing his neck in your arms, his lips were soft and sweet as they tenderly, perfectly molded to yours. Running out of air, you pulled away from him but not too far, letting your fingers weave through the ends of his raven locks.

“I missed you,” you spoke, your voice light and airy as the corners of your mouth lifted to form a smile. “I missed you so much.”

“I missed you, too,” Keanu beamed, placing his lips on yours once more. “I hope you don’t mind me coming home unannounced. I just thought it would be a lovely surprise if I didn’t tell you.”

“It’s a lovely surprise, indeed. Even though you gave me a fright back there, I’m happy that you’re here.”

With a bright grin, Keanu wrapped his arms around your body, drawing you in close as you sank into his warm embrace. Closing your eyes, you could feel him nuzzling his head into the crook of your neck, trailing the gentlest of kisses along the side. You hummed in delight while his mouth slowly traveled upwards, his lips grazing your ear as he murmured, “I’ve been thinking about you all day.”

“Hmm, what about exactly?” you questioned Keanu teasingly as he urged you to lie back in bed, positioning himself to hover above you.

“Well, for starters, I thought of doing this…”

A shiver ran down your spine as the large palm of his hand caressed your body, gliding smoothly over your thin, silky nightgown before pushing the garment up and off. Lustful gaze unwavering, Keanu’s fingertips ran alongside the skin of your inner thigh, inching them closer to your heated core. You inhaled sharply when you felt him massaging your sensitive nub through your panties, a smirk flashing across his face knowing that his simple touch could quickly reduce you to a needy mess.

“I imagined this moment during the entire flight, and it made me so hard just thinking about it.”

His words were somewhat of a loss when he swiftly rid you of your underwear and moved down your body, pressing his face towards your warmth. Hot breaths of air softly fanning over your cunt, you couldn’t hold back the moans escaping you as Keanu’s wet tongue delved into your aching pussy, two of his thick digits stroking, teasing your inner walls.

“I missed the way you taste,” Keanu cooed as you writhed helplessly against his strong hold, teetering dangerously on the precipice of climax. “I missed how tight you are around my fingers, my cock. God, I can’t wait to feel you around me.”

“P-Please,” you whimpered, lifting your head to meet his eyes which were filled with urgent desperation to touch, to feel. It had been too long since he’d given you this much pleasure; the late-night, steamy phone calls were incomparable to the real deal. “I want you inside me, baby. I can’t wait anymore, please.”

In an instant, Keanu pushed backwards, removing his fingers from your pussy, and you whined at the loss. You felt like you were half-delirious, your mind utterly stuck in a pleasure-drunk haze. Watching as your husband stripped off his clothes, your heart began to soar seeing his bare body. Your eyes shamelessly roamed over his entirety, sighing softly at the sight of the beautiful man before you. 

Finally, Keanu removed his boxer shorts, the last barrier separating you from all his glory, and you couldn’t help but admire his gorgeous cock, hardened and glistening because of you, just for you.

Wordlessly, he crawled back up to you, his body settling between your legs as your lips met in pure haste, kissing each other fiercely, almost frantically. Releasing a gasp, you felt Keanu’s member pressed against your entrance, its swollen rosy tip slicked with your juices. Breaths mingling together in short pants, you moaned at the delicious burning sensation of him pushing inside in one slow, measured thrust. He paused for a beat, allowing you to get used to his size, only proceeding once you gave him a nod.

“I missed this,” Keanu husked, his hips moving at a tantalizing pace. “I missed you.”

Bodies moving as one, the bed under you creaked with every thrust, the sound of skin slapping against skin mixing with the moans falling from your lips. Keanu’s girthy length stretched you out exquisitely. Each timed stroke became harder, rougher, and deeper, the growing coil of tension within you now starting to fall apart, and you looked up at him, knowing full well that he too was close.

“I love you,” he whispered in between staccato breaths, his movements becoming more erratic, his self-control slipping.

You gazed into Keanu’s dark, heavy-lidded eyes, his mouth slightly agape as a bead of sweat dripped from his quivering brow. Reaching a hand down, you hissed in pleasure when Keanu rubbed at your clit, dragging your nails over his back as he continuously hit that sweet, sweet spot deep inside you.

Within seconds, you began to tremble underneath him, spasming and tightening around his cock as you wailed softly, riding out your high. Grunting out your name, Keanu buried his face in your neck, giving a few final stuttering thrusts before finding his own release, pumping spurt after spurt of his thick creamy cum inside, a sated smile gracing both of your lips.

A minute passed, and so did several more. Soon, your ragged breaths steadied, your heaving chests returning to a calmed state. With a loving kiss, Keanu slowly slipped himself out, his tired body collapsing next to yours as you shifted to lie on your side, facing him. Staring adoringly at his gentle features, you felt your eyes beginning to drift close, though you tried to fight the sleep creeping in.

“It’s okay,” Keanu soothed when he noticed your drowsiness. “Go to sleep. I’ll be here next to you when you wake up.”

“Promise?” You asked in a muted tone, watching as he threw the duvet over to cover your bareness before turning off the lamp, darkness instantly enveloping the room.

Planting one last gentle kiss to your forehead, Keanu then snuggled closer, and you basked in the warmth surrounding you. “I promise.”

Content with his answer, you finally let the exhaustion take over, both your heart and mind now at ease knowing you would be peacefully asleep all night, held by the arms of the one you love the most, Keanu.

Permanent Tags: @penwieldingdreamer​ @keandrews​ @feminine-machinegun​ @fanficsrusz​ @thehumanistsdiary​ @rdjloverxxx​ @flaminasteroid​ @lussdew​

[samwrights]

When The Birds Came

I got Persona 5 Royal as a Christmas gift from my husband and you can bet your ass I fell head-over-heels for Iwai Munehisa and Sakamoto Ryuji. In general, I love loud blonde’s and dads. This is also the first time I haven’t made the reader a smoker (yay, good job Sam) when I very well could have.

Anyway, this is my “yay I’m back from a massive hiatus” piece in which you could tell my main focus was being more descriptive with the NSFW portion as well as continuity. I also am now trying to make lengthy playlists on Spotify to encourage myself and my readers. You can find me on Spotify under the name overxhaul.

Title taken from the song “Prey” by The Neighborhood. 

And yes, I am very aware I love writing ridiculously stupid long oneshots. Sue me.

➳ Pairing: Reader x Iwai Munehisa

➳ Word count: 16,076

➳ Warnings: language, vague child neglect, daddy issues, mommy issues lack of contraceptives, slight breeding kink, slight daddy kink, slight cum play, overstimulatioin, squirting, obviously nsfw

“Come again soon!” You gave a wave to the young man you’d just handed his boba to. Presumably, he was still in middle school, as made noticeable by the school uniform, but he had been coming every day later in the evening before skulking off to the alley around the corner from your little boba shop in Shibuya. Maybe one day you would remember to ask his name, you muse silently. It was even more amusing to note that he always grabbed two drinks when he did come—maybe his sweetheart was too shy to order their own drink, so this little gentleman always handles it for the both of them?

You were merely speculating the minor details of this boy’s life; a telltale sign that you have entirely too much time on your hands. Flicking your wrist upward, you check your watch and assume it’s alright to close up now. It was nearing nine and while Shibuya was relatively peaceful, there has been whispers of shady business deals passing through and you would rather not get caught up in the mess. After packing up all the toppings and washing all the dishes, you locked up your little shop, waving goodbye to nearby vendors as you shut the door.

The tinkling bells over the door drown out as you take a step back, the familiar noise muting as your focus shifts to the abrupt feeling of your back colliding against a squishy but firm wall. Following it was the sound of an abrupt grunt. Immediately, you whip your head around ready to apologize profusely only to be met with a chest. Cautiously, you tilted your head back to look the man in the face—whether merely to apologize or to subconsciously register his face in your memory system in the event he came back to kill you, you weren’t sure—only to be met with steely grey eyes. “S-sorry,” you manage to stutter out, just to receive a bored grunt in reply. His lackluster response prompts you to take a step back away from the man that towered over you, allowing him to move past you with little to no acknowledgement of your remorse.

Silently, the man stuffs his hands into his coat pockets while the crunching of what sounds like glass shatters between his teeth. Unbeknownst to you, you let out an audible gasp—as if trying to remind yourself to breathe—at the noise before you shut your gaping mouth and clench your jaw. The thirty second exchange had left the impression on you that he was dangerous—the hunter versus the hunted. Predator versus prey.

Him versus you.

Had your mind not been too preoccupied with his broad form skulking away from you, you might have noticed the half-drunken plastic cup in his hand with little black boba pearls settled at the bottom. Instead, you had only thought you had felt those vicious eyes boring into the back of your skull as you walked home to your little apartment in the outskirts of town. As if he were standing in every alleyway waiting for the opportunity to pounce—to the point where you were keeping your head down while peeking out the corner of your eyes to see if anyone else was around.

You figured you were being silly and paranoid—even more so when you had entered your apartment and cautiously flicked on the lights before even removing your shoes. You knew you were being paranoid when you ripped back the curtains to your shower as if some serial killer were going to be behind it. And you knew you were going absolutely overboard when you triple checked all the locks on your front door and made sure to close and lock your bedroom door as if that were going to enough to deter a predator.

It was ridiculous to even think you, a mere insignificant fly, was capable of leaving a lasting impression on the man as he did on you. It wasn’t like you were bound to cross paths with him again, you argued with yourself.

He had no reason to notice you—this dread you felt was ridiculously unfounded. But no matter how much you tried to reason with yourself as you laid down for bed that evening, the racing of your heart did little to slow until the man was nothing but a dull hum at the back of your mind.

By the morning, the previous day’s events were nearly forgotten. Perhaps that had something to do with you being late to class this morning and the way you rushed out of your little Shibuya apartment before dashing off to the train station. Not that sprinting would make you not late for class—the train itself only went a certain speed. But the chances of you missing the next soonest train would mean you wouldn’t be that late for class and at least you can still bear witness to part of the lecture—

If only you had made the train.

A defeated sigh leaves your lips; there was no way you’d make it in time. Even attempting to go to your only class now would be a pointless trip to campus. There was still plenty of time until you were supposed to arrive at your boba shop. Seize the day, you figure, as you pay the fee to hop on the train to Inokashira Park. It was a beautiful morning, may as well enjoy the sunshine and attempt to capture the beauty of the landscape through digital painting.

With headphones in, you let the gentle hum of hip hop beats fade into the background while your hand laid out a gestural drawing of the land. A tree here, shoreline there—there was no reason the grumpy man, long forgotten from yesterday, should have been anywhere outside of the depths of your subconscious. But as the saying goes, the more you think of something—or in this case someone—the more likely you’ll notice it more in the world around you. Like how the trees in the distance stood tall as he did and proud of how the natural striations in far off rock formations reminded you of the strange man’s salt and pepper locks peeking from under his hat.

Speak it into existence, or something like that.

Maybe that was the reason the unnamed man was sitting at the park bench directly across from you on a sunny Tuesday afternoon.

Part of you wanted to get up and leave due to the overwhelming sense of dread that crept up your spine. But, considering he was in the midst of what seemed to be a teeming argument under the guise of a normal day to day conversation, you figured he’d yet to acknowledge your existence. That was what you were hoping for anyway. After having the general layout of your landscape laid out on the drawing application on your tablet, you held up your cellphone to take a reference photo to finish the painting later. Genuinely, you thought nothing of it until you heard a gritty, “hey!” Before your brain could process what was happening, the same man you had bumped into the previous evening was holding your wrist in one hand, the other holding onto your phone. “What do you think you’re doing?” He snarls.

“L-let go of me!” You squeak out, causing his grip to tighten further in reciprocation.

“I’m not gonna ask you again, kid,” sandpaper. His voice reminded you of sandpaper.

“I was just taking a reference photo of my painting so I could work on it at home...” considering there was no canvas or paint, it was no wonder he didn’t believe you. Still, he let go of your wrist but held onto your phone well above your head like a bully holding a child’s toy out of reach. With trembling fingers, you reached into your bag and held open your now unlocked tablet to him, hoping your trepidation didn’t blur the photo. As he studied the drawing, he lowered his hand until it was at his side. Even if it were far from finished, he could see the ripples in the water coming from the love boats on the river and a little family of ducks near the rock formation. He could see the luxurious foliage that seemed to frame him and his not-so-friendly acquaintance.

“Take me out of it,” he grumbles, handing your phone back to you and turning away. If embarrassment was an emotion he was familiar with, then that would have been the best way to describe the awkward feeling bubbling in his chest. Maybe if he had undergone different circumstances, he wouldn’t feel the need to interrogate some poor kid in a park in broad daylight.

There’s no point in regretting the past, he decided this long ago. Nobody can change the actions they had once taken—only live with the consequences of their choices and try to learn to move on.

Iwai Munehisa knew that all too well.

And if you hadn’t yet, you were going to learn real quick.

Your shift at the shop had gone by as usual. The school rush wasn’t particularly bad today despite the sunny weather and cooler temperatures. Yet, without fail, the same mousy boy that had come every day at a quarter to five in his middle school uniform showed up. Before he’s even made it to the counter, you begin prepping everything for his routine beverages: small taro iced milk tea with a little bit of extra boba and a regular sized thai iced coffee with an additional espresso shot poured after the remaining components had been shaken together.

“O-oh,” the boy says, a foreign forlorn look on his face, “I-I’m so sorry. I only needed the taro today—my dad said I needed to stop bringing him all this extra sugar every day,” despite only needing the one, he takes out the usual amount of money that he always does for the two drinks. You purse your lips in a tight line, mentally berating yourself for being so presumptuous.

“It’s on me today, kid,” you push the two cups towards him and hand him the thick plastic straws—a blue one for him and green for the coffee. His eyes always seemed to light up just a bit more when he saw the two colors slide across the counter. “I shouldn’t have assumed, I’m sorry. Tell your dad he can blame me for today’s sugar overdose, okay?” The boy’s face lit up, albeit only for a brief second, before taking the drinks and his hand and thanking you profusely.

The rest of the evening resumed normalcy, crawling along the clock. At one point, you’d sent the rest of your employees home because keeping them at the shop was cruel and unusual punishment.

Even after cleaning all the dirty store equipment and preparing mixes and ingredients for tomorrow, you still had an hour left before you were due to close up shop. The irony of Billie Eilish’s ‘Bored’ playing on the store stereo was not lost you.

As the owner, you decided to remain open for another twenty minutes out of courtesy. But, considering not a soul had come by (you swear you saw a tumbleweed blow across your cafe floor), you had decided to flick the neon light off and lock the door, standing in the doorway and fumbling with the key. At least there was a chance of you getting home and getting to bed early, so as to avoid your train-missing debacle from this morning. Maybe even get a chance to sneak some pampering in with a salt soak in the tub and a face mask or even meal prep a few things so that you wouldn’t have run to Big Bang Burger for the umpteenth time this week because you didn’t have time—

“You again?”

You weren’t even thinking about him, you swear. How the hell did the same grumpy man from the park this morning manifest before you?! “Hehehe,” you chuckle in clear discomfort, “w-we gotta stop meeting like this?”

“Actually, I just came by to say thanks for the drink,” the grey-haired man looks down to the half drunken beverage in his left hand for clarity, “but don’t let Kaoru bring stuff for me anymore.” That answered another question that you’d had for a while—you finally knew the boy’s name. But knowing that this man was his father opened a different can of worms entirely.

“Right, gotta watch your figure?” You joked. The man before you looked entirely unamused, only letting out a simple grunt as a form of acknowledgement of your silly question. “Not that there’s anything wrong with your figure—“

“I run Untouchable,” he interrupts, not caring much for your ramble, “sometimes I have questionable patrons that I don’t need ‘im seeing,” your face drops momentarily as you’re met in a deadlock with the man. Being the daughter of a shop owner at one point led you to empathize with the child. And regardless of his reasoning, that didn’t mean that his son didn’t miss him from time to time. From what you knew about this Kaoru boy, he probably used the boba as an excuse to see his dad, even if just for five minutes.

“You know,” you started off slowly, “Kaoru prolly just misses you. And you not allowing him to even bring you a coffee while you’re working denies him the opportunity of seeing his dad on his own terms.” A scowl replaces his blasé features. Wrong move, [name]. Wrong move.

“And what do you know about parenting, kid?” He spits out.

“My names not ‘kid’, asshole,” you bite back, “and we were all kids once. Some of us just choose to live with consequences of our parents actions a lot longer than others.” With that, you storm away.

Well, you try to.

But the grip this man has on your wrist is dangerous, as if trying to let you know you were meeting the end of your life by his hand. “Be careful who you mouth off to, kid—“

“It’s [surname],” you snip once again as you puff out your chest. It was clear to the both of you that you were not backing down. While this surly man was somewhat taken aback, impressed even, by your tenacity, you had figured there was no point backing down now. Even with your posture standing just a bit taller, the man gripping your wrist held it above his own head, pressing both of your chests together.

“A pleasure to meet you, [surname],” he drawls sarcastically, “I’m Iwai. Now stay out of my fucking business,” letting you go, Iwai grumbles to himself before walking away from you with an audible crunch of the sucker between his teeth. When he was no longer in eyesight and ear shot, you let out an audible gasp to replenish the breath you’d been holding. Maybe he was right—there was no reason for you to meddle or to say the things that you had. But at the same time, you knew those morose looks on Kaoru’s face all too well—being an only child with absent parents is a language that only those who suffer can speak.

So maybe you wouldn’t encourage Kaoru to bring nice treats for Iwai, but you made it your mission to make sure Kaoru didn’t go home every night wishing he could see his dad for more than ten minutes.

One of the downsides to being an owner of a shop, or a good one anyway, was dedicating seven days a week to running your business. Sure, you had a few part timers here and there that could easily handle the shop, but they were students who needed to keep up with their studies and wanted to have social lives. Rather than dealing with the hassle of finding someone reliable enough, you made it a point to shoulder the burden on your own. Being slow enough most nights did allow you to work on your own coursework in between—the perks of being in college merely for the sake of learning rather than emphasizing the importance of securing a degree. It also allowed you to tackle administrative work while engaging with your customers.

Including a young boy who still looked so downtrodden as he ordered his small taro boba tea on ice. “It’s Kaoru, right?” You ask him casually as you hand him his drink. The boy offers you a look of surprise.

“Y-yeah?”

“It’s nice to officially meet you, I’m [surname].” He smiles bashfully to replace his stupefied look. Handing off his tea, you notice the way he lingers, as if contemplating whether or not he wants to stay or flit off elsewhere. “You’re more than welcome to hang around here and do homework or something, Kaoru-kun,” you add, noticing the way his eyes flicker back and forth between the alley where you now know his father is.

“O-Okay,” the boy responds meekly before taking a two-top table by the window. It gave him the best view of said alley, and part of you wonders if he did that intentionally. Deciding to leave it be for now, you occasionally peek out the corners of your eye to see Kaoru flipping through what you assumed to be pages of homework. Every few minutes, he was looking up out the window before mindlessly fingering the pages again.

When your line had died down and all customers had been serviced, you walked out from behind the counter with a towel in hand. Using the guise of sanitizing the tables, you approached the boy, clearing your throat so as to pardon your presence. “Looks like entrance exams, am I right?” Kaoru looks up at you again, boyish eyes gleaming as if he had just been caught with his hand in the cookie jar before dinner. “How are your studies going?”

“Uh...not very good,” he admits sheepishly. “Sometimes my dad helps me study, but he hasn’t been home lately before I go to bed.”

Ah.

Why did it feel like you were looking in a mirror every time you talked to this boy?

“Well, I’m sure your dad has his reasons. If you don’t mind, I could always help you study?” Perhaps it was spite that drove your actions. After all, Iwai had told you to stay out of his business, yet here you were, offering to tutor his son just because he refused to be present. Maybe it was remorse because you had meant what you said—Iwai had his reasons. Just like your father did back when you were Kaoru’s age.

That didn’t mean that your father’s absence didn’t hurt you or manifest itself as the young boy sitting at one of your tables.

“R-really?!” The boy’s excited voice pulled you from your inner monologue. You offer a soft smile instead, reaching over to turn his notebook towards you.

Comprehension comes easy enough for you to show him, as well as the various portions of Japanese and English grammar and vocabulary. Math was only slightly more difficult, but not by much considering it was still relatively basic formulas that had just been reworked for the current generation’s curriculum.

Science at this age was something you hadn’t even faced until your second or third year of high school.

“Why the heck,” you emphasize your censorship, despite strongly wishing to drop an f-bomb, “are they teaching you physics in middle school?!”

“They aren’t,” Kaoru all but cries. It’s apparent that this subject has been frustrating him immensely—perhaps that was why he was also desperate for his father’s attention? “I haven’t learned any of this yet, but I really want to make it into this academy but it’s one of the top schools in the prefecture and I’m worried I’m too dumb to get in.” The boy had split every last ounce of anxiety, his words coming a garbled mess as he refused to take a breath as he spoke while teems of hot tears threatened to spill past his eyes.

“Hey, Kaoru-chan?” You say gently as you close his notebook. “You are not dumb,” you murmur firmly while looking him in his wet eyes, “you haven’t learned this stuff yet so of course it’s going to be difficult. That doesn’t mean you can’t learn it.” Kaoru is quiet for a moment, slight sniffles sounding from his face.

“But if we aren’t learning this in school, how am I supposed to learn how to do any of this?” Pausing, you check your watch for the time as you realize how late it must’ve gotten. It was already closing time, and the streets of Shibuya were starting to run thin.

“Tell you what, Kaoru-chan. Give me two days. Two days, I’ll come up with a study guide for you with formulas and units you’ll need to know to learn just basic physics. Does that sound good?” As you shut off the neon ‘Open’ sign, the boy takes this as a signal to begin packing his belongings into his knapsack.

“O-okay,” he hesitates, “but I-I don’t wanna be a bother, [surname]-san. I can always ask my dad, though he’s not much of a help usually,” the last part is mumbled almost unintelligibly.

Almost.

Your chest constricts again because you swear this child, however short of a time you’ve known him, is too much like you to be a mere coincidence. It was more like whatever omniscient being up above sent you this child to help.

“You’re no bother, Kaoru-chan. I’ll see you tomorrow, and I will let you know right away when I have your study guide ready, but you should probably head on home before your dad starts worrying about you.” The boy agrees, the slick appearance of tears dissipating until they were replaced with some semblance of hope. Maybe he could get into the academy—maybe he’s not dumb and his dad doesn’t want to be around him, he thinks.

“Thanks again, [surname]-san!”

“Kaoru, why are you still out right now?” The boy in question whips his head around, meeting the steely grey eyes of his father. “And you, I thought I told you stay out of my business? That includes my son!” Iwai was angry. The lower lid of his left eye shook, and the corners of his mouth trembled as if ready to snarl. He wasn’t just angry.

Iwai Munehisa was livid.

“D-dad, I’m sorry. We lost track of time a-and [surname]-san was helping me—“

“Go home and go to bed, Kaoru. I’ll meet you there shortly.”

“O-okay...” despite not wanting to, Kaoru takes his leave down the streets of Shibuya. Occasionally his gaze would flicker back to the sight of you staring at his father with your arms crossed over his chest and him returning the look with venom.

“What do you want, [surname]? Is it money? Who sent you?” The way your family name leaves his lip is entirely satirical. There’s malice painting his tone, as if trying to submerge his very obvious threatening posture with extra ammunition. “I meant it when I said stay out of my business.”

“I have no problem with that, but your kid might.”

“And what do you know about him? Besides the fact that he keeps bringing you business?” Between the both of you, the volume of your voices is beginning to transcend the quiet streets of Shibuya. And considering the privacy that Iwai clearly strived for, you let out a sigh before turning around to unlock the door to your shop. The disgruntled man raises a brow, teeth clicking against the sucker between his lips as he grunts in confusion. “What, you runnin’ away now, kid?”

“I just don’t think you or your son would appreciate this conversation taking place in such a public space.” You huff with a roll of your eyes before holding the door open for him. Weary, Iwai scuffles in, his clunky boots thumping along the linoleum of your storefront. His caution made you roll your eyes before you locked the door once again behind him. “I offered to tutor Kaoru because he’s having anxiety about his entrance exams.” You bite out. Iwai, now pausing his gawking at your frilly, all white and gold boba shop, snaps his neck towards you. It seems you had his attention now.

“I already told him I would get him a tutor, so leave him alone.”

“Dude,” you huff once again, dropping all formalities along with your patience, “he almost started crying in front of me. He thinks he’s dumb and you’ve apparently put off finding a tutor for long enough that he is freaking out and nearly having public meltdowns.”

For a moment, Iwai is silent. There’s no noise in the shop, save for the incessant clacking of that damned lollipop.

“He’s not dumb,” is all his father grits out, the hardened sugar finally cracking underneath his molars.

“No, he’s not. He actually kept up with my little impromptu lessons. He can pass those exams; he just needs a little help.” With a newfound resolve, Iwai turns around to stand at his full figure, eyes narrowing down towards you.

“Let’s meet somewhere and talk this over. Not tonight obviously, I gotta fix a couple o’ things at home,” he grumbles, much like his son had earlier that evening.

“What, like an interview?” You balk incredulously. What, did he think you were trying to kidnap his kid or something?! Kaoru was nearly your height and you ran a little freakin’ boba shop—what the hell could you possibly do that would be even remotely threatening?!

“Yeah, like an interview. I’ll reach out to ya in a couple days. Later,” with finality, Iwai brushes past your smaller frame, unlocks the door and exits the shop, leaving you to your confused, dumbfounded solitude.

Rest did not find you easy that night.

No matter what tactics you had resorted to in an attempt to find sleep, nothing seemed to work. Guided relaxation and meditation, one of your typical go-to methods, had only left you with even more tense muscles. You tried turning on quiet, gentle music while continuing the digital painting you had started a couple weeks ago. The whole hour you had tried, your eyes had subconsciously flitted back and forth between the area you were painting and the two men conversing on the bench in your reference photo.

Just take me out of it, his voice had gnawed at the back of your mind.

And slowly, the two conversing men had been exchanged with silhouettes of the aforementioned man and a much shorter figure sitting shoulder to shoulder by his side. While it made for decent artwork, the thought of having to paint such a tender moment, as opposed to witnessing it firsthand, had left you full with guilt. The poor boy you were so determined to help—the boy so desperate for his father’s attention. Where was his mother? Couldn’t she help him out?

Then again, it wasn’t like your own mom did much for you either. If anything, she merely stood idly by while your father barked instructions on how to live your life.

Go to college for business.

Earn nothing less than perfection.

Open your own shop.

Be successful.

But also, friendships are unnecessary, and you should sever ties should you make them.

Get a job without help, but also pay for your own transportation said job.

Live independently—do everything on your own so that your success is yours.

These were your guiding principles of life. The only reason you turned out the way you did was out of sheer rebellion, doing everything your parents asked and more in your own way. And when you finally did achieve your rendition of success, you cut all ties with them.

You didn’t want Kaoru to turn into the bitter human you had by following some unwritten code like you had, especially if he didn’t have to.

But thinking of the boy leads you back to his irritated father and the initial reason you couldn’t sleep. The immediate flip in personality of Iwai had left you all sorts of jumbled. At first, he was so adamant and insistent that you stay far away from the Iwai family—to stay out of his business. Was he merely humoring you? Something in those grey eyes told you no. Rather, it told you of a more insidious reason that, even if he wasn’t physically standing before you, made your spine run cold. The type of chill that travelled from the base of your neck down your core.

The more you dwelled on the thought, the more you wondered about how he would get in contact with you. Would he call you? He didn’t have your number, but some inkling in the back of your head told you that wasn’t going to stop him. Would he just come by after work again? Maybe you should make sure your security cameras were working so that he didn’t kill you inside your own shop. The idea didn’t seem farfetched, you attempted to rationalize. Considering the death grip he had on your wrist twice now, he could have easily broken a bone or two. Iwai could easily slam his big hands on your throat and break your hyoid bone, crushing your windpipe. He could bind and gag you—

Okay, [name], time for bed.

Despite all the tossing and turning from the previous night, you had managed to make it to your digital design class early enough to grab a coffee on the way. Lord knows you needed it.

Much like the night before, the hour-long course had dragged on with every second stretching the minutes. Since your mind and presence were practically nonexistent, you had opted to head to a cafe nearby in Kichijoji. It was a short, half-hour walk that seemed to tick by much faster than your morning had. Sitting outside, enjoying a beautifully crafted latte and a light lunch while working on your digital painting had been the reset you’d needed. It seemed to ebb away the sleepless night. Maybe work wouldn’t be so daunting later.

But that feeling of dread is pokes its head once again upon receiving a text message from an unknown number.

Where are you.

Part of you becomes weary of your surroundings, scoping out for any suspicious characters that might be looking your way. Another part of you scoffs at the message—why on earth would you reveal your location to an unknown number? However, ignoring the text as you thought you should, proved to be ineffective as the unfamiliar number flashes again in the form of a call not once, but twice. When you refused to pick up the second time, another message is sent.

What, you scared of a job interview, kid?

Before colorful words can be muttered under your breath, you answer the phone as it rings for a third time. “How the fuck did you get my number?” You bite out between ground teeth. On the other end of the line, Iwai Munehisa lets out a chuckle before merely stating that he has his connections.

“Seriously though, where are you? I got time before the shop opens.” For a moment, you’re quiet, contemplating on whether or not you should tell him. On the plus side, you were in a public space at the moment. He couldn’t kill you behind closed doors like he was so clearly capable of. Though maybe a small part of you wouldn’t mind feeling that delicious grip on your throat, even if for a second—“Earth to [surname],” the voice chimes on the line. Pulling you from your boundless thoughts, you absently spew off your location as if you were talking with an old friend as opposed to the man you’d been continuously butting heads with. “Kichijoji? It’ll take me a few, but I’ll be there within the hour. Later.”

With that, Iwai hangs up, leaving you to your train wreck of thoughts.

Shit.

He was coming to interview you to be a tutor—which, that part was the least of your worries—but you hadn’t prepared a damn thing for Kaoru yet. Considering how yesterday’s events played out, you figured you had a bit more time. Not that you didn’t perform well under pressure, no. It was more of the fact that the Untouchable owner made your skin crawl and your blood boil and triggered your fight-or-flight response with a single look.

Exiting out of the digital painting program, you pull up a blank note page in your tablet before creating a rough draft of Kaoru’s lesson plans. While you were initially just helping him with science, you figured it would be helpful to refine other subjects of the entrance exams just for Kaoru’s peace of mind.

Still awaiting his father, you begin writing out a formula sheet to be used with his study guides for both the math section and the science section. Even only glancing at the boy’s workbook briefly, you had a rough idea of the material content—acceleration due to gravity, formulas for mass, Planck’s constant, conversions between Fahrenheit to Celsius to Kelvin—

“Huh. I didn’t expect you to take this so seriously.” Iwai has a hand on the back of your chair, leaning his weight on the furniture as he looks over what you have written so far. Much of the letters and symbols looked like a whole lot of mumbo jumbo to him—a foreign language that he didn’t expect a girl like you to be so well-versed in.

“Oh!” You squeak out, startled by his sudden presence. “Jesus, give a girl a warning next time, would ya?” Iwai gives a roll of his grey eyes before taking the seat across the table from him. The waitress swings by upon seeing a new guest, grabbing his order for a basic drip coffee with cream and sugar on the side.

“It looks like you know what you’re doing. You just pull these outta your ass?” His roundabout phrasing isn’t as effective as he thinks, you muse. Not that you blame him for his suspicions—you ran a little boba shop that probably didn’t net much profit or had relatively simple supply systems with no need for knowledge of these types of formulas.

“No,” you huff out a small tuft of air in a scoff, “I graduated with a degree in astrophysics.” Iwai quirks a brow, clearly not hiding the confusion at the drastic dichotomy of your current occupation and your area of specialization. Even more than the confusion, he was clearly skeptical of this being true.

“Is that so? Say I believe you,” this man was very good at pushing your buttons, you note, “why waste your degree tutoring my boy?” The question grit against your thin nerves.

“Well, considering I’m running a tea shop instead of finding more habitable planets on the International Space Station right now, I would say that at least tutoring offers me a small, singular use of my degree.” You balk, simultaneously propping your elbow on the table and cradling your head to further emphasize your irritation. Beneath his breath, you swear you hear the man mutter, ‘brat’.

“Fine, next question.” Iwai pauses momentarily, sipping his coffee and setting down the mug a little less than gracefully before slumping back into his chair. His arms and knees are crossed, the telltale signs of one keeping their cards close to their chest. “Who are you?”

Huh?

Iwai repeats his questioning, adding pressure to the first word as if he were indirectly prying for a specific answer.

“Uh, I’m [surname] [name]. I’m 29, Toho graduate in astrophysics, as I mentioned, as well as a double major in business, while currently taking a digital design course for shits and giggles?”

“And?” You narrow your eyes at him, blood constricting and your pupils turning to pinpricks out of sheer annoyance.

“And what?”

“That’s all there is to ya? No tricks, no hidden agendas; It’s that simple?” The question coming from his lips seems to be more to himself rather than directed at you. His body is no longer scrunched—however difficult that may be for someone of his hulking stature—with his legs spread out a bit more comfortably and his arms relaxed in a looser cross. With him stretching out, his feet just barely brush yours, but neither of you make the motion to recede them.

“Simple? You sure know how to make a girl feel special.” Feeling the slightly laxer attitude, you mirror his posture. Despite leaving your hand on the table and cradling your chin, the action is more fueled by intrigue rather than annoyance as it had earlier.

“What can I say? I like ‘em simple. Better than dealing with dramatics and feeling like a babysitter.” You aren’t totally sure if he was aiming for a joke—from the blasé look on his face, you would say no—but you can’t help but laugh. Despite his scary appearance that had rattled every vertebrae in your spine from a single look, Iwai was no better than a grumpy old man yelling at the neighborhood kids for playing too loud in the middle of the day. Or at least, from that tiny interaction he did. The bubble of laughter, however, grates at his nerves. “Alright, last question. You get oddly protective when it comes to my son. Why?”

Protective.

Huh?

Is that how he viewed it? Your initial reaction was to offer a rebuttal—to outright deny his claim. “I-I’m not—“

“[name],” the vowels and consonants strung together like honey straight from the dripper when he spoke your name, rather than the malice that his tone held. “Just spit it out.”

“I’m not protective, I’m preventative.” Well, he did tell you to spit it out. So your words come out unrefined like a rough draft to a thesis while the two of you stare at each other. Grey on [eyecolor]. “My parents used to run a little shop in Sendai—spent all their time there and left me to just do whatever. I always lived by their rule, always tried to be perfect so maybe they would come celebrate my achievements with me.”

But they never did. Student council president? Big whoop.

Valedictorian? You’re only in high school.

Got a perfect in your entrance exams to Toho? So what.

Graduated summa cum laude with a double major? They didn’t even come to your graduation.

“It hurts a kid. A lot. I saw all the same signs in Kaoru, I just don’t want another kid to grow up like me.” For a moment, Iwai is quiet. He’s contemplating his words, careful and cautious of what to say. On the one hand, he understands what you’re saying. Truly, he does. He understands it isn’t fair to his son—it’s not fair to constantly leave him alone and in the dark and all to hide his past. Kaoru never asked for that.

Hell, Kaoru never asked to be born, let alone sold and left on Iwai’s front porch.

At the same time, Iwai Munehisa takes a long look at you. While he acknowledges the tired, nearly empty gaze in your eyes and your gaunt, frail body that clearly lacks some form of nourishment, he also sees the raw intelligence. He sees drive and passion and guts and part of him thinks if his kid turned out half the person you did, maybe that wouldn’t be a bad thing.

However, he also realizes that he’s wrong for thinking that. You are a product of poor upbringing, and you were trying to break the cycle.

“Personally,” the grey-haired man starts off slowly, “I don’t think there’s anything wrong with you. You’re a gutsy woman that’s standing up for what she believes in.” Iwai can tell you’re ready to fire a rebuttal immediately, to which he holds his hand up. “But I get what you’re saying. Kaoru shouldn’t have to take the same journey just to achieve the same results—so you have my permission.”

You close your lips back together as you clench your jaw. This should have felt like a victory for you—you get to help this poor boy feel validated in his efforts. But you know it doesn’t come solely from you, a stranger that just happened to hear his pleas.

“I need more than that, Iwai. You need to start being there for him too, otherwise this is all moot.”

The man in question licks the dry plains of his lips before pursing them together. How was he going to justify leaving the shop? That would mean his part-timer would have to close up shop for him. What if Tsuda or Masa end up at the shop—

It doesn’t matter, Iwai realizes. This is for his son, his literal fucking world. He would be no better than Kaoru’s birth mom if he couldn’t even be there for his boy.

“Okay,” the weapons dealer agrees after a minute, “whatever he needs. But the tutoring sessions happen in my home and nowhere else. Understood?”

Without a moment’s hesitation, you hold your hand out to shake on the deal, not even registering the fact that you were going to be inside the Iwai home or picking up on how adamant he was with this request.

While Iwai Munehisa was a relatively strict man, you were grateful that he showed some flexibility to your own personal schedule. Sure, it was something that any normal, decent human would do, but for some reason you just hadn’t expected that courtesy from him.

Your tutoring sessions started at six in the evening which gave everyone ample time to take care of their own needs. You had time to complete your own coursework and manage your shop, Iwai was able to teach his part-timer how to close up shop for the evening, and Kaoru would be able to take care of assignments due the following day or attend cram school. Each day that you had tutoring sessions, Munehisa would pick you up from your own store, walking with you side by side back to his shared apartment. Some days, he would be silent. Others, he would indulge you with mundane conversations.

“Wait so you’re back in school, just for the hell of it?” The gun shop owner had asked when you presented him with the painting. The one of him and Masa in Inokashira Park, though the latter was no longer in the photo. Instead, the silhouette had been exchanged for a much shorter one, paying homage to Kaoru instead.

“Yeah, I told you that during my interview,” you remind him casually, looking anywhere but his direction as the photo was being zoomed in and out from all sorts of directions under his scrutinizing eye. “I wanted to get better at art, so I took some local classes.”

“Huh,” he hums thoughtfully, handing you back your tablet, “pretty impressive, kid.”

You’ve learned not to take offense to him calling you that. In a sense, he was almost old enough to be your dad (or at least that was what he kept telling you, but you had your doubts)—essentially everyone is a kid in his eyes. If anything, it was more of a term of endearment at this point.

After he opens the doorway to the apartment, you take your shoes off before calling out his son’s name. In the short three weeks that you’ve been at this routine, you’ve found yourself already familiar with the space and easily make yourself at home. Kaoru is in the living room, hunched over a coffee table with his notes scattered everywhere. The boy is muttering formulas to himself as he punches numbers into a calculator, followed by anguished wails before noticing your presence. “[name]-san, help,” he whimpers.

Another normality that’s been created is that Kaoru has dropped the formalities with you per your request. Iwai holds his hands up in defeat, knowing the two of you were going to be busy by the frustrated look on his son’s face. “I’ll get dinner started,” he adds as he saunters off to the kitchen. He knows better than attempt to help in the math or science department—that’s your area of expertise after all.

“Alright kiddo, let’s take a look.” Immediately you get to work, assessing his problem—physics, which had been a real struggle for the boy—step by step while his dad observes from the half-wall in the kitchen. You look entirely at ease, patient and productive as you sit shoulder to shoulder with his son. Iwai can hear your simple explanations for why certain numbers do and don’t work in the formula that the question calls for. “...this is why you gotta make sure that you’re always very specific with your units. It’ll lead to context clues later...” you may be a brat, Munehisa muses, but you were an absolute natural with his boy.

As promised, Munehisa was present for your tutoring sessions and often checked in on Kaoru’s progress. Not just by being there either, but pulling out questions from his study guides, changing the numbers, and having the boy solve them so that he could apply what he learned. On top of that, Munehisa made dinner for the three of you each night as well as prepped his son’s lunches for the next day. It was strangely domestic, but also filled a part of his heart he hadn’t known was missing. “Come eat, you two,” he called out from the kitchen as he finished setting the table. When he hears no response, the grey-haired man pokes his head into the living room to see you and Kaoru engrossed in a very serious conversation fueled by hushed whispers. Focusing his hearing on words rather than the gentle pitter patter of rain hitting the window, he can make out a couple sentences.

“...what if I don’t pass the exams?”

“Hey, you’re gonna do amazing, Kao-chan. You’re already figurin’ out most of these problems on your own, you could get into any school in the prefecture. And we’ve still got a couple months to go, and you’re doing so well, you don’t need to be so hard on yourself.” A small part of Munehisa’s heart aches. Where did he go wrong as a dad for his son to be this hard on himself?

“You’re going to ace it, Kaoru,” he says without thinking, causing the two of you to snap your heads in his direction. Iwai’s expression is soft—a juxtaposition to how it usually is—as he locks eyes with his son. For a moment, the boy looks as if he’s going to cry while having the ability to light up the entire apartment with how bright he’s smiling. Such a soft, tender moment between father and son that you can’t help but think you shouldn’t be here. “Now c’mon, let’s have dinner.” Iwai offers you a hand to pull you off the floor while his son is already setting off to the small dining room at Mach speed. Even after hoisting yourself off the tatami mats, however, Iwai’s hand is still loosely gripping yours. “Thank you. For everything.”

“Uh, y-yeah, no problem!” Your hand retracts from his immediately, as if his skin were made of fire rather than flesh, before you flit off to take the empty seat across from Kaoru to gush over how wonderful your meal looked.

That softness never left Iwai Munehisa’s face, even as he took the seat between you and his son at the little circular table designed for four. The three of you say grace before digging in, with a small reminder to have Kaoru eat his veggies. Since you had started tutoring him over the last couple weeks, the environment in the Iwai household had shifted to something more domesticated—homier—than Munehisa was used to.

And he would be a fucking liar if he said he didn’t like it.

A part of him wonders if this could have been his life from the get-go had Kaoru been born his son; if Kaoru had you as his mom, would this be what life would be like?

Full stop, Munehisa, he grumbles internally.

This was a contract deal. You tutor his son for entrance exams in exchange for meals because he knows for a fact now all you eat is garbage, as well as ensuring that Kaoru is receiving the care that a lonely only child needs. Yet, despite this whole contract set-up, you found yourself seeing the boys even on the days you didn’t have tutoring sessions. There were days when Akira, the part-time employee at Untouchable, would watch the store and both the Iwai men would pay you a visit at the shop, staying until you had finished up your shift for the day. Other times, you and Munehisa would subconsciously meet outside your shopfront and walk together towards his apartment before realizing it was a Sunday or a Thursday—two days you always had off from tutoring.

You were at his apartment almost as much as you were at your own.

Conversation flowed between you and Kaoru so easily, ranging from school to local sports to art. “Oh! I forgot to show you something Kao-chan! Pardon me,” you abruptly stood up, skipping to the living room to grab your tablet from your work bag. Unlocking it and pulling up the painting, you flip the screen over to show Kaoru the completed artwork. For a moment, the boy is marveled as he recognizes his father’s coat and his school uniform on the figures facing the water. The striations in the rock formations, the shadows of the trees—everything is mesmerizing.

“Don’t forget to print a copy for us so we can hang it up,” Iwai reminds you. Though, it’s the first you’re hearing of this. You shoot Iwai a sheepish half-grin before clearing off your plate. Of the three of you, you’re the last one to finish, so Kaoru takes his time clearing the table while Munehisa grabs you a glass of red wine to accompany his own neat whiskey. “I’ll take care of the dishes—“

“Wait, no you cooked. Let me—“ you tried to offer, but the weapon’s dealer just shooed you away with a nonchalant flick of his wrist.

“You kids finish studying before it gets too late, I’ll take care of it.” While Kaoru has already sputtered his gratitude towards his dad and flees back to the living room, you’re still standing in the small kitchen slash dining area, collecting the remaining dishes for Iwai. “What did I just say?” He balks, drying his hands on the towel draped over his shoulder. Before you have a chance to respond, he grabs your wine that’s perched on the counter in one hand, the other gingerly placed on the small of your back as nudges you towards the living room, mumbling something along the lines of, “you never listen, ya brat.” Without another protest, you pluck the glass from his fingers, pretending the heat from his large hand on your back didn’t cause your flesh to erupt into flames.

“Alrighty, where did we leave off, Kao-chan?”

“We were working on phenotypes and genetics.” Easy enough—first year biology, you think to yourself. You go through explaining alleles to Kaoru and dominant and recessive traits with him, and how recessive traits can end up becoming more prominent in offspring.

“So if I was actually my dad’s son, there’s a chance I would have had grey eyes?”

Huh?

“Kao-chan—“

“It’s okay. I’ve always known he wasn’t my real dad.” Oh. Oh. Well that makes this ten thousand times more difficult. From your own experience, it was already hard enough being the only child and never being enough for your biological parents. In theory, they should love you unconditionally—they brought you into this world. However, this circumstance is entirely foreign to you. “My parents died when I was a baby, and he took me in because he was close to them. But sometimes, I wonder if he did that just because he was close to them, ya know? Sometimes I wonder if he even views me as his son.”

Your heart broke—shattered into thousands of tiny little shards that stuck to the muscle fibers in your body. It probably didn’t help at all that Iwai was initially so focused on running his stupid shop to the point where his own son—biological or not—needed to make excuses to see him. But at the same time, Iwai Munehisa was so overly protective of Kaoru that there was no way he didn’t view him as his child.

“Maybe,” you start off slowly, thinking back to the final question of your interview with Munehisa. “His own example of parenting is a little skewed, so he’s trying his best to do the opposite of how he was raised so that he does better with you.”

“Yeah, but you’re much better at it, [name]-san,” you frown slightly at this. In the month or so that you’ve known the Iwai family, you have to commend the fact that Munehisa has been doing much better than when you met him. His guard was still up, of course, but he was home much more with Kaoru and he was absolutely trying. But there are still parts of the boy that are filled with uncertainty and doubt—parts of him that still long for being coddled like a child because he was still one underneath it all. Subconsciously, you wrap an arm around his shoulder, offering him a loose hug that he was free to back out from at any moment.

He didn’t.

“You know what one of the first things I ever said to your dad was?” Kaoru stiffens slightly but doesn’t say anything in response. Instead, he buries himself further into the hug because he can’t remember the last time that he was given a crumb of parental affection. “‘We were all kids at some point. Some of us just choose to live with the consequences of our parents’ actions longer than others’. I told him that because every choice I make is a direct result of how I responded to my upbringing.” And now that you think about it, maybe Iwai Munehisa has seen more than you realize. In fact, you’re almost certain he has by the way he lives and raises his own child.

He was also still living with the consequences of how he was raised.

It seems his son resonates with the sentiment, as Kaoru sniffles while sitting up, but remains quiet while he still leans shoulder to shoulder with you. Despite textbooks and notebooks still being open and scattered across the living room, it was clear that he just needed a moment to be—to exist and sit and stew on his own thoughts. Once again, you reach to wrap an arm around Kaoru’s shoulder while your free hand reaches for the stemless wine glass, both of you watching the drips of the rain creating streaks on the glass of the balcony door.

From the kitchen, Iwai shuts off the water when he’s cleaned off the all the dishes. The only noises that can be heard from the living room is the water hitting glass and the occasional setting down of glass on wood, but there’s no talking. No praise from solved equations and gentle goading to finding the right answer. There’s nothing at all. There’s an intimate stillness that Iwai almost feels guilty for looking in on that creates an ache in his chest.

How the fuck were you so much better at handling his son than him?

Iwai swallows the contents of his glass in one gulp before pouring him another shot of whiskey that he will hopefully sip on as intended.

Looking outside the balcony door himself, Munehisa realizes the rain isn’t going to let up any time soon. Kaoru also likes a nice, hot mug of cocoa on rainy nights like this. While turning to heat milk on the stove, the weapons dealer wracks his brain as to if he even owns an umbrella so that you don’t have to walk home in this storm without one. He should have one, right? There’s no way he’s that shitty of a father that he doesn’t have an umbrella for his kid when it rains.

His extra one is still at Untouchable, where he usually keeps it in the event someone else needs one or if he’s got business to tend to. Upon this realization, Iwai groans before bringing the cocoa to the living room for his son.

“Kaoru, ya got an extra umbrella somewhere?” Munehisa asks gently, ignoring the panic that spreads across both Kaoru’s and your faces while the two of you pry yourselves apart. The boy thanks his dad, shamelessly sipping at the treat before turning to face away from the window.

“Actually I think I left it in my locker at school, sorry dad.”

“S’all right,” he says nonchalantly as you begin helping Kaoru pack up his notes and study guides, “maybe [name]-san can have her husband come bring by an umbrella so she don’t get sick—“ you sputter out a distinguished laugh, grateful you hadn’t been drinking the rest of your wine or you surely would have spit it all over Kaoru.

“Husband? The only thing I’m married to is the idea of getting to work for the International Space Station.” Munehisa doesn’t receive the opportunity to comment on the fact that you’re nearly thirty and not married, thanks to his son who lights up like a start at the mention of the ISS.

“Woah, is that your dream job, [name]-san?! That’s so cool!” Kaoru begins rattling off a few facts he knows about the solar system and a few accomplishments of NASA and where water can be found on Mars. Feeding his enthusiasm, you explain why water can be found on Mars in the first place and how, despite this discovery, we can’t necessarily just up and move to that planet. While the two of you geek out slightly over the stars and planets, Iwai has replenished your now empty glass of Cabernet. “Dad, why doesn’t [name]-san just stay the night until the storm stops?”

“Kaoru, that’s inappropriate.” He would be lying if he said that thought hadn’t crossed his mind. At first, he immediately banished it because he just assumed your spouse would come and get you. Then knowing there was nobody waiting at home, Iwai just didn’t want to admit that he liked the idea of you staying a little more than he should.

“B-but It’s worse to let her go home in this weather cause she’ll get sick and you’ll get sick from walking her home!” Coward, his subconscious screamed. Coward coward coward, you’re a fucking coward Munehisa. His own son has to scold him into what is clearly a smarter choice for everybody’s health merely because he’s too fucking chicken to deal with potential situations that would arise from you staying over for a night. Wait, his mind argues, nothing would even happen because you would have to have some semblance of interest in him for any of those scenarios and there was no way—

“Kao-chan, your father’s right. I couldn’t put you guys out like that. Besides, it’s not that far of a walk, I’ll be alright—“

“What? No, you’re not putting us out,” Iwai combats, feeling the need to squash the idea that your presence is a burden on the family. If anything, your presence was a necessity.

“It’s not that big of a deal—“

“I’ll sleep on the couch tonight; you take my bed.” The grey-haired man is adamant now, while Kaoru is slightly pleased with himself. It’s been a long time since they’ve had company, let alone someone stay at their house. In fact, he doesn’t think anyone has since he’d been adopted. And Kaoru likes having you around, and it’s clear as day to him that his dad doesn’t mind either. So what if his umbrella was in his closet?

After it had been decided that you would crash the Iwai home, Kaoru had finished his cocoa while continuing to ask about other things about space. It was a pleasant surprise, being able to talk about these things with another person who was just as interested. Who knows, maybe one day Kaoru would grow up and want to study galaxies too?

When the boy had said his good nights, Iwai lets out a breath he hadn’t realized he’d been holding in. “You’re both a pain in my ass, ya know that?” His arms are draped over the back of the couch, one hand cradling what had to be his fifth glass of straight whiskey. You turn to face him from where you’re still perched on the floor, your back resting along his right leg with your torso still facing the storm.

“Hey, I said I could go home—“

“Yeah, you could. But Kaoru would never let me hear th’ end of it.” The two of you lapse into silence once again, letting both of your minds wander.

“He’s a good kid, ya know,” you start off slowly, “and I know it’s none of my business, but whether he’s biologically your son or not, he’s still your son.” A stifled laugh rolls off of Iwai’s chest in delicate waves before it’s washed down with more whiskey.

“He’s my son, that’s for sure. I just don’t want him to turn into a good-for-nothing scumbag like me,” your eyes peel away from the lightning lighting up the streets of Shibuya, setting your glass down with a scowl crossing your face as you turn to face the weapons dealer. “Maybe he’s lucky that he doesn’t share any of my genetics. Otherwise he would be doomed from the start.”

“Iwai, children are a product of their environment. Look at how much happier he’s been since you started coming around more often. If he hears how lowly you think of yourself, he’ll start to reflect that behavior—“

“What good does it do him to have a thug for a dad?” The grey-haired man snaps, grabbing ahold of your wrist much like he had the very first time you confronted him, though definitely not as tight. His grey eyes are locked with yours once again, hulking body causing yours to pale in comparison.

Prey.

Him versus you.

But this time, you don’t feel fear tingle down your spine. You don’t feel the need to shrink away from him because you know he could hurt you like a predator hunts. Iwai Munehisa wouldn’t do that to you. “That scare you, kid? Knowing sweet little Kao-chan’s dad is a thug? Is former Yakuza? That daddy’s got people coming after him and Kaoru left and right because of shit I did in the past?”

Iwai Munehisa wouldn’t hurt you.

“Sounds like you’re more scared about him knowing that than I am. Why would your past bother me? It’s in the past.” A growl tears at his lips before he throws your wrist towards the couch. It’s not enough force to hurt you in the slightest, just enough to pull you away from him so he can bury his shamed face in his hands with his rocks glass long forgotten on the tatami mats.

“I’m a fucking coward,” he admits, taking a long pause before continuing, “ever since he was a baby and his mother tried to sell him for drug money, I was so hellbent on making sure he never found out the truth about himself or me—that anyone found out the truth about us. Otherwise people would prolly just attach a stigma to his name like they did to me when I was a kid.” Still listening intently, you fix yourself on the couch properly so that you aren’t kneeling on the tatami mats anymore, but rather sitting beside Iwai. He’s not crying, but you can hear the caged and choked breaths trying to escape his lungs. It’s deafening, even with the flooding rain outside, Munehisa drowns out all noise, including the sound of small footsteps approaching.

“Sell me?” Both you and Iwai snap your heads towards the hallway where Kaoru stands in his pajamas, alarm painting the sclerae of his eyes. “W-what are you talking about, dad?” The man in question curses under his breath, once again cradling his face in his hands. This was not how he pictured telling his son the truth—in fact he never even planned on it. He always pictured Kaoru doing something great with his life like finding a cure for cancer and settling down with a nice girl, maybe giving him grandchildren. Everything opposite of Munehisa’s own life.

“Just tell him, Mune,” you whisper, placing a hand on his shoulder. Under the skin you could feel knots that had been long built from years of carrying his burdens. Much to your surprise, he doesn’t shirk off your touch, nor react to the use of his shortened name. In an attempt to calm down, he takes in a deep breath that you can feel inflating his lungs to their full capacity, slowly deflating as he lets it out.

“W-When you were a baby, your mother tried to sell you to me for quick drug money. I told her no, but she just left you on my doorstep. At the time, I was Yakuza, but I took you in and left the life behind,” Iwai’s fingers are laced loosely over each other as he stares at the tatami mats. It feels like his world is collapsing—like you and his son were judging him much like everyone else had when they learned who his mother was. Who knows, maybe Kaoru would rather go stay with you and have you raise him instead. He would probably do better with you anyway—you could actually help him with his education and his livelihood. What good is a dropout-turned-yakuza thug anyway?

“Even if that’s the truth, that doesn’t change the fact that you, Iwai Munehisa, are my dad. And I’m your son.”

Wow. You really felt like you shouldn’t be here at this moment—you’re ruining it. Quietly, you try (and fail miserably) to sneak off to the kitchen to grab more wine because stars above know that you need it. There are hushed words shared between the two of them, low enough that even straining your hearing doesn’t permit you to distinguish anything. Their much-needed talk goes on for quite some time, allowing you to inadvertently snoop through your surroundings. There are a few pictures of him and Kaoru on the fridge from fishing trips and school events, as well as a math exam that has a red one hundred one circled. It’s clear to you that whatever had been weighing down on Munehisa never stopped him from loving his son, just chucked the boy away in a vault to be safe from the dangers of his past.

Voices are still indistinguishable, that is, until you hear Iwai’s voice raising nearly to the volume of the thunder outside. “Don’t make me ground you, kid,” but the threat seems empty to you as Kaoru walks away laughing.

“Goodnight, mom-san!” You spit the Cabernet you were holding in your mouth back into your glass—a gross visual and even grosser to actually do.

“Kaoru!” Munehisa stands up in a half-assed attempt to chase his son. He stops in front of the kitchen, drooping his head before looking at the embarrassment creeping up your neck. “Sorry about that.”

“I-I should go, shouldn’t I?” The weapons dealer just shakes his head.

“I’s fine,” he mumbles, “let me get ya some clothes to sleep in.” Iwai disappears temporarily, leaving you alone in the kitchen with your now nearly empty glass of red wine while he shuffles about in his room. He’s not gone for long, not nearly long enough as you would’ve liked to attempt to compose yourself.

“Thank you,” you mumble quietly as he sets the clothes on the counter.

“I should be thanking you,” Munehisa replies, grey eyes locked on yours. He looks like he wants to say something more, a giveaway from the way he licks his lips. “So it really doesn’t bother you, huh?” Absentmindedly, you pick the clothes off the counter, holding them between your hands while you finger a loose thread on the oversized tee. Anything to avoid the intense gaze in his normally stone-cold eyes.

Lava felt cooler than his gaze.

“Why should it? It’s not who you are anymore, right?” You can’t bring yourself to look at him right now. He’s too intense, too wild and free from the chains of his past. Iwai Munehisa is a loose cannon now, no longer needing to hide any part of himself.

“So then what’s got you so scared you can’t look me in the eye?” When you say nothing in response, he bounds closer to you until he’s towering over you much like he did during your first meeting. Long, surly digits wrap around your chin and jaw until you’re met with his steely eyes. Though, maybe steel isn’t a proper comparison. Steel is typically cold, and his irises are anything but. The man before you had just had a catharsis, like coal had been heated and pressurized and revealing the birth of brand-new diamonds. “Look me in the eye and tell me you’re not scared,” his voice is husky, thicker than his usually brusque tone.

“I’m not scared,” your words barely pass your lips, but do not waver with trepidation. There was no reason to be scared, not of Munehisa. Scared of the fact that he’s standing so close to you while he cradled your jaw? Absolutely. Frightened slightly by the way his face cautiously edges closer and closer to yours until the overwhelming scent of gun powder and alcohol floods your senses? Check. Terrified of the fact that you are incredibly turned on knowing he could probably snap your neck in a heartbeat?

Hell yes.

“I’m not scared, Mune,” you repeat, reprising the use of his shorter name. It sounds different coming from your mouth, he subconsciously notes. Back in his yakuza days, that name was sinful—a reminder of his reputation. But from your lips, it sounded heavenly.

“I am,” is all he responds with before slotting his lips over yours. Warm and pliable, is the first thought that comes to your mind, much like modeling clay that had been worked between your fingers. Contrary to everything that screams ‘Iwai Munehisa’, his kiss is gentle—experimenting to feel every layer of fragile skin of your lips against his own. Shy, tender, and tentative, Iwai moves his fingers from your chin to wrap an arm around your waist.

Delicate was never a word that you think of to describe Iwai Munehisa. Or maybe delicate wasn't the right word—fragile? It made sense in your train wreck of a mind from the way he sucked in his breath through is nose as your fingers cupped his cheeks. So fragile, as if he were going to break from such a gentle action that he needed to pull away before he crumbled.

“I shouldn’t have done that,” Iwai breathes, taking three steps back like you’d suddenly come down with the plague.

“Wha—no it’s—“

“You should get some sleep kid,” before you can say anything else, the weapons dealer has already fled down the hallway and locking the door to the bathroom and leaving you to your own devices. Between pursed lips, you grab the empty glasses that you shared and washed them quickly before grabbing the clothes you carelessly tossed on the floor. From the bathroom, you hear the water running accompanied by wordless grumbles.

Munehisa’s room is exactly how you pictured it. Simple and clean with no superlatives. The bed is made nearly hotel style—like the room hadn’t been lived in for years. Considering the catharsis that he had gone through tonight, part of you wonders just how many of his days he had spent watching every second like it was going to be his last, rather than being in the moment.

Alive and a life are two very different things.

As expected, you drown in the fabric he’s given you—expected from someone twice your height and overall size. They’re comfy, you note, the warmth of the masses combating the springtime storms. Robotically, you check your phone for the time—the clock inching towards midnight to Sunday. From routine alone, you knew that Kaoru didn’t have school tomorrow and you and Munehisa had a later start to your day thanks to your part-timers’ availability.

Before you have the chance to think twice, you’re back on your bare feet, all but stomping towards the living room to where Munehisa lays facing towards the sliding door, staring at the rain. He heard you—he had to have. There’s no way he can’t hear the deafening silence of your own revelation; he has to know. “Go to bed, [name],” he bites with no fire.

“No.”

“Then go home.”

“No.”

Iwai throws the thin blanket he has on himself off as he thrusts his legs off the couch. Every movement is silently violent until he’s hunched over you for the second time tonight. Despite every intention of holding malice in his eyes, he can’t when it comes to you. Not when you’re wearing his clothes and looking up at him with a resolve stronger than his self-loathing. “What do ya want then, [name]?” He asks quietly, echoing the question he had for you three weeks ago.

“Honestly?” You start off, unraveling your arms that were wound around your chest. “I would like for you to let go.”

For a moment, Iwai is taken aback—literally, as signified by the half step he takes towards the couch and away from you. It’s not quite a moment of fear in his eyes; more of an amalgam of questioning and begging—of longing.

The hunter has become the hunted.

“Just let it go, Mune. Your son already forgives you for your past, you need to do the same.” Much to your surprise, a laugh jumbled with a grunt heaves off his chest. The trepidation from earlier is gone, evident by the way his shoulders and chin straighten up from standing erect.

“Let go, huh? You sure you want that?” The double meaning isn’t lost on you, and you’re ready for whatever he throws your way. You’d been ready, you realize, from the moment your fear took a back seat to wanting to aid Kaoru in any way that you could. You’d been ready since the moment you picked up the phone and had him meet you in Kichijouji. Or maybe, you had forgiven him already—not that you necessarily had a place to do so—the moment he had started shifting his focus into being there for his son. It was all you had ever wanted from your family, maybe it wasn’t too late to save other kids from the pain.

Maybe your unresolved daddy issues run much deeper than you thought.

However, Iwai wasn’t much better. He had been so vehemently adamant that if he pretended to be a questioningly upstanding citizen, Kaoru would have a better chance at making it in the world. The grotesque nature of his own upbringing had left him longing for someone—anyone—to unconditionally accept him. No matter how much he told himself the yakuza had welcomed him with open arms, he knows that it was their opportunity to thread his marionette strings. And the society he was surrounded in had blockaded him so long ago, he clutched and grasped at broken straws.

But not you, no. Despite him easily being able to snap your neck and hide your body, you stood toe to toe with him, always ready to fight back without a moment’s hesitation. With you, there was no stigma attached to his name, only knowledge and understanding and an empathy that transcended and smashed through every wall of his.

An unconditional acceptance.

An unconditional love.

Iwai’s mommy issues ran deep, maybe even a little steeper than yours.

“I’m not scared, Mune,” you repeated, pulling him from his reverie that blasted at meters per second. “I have no reason to be.” With large strides, as one would expect of his size, Iwai crosses through the distance he had out between the two of you before grasping at your jaw with finesse and hunger all at once to lock his lips with yours once again. It had been a long time since the weapons dealer had actively sought out the object of his affections; his own desires had taken a back seat for the well-being of his son.

All that was left of him now was depravity and desperation.

Even those two elements to his core were not going to last long. Not with the way you were clutching onto him so tightly with your arms wound around his neck. Despite the flames of hunger constantly being stoked by mere touch, Iwai’s lips are just as gentle and hesitant as they had been before you changed your clothing. It was clear to you that you were going to need to guide the weapons dealer—much as you had been the last month or so. Your tongue cautiously snakes out from your mouth, gingerly running along the seam of his lips to ask for gentle permission.

Things may be moving fast, but you didn’t want to rush this. Not with Munehisa. Not with the man who was so foreign to genuine affection.

Tentatively, Iwai parts his lips ever so slightly, allowing you access to the first layer of him. Candy. He tastes like the cherry sucker he had in his mouth just after dinner to accompany his whiskey. A mixture of smoke and sweetness with a lasting bitterness sounded as if Iwai had decomposed and turned into mere flavor receptors of the tongue. But it’s a taste you find yourself wanting more of as your tongue dances alongside his.

At a snail’s pace, Iwai releases your cheeks and jaw, sliding his palms down the goose bumps on your neck and soft expanse of your arms until they find purchase on your hips. The gesture is cautious, even as he coaxes your body towards him until he falls back onto the couch, bringing you with until you’re left to straddle him.

“Scared, Mune?” You ask in a whisper when you come up for air. Disregarding the need for oxygen, you make it a point to keep your lips ghosting over his, showing the desire to remain connected to him. His eyes are half-open, heavy lids drooping and the crinkles of his crow’s feet are settling in as he attempts to catch his breath—all with the faintest twinge of a grin.

“Should I be?”

“That’s for you to decide.” One of his hands maneuvers its way from your waist, back up to your cheek to cup the skin in full. Perhaps you were more aware from the intimacy of the fact that his hand nearly could hold an entire half of your face or the calcification of hardened skin on his palms, or perhaps your body had slowly come to tune itself to the man beneath you.

“I think I’ve been alone for long enough.” The distance between the both of you closes once again, Iwai’s movements renewed by fire followed by another clash of lightning. His grip on your waist tightens as he sinks you further into him, grinding his pelvis into yours as if granting permission to touch him more. Planting your hands on his chest, you take a moment to graze the backs of your nails gingerly along the openings of his tank top.

You think back to your joke about him watching his figure when you first met him, and silently berate yourself.

Iwai Munehisa didn’t need to watch his figure—he’s a literal statue of Adonis come to life.

Hard muscle twitches under every touch of yours in conjunction with the occasional throaty groan that rumbles along your lips. His tongue is somehow both rushing to explore every nook and cranny and crooked edge of your teeth while simultaneously attempting to commit every inch of your mouth to memory. Despite the loss of his hands on your waist, the sudden cold rush of air swirling around your midriff is a welcome sensation as his calloused digits working their up your body from under the shirt. Your entire body erupts with need—it was no longer a want or a mere whim. You needed this man in every way.

In hopes to urge Iwai further, you break apart momentarily to remove the borrowed clothing from the upper half of your body, leaving you bare chested in front of the weapons dealer. “Fuck,” he mumbles, pupils turning to pinpricks as he drinks in the sight of your slightly erect nipples. Like a man hypnotized, his lips latch on to your left breast, licking and sucking at the flesh as your head tosses back. The motion causes you to grind further into his lap, greeting his clothed erection with a welcome reminder of your presence.

You had never been one for a ton of oral attention, but there was something so damn mesmerizing about Iwai holding a nipple between his teeth while he rolled the nub with his expert tongue. Part of you wonders if it has something to do with the suckers. Another part of you only thinks to let out a sharp hiss of breath as he tends to your right nipple next. “M-Mune,” you whimper, earning another grind of his covered cock against your damp folds, “l-lemme touch you.”

“Hold on a sec, baby, I’m a little busy.”

Your brain goes into overdrive as he frees a hand from holding you up to dipping into the front of your borrowed pajamas bottoms, nails scraping along the waistband of your panties. The thought of Iwai getting closer and closer still coaxed a moan from your lips; or maybe it was the way he goaded your nipple to complete erection. Maybe it was both—maybe it was the way he made it a point to tease by inspecting the wet spot in your panties with two fingers.

“M-Mune, please.”

“All nice an’ wet for me, baby? Lemme just double check.” Even with you still straddling and trying force yourself closer to him, Iwai managed to sneak his fingers past your knickers until he’s met with a sloppy, slick cunt. His half-lidded gaze up at you was laser-focused—as if he couldn’t look anywhere else but your own lust-laden eyes. The pads of his fingers glide along your slit before slightly nudging apart your opening to get a real feel for you. The mere thought of touching you, rubbing your clit until you screamed, cumming and gushing around his fingers—Iwai can’t even remember the last time such thoughts crossed his mind, let alone turned him on so much.

He wants to take his time, he realizes,

Iwai’s touch sends a thousand volts up your spine, causing the tension in your neck to throw your head back as you hissed in pleasure. His middle finger searches every nook and cranny of your nether regions, smearing your excitement all around until no area is left untouched. While he’s preoccupied with exploring you, you reciprocate the treatment with dizzy kisses, unabashedly sliding your tongue against his while your fingers tugged at his tank top. He’s only slightly annoyed that the two of you have to pause so that you can pull the fabric off—a small sacrifice to further progress. The second he’s freed from one of his prisons, his brittle lips latch onto your left collarbone, teeth sinking in to be chased by his tongue while leaving reminders of the moment. At the same time, his ring and middle finger circle your clit in a steady, languid rhythm, coaxing more of your wetness to come forth until you’re absolutely drenched. “O-oh, f-fuck Munehisa!”

Hearing his name made his groin throb beneath you, the pulsing wet, hot warmth tantalizing and torturing you both. Giving your clit one last swirl, his fingers travel further downward, pushing apart your lips until he slowly nestles his middle finger inside your sopping wet hole. His digits are much larger than your own, you noted immediately—his longest finger alone already stretching you more deliciously than your tiny infantile hands. “Ohh, fuck yeah, baby. I’on’t even gotta stretch you out with how fuckn’ wet ya are for me.”

“But I want you to,” Iwai lets out his signature gruff laugh before jamming his finger deep into you with no warning. The lone digit is roaming, exploring your deepest caverns to figure out the fastest way to make you go from zero to hundred. “Mune, it feels so good.” All the praise goes from his ears straight to his dick, the flesh between the two of you now painfully straining against his thin boxers.

After a few twists and turns, Iwai brings his pointer finger to the party, the duo now on the hunt for that squishy tissue to send you over the edge. He refused to fuck you until you came at least once—he couldn’t disappoint you. Not now, not after all the progress you two had overcome together. Crooking both digits, his nails finally find their target, scraping along your g-spot that makes you tremble and your muscles spasm. “You’re mine now, baby girl,” he croons.

You wished he gave you a better warning—a sufficient warning for the relentless attack his fingers had on your g-spot or the way the angle of his wrist was shamelessly scrubbing at your clit. The muscles in your legs can no longer maintain their terse nature, dropping the suspension you had in his lap slightly to give better access to your nether regions. Even still, Iwai couldn’t stop now. “Oh fuck, oh fuck Mune, fuck fuck fuck fuck holy shit I’m gonna—“

“Just let go, baby,” his voice is sardonically sweet despite his damn near malicious actions. A third finger joins the rest of the digits mercilessly pounding away at your insides, stretching you beyond what you were used, while your abused clit cried for him to stop. That cry coming in the form of your walls squeezing around his fingers until a gush of fluid secretes itself onto his palm. Thanks to the breakneck speed of his movements and the sheer force of your orgasm, your release sprays all onto his bare chest and the waistband of his boxers, even parts of his face. “God damn, woman,” he pants out, a new hunger forming in the pit of his belly. Despite you trying to catch your breath, Iwai pulls his fingers from your core and wraps his soaked hand behind your neck and crushes your lips to his.

Tasting yourself on him is a strangely delightful experience. The slight saltiness of your emission mixed with the signature musk of his skin and sweetness from an overdose of suckers has you groaning throatily into the kiss. Shamelessly your pelvis grinds into his, rubbing his proud, protruding covered cock along your tingling slit. His hands move from where they are holding you against your neck and hips, hooking into the waistband of your borrowed bottoms before pulling them off of your lower half. It’s tricky to maneuver with the way he refuses to stop kissing you—he can’t stop, he learns—but he manages to guide the clothing off of you somehow.

The only thing separating the two of you now was thin, soaked boxers and your last chance to walk away from one another.

Not that you would.

Instead, you hook your claws into the elastic of his boxers, suspending yourself above his lap momentarily to slide the fabric past his knees. Your soaked entrance slides along the length of him, greeting him with lubricant. Iwai grits his teeth as you do so, throwing his head back before he pulls your head down to rest your forehead against his sweaty skin. His grey eyes bore straight into yours, electricity sparking between the two of you. “Y-ya sure, [name]?”

Rather than answer, you swivel your hips to slide his cock in before slamming the entirety of his girth inside you in one fell swoop. In hindsight, that was probably a bad idea with the way you can feel the mushroom head of his weeping cock knocking at your cervix or the way the width of his cock stretches you even further than three of his massive fingers. “Jesus fucking Christ!” You howl and sob, head thrown back as you nearly sob from the intrusion. Through heavy pants, Munehisa anchors your hips in place so that you can’t pull away, no matter how torturous for the both of you.

“Just stay still, baby, don’t move.”

“M-Mune, it hurts.”

“Well nobody told ya to shove my whole dick in at once, idiot,” the two of you share a laugh for a moment before he guides you to rest on his chest while your cunt stretched and acclimated to his dick.

“I-I wanted to,” you whimper as he shifts ever so slightly, the curls of his pubis scraping along your thighs.

“Yeah, baby? You wanted to? That why you started hanging around my kid—to try to get daddy’s dick?” His salacious words cause your walls to pulsate around him, squeezing him further in and making him groan at the contraction. “That’s it, isn’t it? Naughty lil girl, you don’t deserve my mercy.” His large hands, wrapping every square centimeter of your hips, began to jostle you in a way to rub your skin together before they start lifting you up in his lap. It’s a reprieve, almost, having his large cock begin to withdraw until his hands force your pelvis back down onto him.

“M-Mune,” you whine, “still hurts.” But the curses and cries do nothing to slow down his rhythm. If anything, Munehisa plants his feet on the tatami mats below him to thrust himself further up into you every time he brought your hips back down. The lightning and thunder painting the sky past the sliding door is merely a full thought, each violent thrust of his cock much more noticeable than nature’s storm.

“Tell me the truth and maybe I’ll go a little easier on you!” He howls, no longer giving a shit if Kaoru heard the lewd slapping of his heavy ballsack against your skin or the breathless cries leaving your lungs. Okay, that was a lie, he did care. But it was more of a subconscious thought buried at the back of his mind that was drowned out by the mere thought of stuffing you full of his cum. The idea alone was enough to drown out the wordless babbles leaving your mouth in accompaniment to the drool dripping from the seam of your lips. “Gonna take my cum like a good girl, baby?”

“Y-yes, please! Please!” You warble, squeezing your walls around his thick cock like a vice. His thrusts are relentless, his hips skyrocketing towards your limp body that can no longer stand his brutality. Iwai’s head is thrown back once again as you collapse forward, your body too numb as your second orgasm begins to wrack through, allowing you to nestle into his bare throat. “‘M so close, Mune.” Your bones are turning to jelly, you notice, as you snake your hands towards your clit for the final push.

Well, attempt to anyway.

Iwai smacks your hand away with blinding speed, thrusts slowing down a fraction as he does so before his hand replaces yours on your nub. “Only I get to make you cum from now on, got it?”

“Then hurry up and fucking do it!” You howl, sinking your teeth into whatever parts of his flesh you can reach. The pads of three of his fingers are relentlessly scrubbing away at your clit, a mixture of both of your slop spraying over the both of you. “Oh god yes, right there! Right there!”

“Fuck!” Iwai sobs as his balls tighten before flooding your pussy with his cum, his thrusts becoming languid as he sees his release all the way through. At the same time, the throbbing of his dick while he cums resonates within your walls, amplifying the rush of him attacking your clit. “Mm, come on, baby, I can feel it. Cum for me, fucking cum for me.” You aren’t sure what exactly does you over—if it’s his gently softening, massive cock still twitching inside you or the way his digits know just how to play with your bundles of nerves or the way he called you “baby”— but your body tenses one last time as the blue hue of lightning fills the living room.

“Munehisa,” your voice comes as a broken trill, though his name is clear as day, as you release one last time, a waterfall running and soaking his fingers. Proud of his work, Iwai slows his pace down until his fingers are moving dully to bring you down from your overstimulation. The both of you are panting and sweating, nearly half-dead from the exhaustion.

“C’mere, baby,” he purrs in your ear after god knows how many minutes passed. You hiss when he carefully removes his flaccid length from within you, globs of cum dripping from your walls. Without thinking, Iwai takes two fingers to catch the loose emission and stuffs it back inside you for good measure. He never asked if you were on any form of contraceptive—part of him almost hopes that you aren’t. “Lemme clean ya up a lil.”

“Mm, can’t move.” Munehisa chuckles, wrapping his large hands around your thighs before hoisting the both of you up. Despite the action being chaste, your whole abused body tingles at the movement. He carries the both of you towards the bathroom, setting you down on the narrow space of the vanity before untangling your koala-like limbs from his body. Without saying anything, he grabs a washcloth, running it under the tap and wipes away the loose cum that’s already starting to dry and crust over.

It’s hard to tell what he’s thinking, the way his grey eyes have grown cold, and it seems he’s hyper focused on cleaning your skin as best he can. You elect to ignore the fact that he’s making damn sure not to let any cum that’s sitting in your pussy out. Even after he’s cleaned you and himself off, the two of you are lingering in the bathroom in silence, unsure of who should speak first. It seemed it would have to be you. Again.

Finally finding strength in your gelatinous state, you hop off the vanity, grabbing one of Munehisa’s large hands and lead him back out to his room.

“I should sleep on the couch,” he says quietly, though he makes no motion to get up from where both of your naked bodies are pressed on the tops of the sheets. You only shake your head in reply, holding onto his hand even tighter.

“I don’t care if it was dirty talk or what,” you start, recalling the salacious title Munehisa granted himself, “but I have no ill intention towards Kaoru or you. So as long as you let me keep coming around you both, I’ll be here. I’m not going anywhere.” He’s quiet for a moment, eyes darkening at he stares at the floor in contemplation. When he says nothing, you try again. “Will you let me stay, Mune?” The weapons dealer’s head snaps towards you. How the fuck had just his name come to have such a bewitching hold on him? Had it always sounded so pretty? So loved?

It was it just because it was from your lips?

“If I let you stay, I might not let you go.”

“I never said to let me go.”