#this is reminding me of the fifteen year old yesterday i was conversing with and he randomly started listing all the suicide methods he

[catkin-morgs-kookaburralover]

"i mess up things and then i don't have the energy to fix them up" yes brain true sentence but no brain the appropriate response is NOT "therefore i should kill myself (and here's how)"

[yoonpobs]

dilf (and love) | knj | m

pairing: kim namjoon x oc

genre: fluff, domestic fluff, smut, established relationship, marriage and kids lol

warnings: light dom/sub themes, pregnancy kink, penetrative sex, oral sex (f & m receiving), DILF JOON

words: 6, 702

summary: it's been too long since you and namjoon had time to yourselves

“God take that thing away from me!” You whine as you smother your face with your hands.

Jin pins you with a dry look as he catches a glimpse of ‘that thing’ who is looking up at you with big eyes and a toothless grin.

“That thing is your child …” Jin says blandly.

“That thing is ruining my sex life.” You narrow your eyes at Chanmi as she babbles some incoherent words with her ten-month-old vocabulary. You’d think as the daughter and apple of Kim Namjoon’s eye that she’d be able to read, write and speak sixteen languages at the age of one.

You still allow Chanmi to wrap her chubby fingers around your thinner ones and you can’t help but coo at your daughter. While she may have been the one thing that disrupted any intimate moment between you and Namjoon, you would fight anyone that would ever dare to mess with her. Your own husband included.

“Please, spare the details,” Jin mutters under his breath as he watches Chanmi fondly as she attempts to tug at your sleeve in hopes of getting your attention. You squeeze her cheeks before lifting her up in your arms and hold her close to your chest. You whine because she smells so … fresh. Just like a little bread baby that was all yours.

God, you loved her.

“My old sex life brought me this angel.” You grin up at your daughter who just smiles at you, unknowing of the context of your words.

“Can you stop using such vulgar words in front of your child?” Jin scolds you but doesn’t do anything much to take Chanmi out of your grasp.

You roll your eyes.

“She’s like 300 days old. She doesn’t even know how to shit at a decent hour let alone understand what sex is. Penis in vagina. Destroying pussy. A hole in one. Railing—”

Jin slaps his hand over your mouth to get you to stop talking as he glares at you.

“Why did my brother marry a heathen like you.” Jin seethes.

You shrug nonchalantly as you turn your head to see your dumbhead yet smart-ass husband that was attempting to glue back the shards of glass from the wine glass he broke earlier in hopes of you not realising.

“He needed to put his 148 IQ to good use and I’m the best investment his finance major ever got him.”

“The only good thing that came out of your marriage is this cutie.” Jin coos at his niece and you have half the mind to withdraw his Chanmi visiting card because whenever he was over all he did was berate you and your … unique ways of parenting.

But Jin would still say he cared for you as far as a brother-in-law would but with the added benefit of the fact that he was your best friend before he became your brother-in-law. You were an interesting character, to say the least, and the only reason you managed to befriend Jin was due to the fact that you didn’t know what boundaries meant and had invaded his personal space on the first day of lectures when you leaned over him to throw something at a know-it-all. Jin had been annoyed, but then an unlikely friendship bloomed out of the mutual distaste for ‘Howard from Accounting’.

He introduced you to Namjoon just because he thought that it was hilarious that you and his brother were polar opposites. Jin didn’t even expect the two of you to get along with each other let alone fall in love, but life had a funny way of saying ‘fuck you and your expectations’ to Jin when he least expected it.

The only thing that he regrets is the fact that now he had to listen to both you and his brother whine about your sex life, or lack thereof after the two of you became parents. Being a mother was hard because there was no manual to tell you what was right or wrong when it came to your baby but the experience itself. When you first fed Chanmi softened shrimp in her meals and caused an allergic reaction; you cried for hours straight because you felt like you should’ve just known.

Namjoon was a good partner and an even better father because he was understanding. The first few months postpartum he respected the fact that you weren’t ready to show your body to him because of the way it changed after giving birth to Chanmi, and he never told you that you were in your head for feeling that way. He validated all your feelings through all the rough edges that you gave him when you were going through your own things.

You finally felt comfortable to get naked around Namjoon at the five-month mark where your sex drive returned to that of when you were in your early twenties and just begun knowing how to truly enjoy sexual intimacies with a partner, but a five-month-old baby didn’t allow for much intimacy with your hot ass husband either.

It sucked because Namjoon had always been broad and very dad-like, and after he officially became a father to Chanmi you just felt like salivating over him every waking second you got because … God … Namjoon was a gift from the God’s themselves. Whenever you saw the way he handled Chanmi with absolute gentleness and care you felt like dropping to your knees and sucking the soul out of him. It didn’t help that he wore his glasses every night when he tucked her into bed and read her Shakespeare because it would ‘help with development’. You loved your husband but he was a little excessive.

“Oh God stop drooling over my brother!” Jin grimaces when he sees the bedroom eyes you were shooting Namjoon from where the two of you were with Chanmi.

You sigh dreamily and lean against your palm as you check out Namjoon’s ass.

“I can’t help that your brother and my husband has an ass like that.” You click your tongue.

Chanmi giggles again and it’s like a bell chiming at your favourite cafe when you cuddle her closer, feeling comfort in her scent. She smelt just like home and bubbles.

“How about I give you a sibling, huh?” You whisper to Chanmi who just opens her mouth to babble. Jin on the other hand facepalms himself and sighs.

“You’re insufferable.”

“I’m horny.” You shrug.

“Correction: you’re insufferable on a daily basis but absolutely horrifying to deal with when you’re horny.” He sneers.

“I just need to bed him and I’ll be fine.” You drawl, as your husband who spent the better half of your conversation fixing the wine glass grins to himself with his dimples when he finally placed the last piece of glass back into place. He was so meticulous and cute for the wrong reasons.

“Jesus, stop …” Jin groans.

“Jesus would definitely tell me to go get that dick because I deserve it.” You pat yourself on the back and wince slightly when you smell the telltale signs of Chanmi’s poop permeating the air.

“Say … would Yoongi mind having Chanmi over your place for the weekend?” Jin recognizes the devious expression you have on your face and knows that there’s no way out of it.

“I don’t have a choice do I?” Jin sighs.

You shake your head.

“Nope. Cause’ I texted Yoongi yesterday and said he totally wants to see his niece. The baby bag is all ready to go and it’s in the nursery.” You cock your thumb to the room down the hallway and Jin thinks to himself of all the reasons why he shouldn’t have introduced you to his brother at all seven years back.

“It’s weird without her …” Namjoon frowns as the two of you stand in the nursery as if you were mourning the loss of your child. It felt a lot like it, though.

The two of you never spent more than a few hours away from Chanmi ever since she was born and it felt weird to not smell her vomit from the kitchen or hear her giggles as you cooked dinner. You missed Namjoon and the spark you had in the first years of your relationship but you also felt a little empty without Chanmi’s presence with you.

“I miss her.” You whine into Namjoon’s chest and he clutches you tightly as if to say that he mirrored your sentiment.

“Should we call them?” You look up at him with wide eyes and he smoothes the frown lines on your forehead and chuckles, offering a gentle kiss to your temples.

“We called fifteen minutes ago, remember?” He chides you gently.

You huff, “I just … it’s so quiet. Where are my baby babbles?” You pout.

Namjoon sighs and rubs his thumb comfortingly on your arm when you look around at the purple nursery with reminders of your daughter that wasn’t currently with you.

“Let’s enjoy what we have, okay love?” Namjoon offers, “I miss Chanmi too but I miss this too.”

You smile at him the way he first fell in love with you years ago and leans down to place a peck onto your lips.

“I miss having you all to myself.” He whispers against your lips and you shiver at the way his broadness is clouding all your senses.

“You always have me Joon.” You tell him in a tone as soft as his.

His chest rumbles when he laughs and you feel so warm in the comfort of your husband's arms and you felt it too. Besides the physical aspect of having sex with him, you missed holding him like this without a care in the world. Most of your cuddle sessions were left to the nights you slept next to each other in bed because the two of you were either exhausted with work or trying to care for Chanmi. It’s been a long time since you could just feel Namjoon’s presence with you.

“Besides … we can finally, you know …” He mumbles shyly into your hair and the devil horns that you hide most of the time reappear.

“What, Joon?” You smirk up at him, hands trailing slowly down his chest.

Your husband was so big that every room he walked into he basically commanded the attention of every single person that would come across him. That’s what happens when you’re six foot and broad like him. But you loved the fact that you were the only one that got to see the much softer side to him that he didn’t just show anyone. The fact that he was the CEO of his own company made his persona ever more intimidating than he actually was but you knew he was a huge softie on the inside.

The two of you were very different in many senses. From your personalities to the way you approached conflict. Namjoon was very diplomatic but you were anything but. He was truly the most empathetic and understanding person you’ve met in your entire life and you’ve seen a total of ten therapists in your teenage years. Namjoon was the balance that levelled your temper and uninhibited tendencies to always be the loudest person in every room. With every time you snarked at someone who pushed your buttons came Namjoon that placed a gentle hand on your back with a soft whisper of comfort.

In fact, most people thought the two of you would have never lasted. You heard those mean girls in college that made petty bets on the fact that you’d probably end up leaving him because you were too much of a bitch to deal with someone as kind as Namjoon. You remembered most of your fights being about your insecurities and how you always thought that Namjoon deserved better and with him telling you that you were the one for him.

Looking back, you laugh because the two of you were theoretically horrible for each other but exactly what the other needed. Namjoon needed someone free-spirited enough to manage his meticulous tendencies and you needed someone willing to see you for more than your erratic behaviour.

“What’s that pretty head of yours thinking about?” Namjoon hums when he realises you’re not paying attention to him anymore. He clasps your hands together to bring back your attention to him as you look up at him with eyes so full of love.

“Just reminiscing on the old days.” You tell him and he snorts.

“You say that as if we’re ancient.”

“You’re not fooling anyone. I heard your joints cracking when you bent down to pick up the strands of hair on the floor.” You tease.

“And who’s fault is it that I’m constantly bending over to pick up strands of hair because she sheds like a cat?” He retorts playfully.

“We’re both old.” You pout, playing with his fingers and admiring the glimmer of his wedding ring. You can’t believe you bagged a man like Namjoon.

“I still got it, though.” He adds thoughtfully and you raise an eye at his comment.

“Got what?”

“My game.” He wiggles his eyebrows at you suggestively and you burst out laughing because it was so on-brand for Namjoon to make a comment like that but blush when you got a little more touchy-feely with him when he least expected it.

“How about you show me then?” You whisper as you turn around to press yourself against his chest, ensuring that your cleavage was on full show to his line of vision when he looks down at you.

“Did I ever tell you how much I love your tits after the pregnancy?” He tells you breathily and you snort.

“So you didn’t like my tits before I gave birth to your child?”

He rolls his eyes and reaches his hands below your thighs to lift you up so that you could wrap your legs around his waist. The way he could effortlessly carry you and lift you up always made your heart and nether regions flutter because he was so big that he basically towered over you. Especially when he became a dad it was like his hot factor exploded exponentially. He basically became the epitome of a dilf.

“You and your mouth,” He tsks as he carries you out of the nursery and into your bedroom, “I just may need to shut you up.”

You whine into his chest before he tosses you down onto your mattress as he towers over you, looking over your body like you were the finest piece of art he’s ever seen. Namjoon always had ways to make you feel like a million bucks even though you were in an old camisole and your old college varsity sweatpants.

“Why don’t you do it then?” You tease back.

You were different from the women that Namjoon has been with prior to your seven-year-long relationship as most of them were pliant and quiet, and took whatever he gave to them. Don’t get him wrong, he loved playing the dominant character in bed but he also needed a brat to push his buttons and it was exactly what you were. Even if the two of you were so fundamentally different in personalities, the two of you were definitely sexually compatible.

“Flip over.” He demands and you whine before reluctantly turning over.

“I want to see you.” You whine petulantly.

You feel him rather than have him verbally respond to you because he delivers a tight slap to your ass as you gasp at the impact. He rubs his hands soothingly over your butt cheeks and squeezes them as he leans over your body, crowding your back with his body heat.

“Don’t be a brat ___.” He sneers into your ear and the moan is stuck on your throat when you feel him drag his hands all over your body until it reaches under your body to reach for your tits.

“Fuck. I love your tits.” He groans.

Namjoon’s hands immediately trail down your body until they reach the hem of your shorts and you wiggle your ass back at him teasingly. You hear him growl and you always knew that Namjoon was an ass man and your ass made him weak.

“Need I remind you that you’re in no position to tease, sweetheart?” He whispers into your ear and you feel the goosebumps erupt on the surface of your skin.

“Fuck. Please—Joon, touch me.” You gasp as you feel him pull down your shorts to be greeted with a cheeky pair of panties that left little to imagine of what hides underneath. Your husband had the talent of getting you obscenely wet without doing much and it’s proven again when you feel the uncomfortable ache between your legs as he flips your body over once again to get a good glimpse of your heaving body, as well as the stain on your panties.

His knuckles trace the inner side of your thigh carefully as he avoids the place you need him the most while you feel more wetness pool at your entrance. You’ve been deprived of his touch for way too long and that caused your sensitive reactions to anything that he did. You missed his fingers so much and having him so close yet so far away from your pussy was destroying your restraint.

“Namjoon p-please!” You cry when he finally cups your mound with his large palm.

He digs the heel of his palm straight into your clit as you arch your back and let out a low moan.

“So wet baby and I’ve barely done anything.” He taunts you with the low baritone of his voice.

“You make me so wet Joonie.” You pant when you feel him grind his palm into your clit some more, providing the satisfying friction that you’ve been craving.

The feeling doesn’t last long because he’s hastily removing your panties from your legs and tosses them somewhere over his shoulder. His face is directly in front of your pussy and you can’t help but feel flustered at the proximity of his breath to your hole. You’ve done this a million times before but the familiarity is slightly lost due to the time between the last and the present.

“Where’s the brat that couldn’t shut her mouth before, hm?” He mumbles and you feel every breath against your pussy. You squirm and feel his large hands wrap around your thighs, locking you into position so you wouldn’t be able to move.

“It’s just been so—ah—long,” You tell him breathily.

“Too long. Missed this pussy.” He says as a parting gift before he dives straight into your clit and begins to lap rounds over the hardened bud. You let out a high pitched moan at the pleasure he was providing you with just his tongue alone, and the way that he knew just where to focus on your clit with tense figure-eights.

“Ah—ah, fuck—Joon!” You groan as your hands wrap around his hair to tug at it. You feel him moan against your pussy, which sends vibrations up to your core and causes more wetness to pool at your centre.

Namjoon is relentless when he digs his hands harder into the meat of your thighs to prevent you from moving too much as he continues to suction on your clit, focusing his attention on it as much as he could. After years of being together, he just knew what you loved and this was it.

You liked it messy. Wet and fast, and Namjoon always gave it to you good. He pulls away momentarily so he could look up at you with a hooded gaze and you let out a high pitched whine when you see the glistening of his chin all the way up to his nose with the signs of your wetness staining him. His fingers run up your thighs teasingly and you shift under his ministrations only for him to smack your right thigh harshly.

“If you move you don’t get to cum.” He threatens you and you immediately still your body with the impossible threat.

You feel his fingers run up and down on your slit as he gathers all your wetness into one place, hovering slightly over your clit. You have to keep your whine to a minimum because Namjoon got real mean when he wanted to. But he was a good lover—so good.

Your hole is throbbing with a need to be filled, and your husband picks up on that immediately as he prods your entrance with the tip of his index finger. You attempt to grind down on him as you make eye contact with the dark eyes that threaten to take away your orgasm.

“I said. Don’t. Move.” He reminds you.

You whimper in silence as he teases your hole a little more before he decides to return home into the warmth of your walls. The moment that barrier was broken, you feel him go straight for the hook as he reaches his index finger all the way up until his knuckles. You hear Namjoon hiss under his breath as he begins prodding your walls until he finds—

“Fuck—there, Joon—ah!” You gasp, head tilting backwards when your husband finds your g-spot.

Namjoon smirks to himself and slides another finger in to hook them upwards into your g-spot, unmoving as he stills himself against the area; causing pure, unaltered pleasured to run through your veins. You’re vibrating and twitching all at once because you can’t control the involuntary response that comes with your husband's demon fingers that are causing every possible pleasurable feeling to run through your system.

You can’t keep the moan to yourself either as Namjoon looks at you with awe, but you miss it because your eyes are too busy being rolled to the back of your head at the way Namjoon skilfully thrusts into your pussy.

“H-Harder, p-please Joon—wanna cum so bad.” You moan and run your fingers through his hair to bring his mouth closer to your mound.

He lowly chuckles and shakes his head at your sex drive. And the next thing he does next nearly makes you cum on the spot.

The way he gathers his spit at the back of his throat was borderline pornographic as you see the way his throat revs up. He drops the glob of spit directly onto your clit and uses the hand that wasn’t in your pussy to spread the lubricant all over your slit. He purposefully grazes your clit but doesn’t apply enough pressure to make your head spin, but just enough for you to whine in want.

“Your pussy is so pretty love.” He coos, leaning into your mound to deliver kitten-licks to your clit, and the warmth of his tongue with the added addition of his fingers feels all too much.

“J-Joon!” You gasp when you feel him thrust his fingers rapidly in and out of your pussy that your body hitched up the surface of the bed. Every thrust was accompanied by the direct assault of his tongue on your clit as he presses down on the hardened bud with the purpose to drive you closer to your orgasm.

You were painfully close, and the precision of his fingers at your g-spot allows you to revel in the way the coil in your body is ready to snap, so close to release. Namjoon leans down so that his head is where you love him the most, between your thighs as he scores the final goal and presses his tongue against your clit.

“Oh my god Joon—fuck—s-so good—I’m gonna cum!” Your back arches off the bed uselessly because of the way that Namjoon uses his other hand to pin you down, arms wrapped tightly around your stomach.

“Come for me pretty girl.” He coos against your clit and the vibrations is what sends you over the edge.

He fucks his fingers into you as you orgasm, kitten licking your clit with just enough pressure for you to whine as you buck your hips up into his mouth involuntarily.

“Fuck. Baby—hurts.” You whine, pushing his head away from your pussy when the overstimulation gets to you.

Namjoon places one last teasing peck on your clit, which causes you to twitch and pinch his neck as he chuckles, dragging his hand up your body to bring you closer to him.

“Still got it, hm?” He whispers against the column of your neck as you roll your eyes.

“Just kiss me you fool.” You pull him in for a kiss, and your tongue immediately finds its place home in Namjoon’s mouth.

It’s probably because it’s been so long since the two of you could feel each other like this, without any rush to get it over with but with the freedom to enjoy each other’s bodies as much as you’d like. Namjoon’s hands were the truth of that as he trails his arms down the sides of your waist and tugs you closer to him by your hips until he reaches for the hem of your camisole to tug it off your body.

He grabs the mounds of flesh in his hands and squeezes them hard enough to cause another gush of wetness to drip down the side of your thighs and onto his sweatpants. Besides the fact that he delivered a mind-blowing orgasm to you, the stained wetness of his sweatpants from his pre-cum and your slick is enough for you to push him down onto the bed.

“I’m gonna suck your cock.” You kiss him on the lips one last time before you’re leaning down to palm him over his sweatpants.

He hisses above you and grabs the back of your neck lovingly that it has you snorting.

“You know if you’re laughing at my dick my feelings are going to be very hurt,” Namjoon says from above you.

“It’s just …” You shake your head and giggle as you clench your fist around the outline of Namjoon’s cock as he lets out a low breath of approval at your action.

“You used to shove my head onto your cock the moment I reached your pants and now you’re so soft.” You tease.

You hear his breath hitch and the grip on your neck tighten at your taunting words. The excitement already pooling in your stomach at the roughness that would ensue from your husband.

“Me? Soft? Is that what you want baby?” His tone is warning and you know he’s serious.

You shake your head as you look up at him with innocent eyes, a stark contrast to the hand that continues to fondle his balls over his sweatpants.

“Don’t be a bitch and take my cock out.” He sneers, and you smile to yourself cheekily—knowing you hit a sore spot.

You happily oblige as you pull Namjoon’s sweats down to be greeted with your husbands cock. The visual itself has your pussy throbbing, and every time you’re faced with it, you always burn with the prospect of his thick cock pounding into your pussy.

“Now suck it like a good girl.” He guides your head towards his dick but you’re proactive enough to fully start licking at his tip, tongue teasing his slit as you hear him let out a low groan.

Your eyes are locked on his figure, as his head is thrown back. You want to grind on the sheets but you know that would delay him fucking you so you decide against it. But that didn’t mean you couldn’t appreciate the visual that your husband was giving you from where you were.

Namjoon had always been handsome. But there’s something about seeing him throw his head back in pleasure because of you that has your stomach churning with pride. You’d shamelessly admit that you were more on the possessive side, purely because you knew there were many men and women out there who desired Namjoon in more ways than one; and you didn’t like sharing one bit.

You spit onto his dick as your hands worked the rest of the length that you didn’t engulf in your mouth as you hollowed your cheeks to create a suction. Your tongue begins to tease the underside of his shaft, the way he likes the most and you know he’s enjoying your focus there because the hand that grips your neck is now tightly clutching your hair in a fist.

“Fuck. That’s it, baby.” He groans.

Motivated by the praise, you sink deeper, hands resting on his thick thighs as you push yourself until your nose reaches his pelvis. You’ve taken his cock like a champion on many occasions, and you can only thank him for that like the numerous times he had to guide you down on his cock were probably the only reason why your tiny throat could welcome his thick girth.

The sounds of you chocking on his dick was a lot for Namjoon, mainly because he couldn’t get enough of his wife but also because he’s been waiting out to bust a nut down your throat—actually your pussy—so long that he can’t handle the onslaught of pleasure your mouth brings him.

“Baby—baby,” He tugs you off his cock and the redness around your cheeks with the tears that pool at your waterline is enough to make his heart soar. Even though you were nasty in bed, he loved every single part of your forwardness.

“Your mouth is amazing but I need to cum in your pussy.” He tells you.

You whine at his declaration and allow him to manhandle you until you were face down ass up, ass pressed tightly against his pelvis as you grind your wet cunt over the hardness of his dick.

“Fuck—you’re so wet, baby. You like sucking my cock?” He growls, arms reaching around your stomach to pull your body flush against his chest.

When you reach your hand to wrap around his head to balance yourself, you see a view of your bodies together in your mirror. Courtesy of when you first moved in and due to you and Namjoon’s egocentric tendencies of wanting to see you guys fucking each other.

“S-So much Joon.” You garble.

His hand reach down to cup your mound and digs his palm into your clit as you grind down against his hand. You feel him loosely trace over your clit to gather your wetness into his hand to lather it over his dick.

“I’m gonna fuck you so good.” He whispers in your ear when he lines his cock against your entrance.

You whine, excitement erupting inside of you—until he finally slides it.

It definitely takes you by surprise because your husband was big. And the fact that you haven’t had his dick in you for months made it much more of a pleasant surprise when he bottoms out completely in one swift thrust of his hips, which causes your body to fall forward as your hands grip the sheets beneath you.

“Fuck. This tight pussy’s mine, right?” He growls.

You nod your head into the sheets as he begins with a few experimental thrusts as you adjust to the slight, yet pleasurable, sting in your lower half.

Until you squeeze his hand on your hip to give him the go, Namjoon settles for slow thrusts into your pussy, but it’s enough to prod at your pleasurable spot because not only is Namjoon smart, kind, funny, handsome and ridiculously a great father—he is phenomenal at sex. Probably why he knocked you up on the night of your honeymoon with your bundle of joy.

Namjoon begins snapping his hips into yours relentlessly like a man starved, and starved he was. He’s missed the wet heat of your pussy; and God did he love your daughter—but he missed this—your pussy.

“F-Fuuuuu—” You’re heaving.

Namjoon continues to thrust into your pussy, angling his hips upwards so that he’d reach places deeper than ever as your eyes roll to the back of your heart in pleasure.

“Fuck—this—tight—pussy—” His words follow the sharpness of his thrusts and you don’t even know where to grab because all your sensations are heightened, especially when Namjoon reaches a hand down to your clit to begin rubbing it vigorously.

“Nam—Joon!”

You’re so wet that the squelch of his thrusts is echoed in your bedroom, and the only thing you hear besides that is your loud moans and the heavy breathing coming from Namjoon.

It’s only when he plants his knees firmly into the mattress and brings your hips to meet his thrusts is when you feel your pussy clench uncontrollably around his cock as you wail out his name.

“Fuck, baby—you’re clenching—so—hard.” He groans, pushing his hips deeper into your pussy.

“Love your cock,” You moan, “Fuck—Joon, please—fuck your cum into me.”

“Yeah?” He grits his teeth and flips your over effortlessly, dragging your leg over his shoulder as he begins pounding into you even harder as he admires the way your face contorts in pleasure.

“Yeah.” You nod your head like a sex-crazed maniac because your husband was just too good with his hips.

“Gonna give you another baby.” He whispers when he leans down into your face as your eyes widen at his declaration. Your pussy reacts too, gushing out even more wetness as it becomes tighter around Namjoon’s cock.

“Fuck. You like that idea? A sibling for Chan’?” He grinds his pelvis into your clit as his words spur your second orgasm for the night on.

“No shit?” You gasp when he revs up his spit in the back of his throat, looking at your mouth invitingly.

“Yeah,” He says breathlessly, and you open your mouth to welcome his tongue when he drops the glob of spit down your throat.

You whine, feeling your orgasm coming so closely.

“Fuck Joon—I’m gonna cum.” You gasp.

You feel Namjoon’s hips stutter and you know he’s coming soon too.

“Me too baby.” He tells you while giving you the set of most adoring eyes ever. Even as he’s fucking you into the next dimension, Namjoon makes you feel so utterly loved and whole that you can’t imagine spending the rest of your life with anyone else.

He snaps his hips the hardest he’s ever done throughout the entire night, and you feel your pussy throb so much; signalling to you and Namjoon that your release was right there.

“Baby—I’m gonna—I’m gonna c-cum,” You grab onto his shoulder to pull him closer to you.

He welcomes it and leaves open mouth kisses onto your mouth as he fucks into you like a mad man.

“Cum.”

That’s all it takes for you to reach an explosive orgasm, one that quite literally causes you to blank out for a second because while Namjoon’s hot cum spurts into your pussy short after you came, he feels your body go limp in his embrace; causing his eyes to widen.

Only until you’re blinking up at him dazedly is when he holds you to his chest, as you feel his chest rumble when he chuckles.

“Baby … I thought you died.” He cards a hand through your hair and you smile at him, stupidly in love.

“If I die because of your dick I’d be happy.” You grin at him cutely. And he scoffs at the way you look so cute after you’ve been fucked to hell and back.

“My horny little monster,” He flicks your forehead as you bring him close to your chest, his dick still settled inside of you. But there was a sort of intimacy that you couldn’t quite put words to, but welcomed the gesture nevertheless.

“Were you serious?” You ask after a while of sharing a few intimate pecks to each others’ lips.

He finally pulls out to roll on his side as he reaches over to pull your close to his chest. He raises an eyebrow at your expression when you feel his cum leak out of you.

“God you really didn’t jack off recently, did you?” You ask.

He pecks you on the nose as he quickly tugs clean boxers over his legs and disappears into your on-suite. You sigh to yourself dreamily, thinking of how lucky you were to be with someone as loving and compassionate as Namjoon was.

You weren’t necessarily unlucky when it came to your relationships prior to him, but there would always be dealbreakers that caused splits to be more bitter than neutral. Namjoon was the only man in your life that you could speak to without fearing any judgement from because he wasn’t like that. He knew how to make you feel wanted and also how to want yourself, all while being your best friend and partner.

When he returns, he returns with a damp cloth and immediately begins cleaning up the mess between your thighs, even as he cheekily mentions how there was more from where that came from as you slap him on the shoulder.

Once he ensures he’s satisfied, he tosses the cloth into the laundry basket and grabs a big t-shirt of his to slip it over your body. You hum in satisfaction as his scent overwhelms you, even more so when he tugs you close to his body and he looks at you with all the love in the world.

“You asked if I was serious earlier?” He repeats your question and you nod your head looking up at him.

“Yeah.” You let out a breathy smile when he leans down to pull your face towards his own as you admire all the freckles and pores on his skin, fingers tracing loosely over the wrinkles that come with age.

“I know it’s sudden but … I’ve been thinking about our family and—I want our family to become bigger.” He tells you like it’s a secret. You know he’s been mulling over it for quite a while because he looks a little unsure of himself, but all you can do is smile widely at him.

“Really?” You ask, playing with the hair on the back of his neck when you feel his fingers trace over the skin on your back.

“Of course. I love you, and I love Chanmi. I’ve always wanted kids and you brought the best gift in my life to me and … I can’t explain how happy I am when I’m with the two of you.” He smiles at you gently.

You don’t know if it’s because he just fucked you so good, or was it because you were lovesick, but your eyes water because Namjoon was Namjoon.

“But—if you’re not ready then I understand and we can—”

“Yes.” You interrupt him.

His eyes widen as you see the excitement begin to pour into his irises.

“Wait—really?” He asks innocently.

You nod your head and kiss him on the lips softly, no rush as he returns the gesture, holding you close onto his chest where you feel the best in his arms.

“Yes really. I want what you want. And I think it’s about time Chanmi gets a sibling, no?” You tease.

He groans like you’re unreal as he buries his head into the crook of your neck as you caress him gently. Namjoon was really just like an oversized baby and you wouldn’t have it any other way.

“When?” He asks.

You tease your fingertips down to his chest and offer him a knowing look.

“Now?” You feign indifference but you can see the wide grin he sports on his face.

“Fuck. Don’t say that. I think my dick is going to fall off at how hard I fucked you just now,” He whined.

“You’re getting old,” You massage his shoulders as he sighs.

“I am …” He acknowledges, “But we’ll grow old together, right?”

The prospect of a future of unknowns with Namjoon only makes your heart bloom. You nod your head, not another word need to be uttered as he holds you in his arms, excited for what’s to come.

[nox-artemis]

Kentaro Miura

It took me awhile to get my thoughts in order. Honestly, as well intentioned as they are, a constant stream of fan tributes on Twitter and Tumblr more-or-less telling me how to process “The End” of Berserk with Miura’s death didn’t do a lot to console me, so I had to take some huge steps away from social media and only conversed my feelings with my other close Berserk fan-friends.

It was very surreal waking up yesterday morning to a friend messaging me simply saying, “did you hear the news?” When shit like that happens, I go onto my Google stories app and scroll through. I didn’t find anything really worth getting too upset over (maybe a bit sad that Queen Elizabeth II’s doggo died?) so it hit me to check my Twitter feed instead.

And that’s when I saw it.

We all know death is inevitable, and life is pretty much spent prolonging the point to that inevitability as well as preparing ourselves for when it happens to us or someone close to us. Being part of the Berserk fandom was the only time we all collectively had this on our mind not only for someone else but for someone we never met or really knew that much about. We only knew Miura through his magnum opus – and that was good enough for us. And no matter how much we discussed the worst-case scenario – pondering how the story would continue and how WE would continue – it still wasn’t enough to prepare us for this amount of shock. Hearing Miura had died and that the Berserk we know and love under his direct supervision is over truly felt like losing a long-lost friend.

It wasn’t just that the Berserk we know of is “over”, but that Miura didn’t have to die. He was only 54: not a young age, but not an old age either, especially by today’s standards. He could have seen the end to his magnum opus the way he envisioned it, yet he died of something so avoidable but is only brought about by a great deal of stress (from what I’ve read). It was always a morbid open rumor that so many of Miura’s infamous hiatuses were actually mental and/or physical health breaks, so the older or more conscious of us fans, while always eager and anxious for a new chapter, learned to not take them so personally. Miura was a spellbinding artist and storyteller, but he was also a human with his own life and conflicts that he was entitled to address at his own pace. This isn’t meant to blame anyone (at the very least, maybe to address some societal/industry issues), but it’s troubling enough to remind everyone – as the story of Berserk has demonstrated – that you need to take care of yourself physically and mentally, and while everyone struggles in life, you don’t have to struggle alone.

I always despised this weird cult of youth that insinuates that life isn’t worth pursuing once you hit your mid-thirties, and how some people so engulfed in their youth insist that they wouldn’t mind dying by the age of 50 or 60. It’s a shame when people live by that because there’s so much to live for beyond your youth – as I’ve learned, I only started buckling down when I transitioned into my thirties. Miura could have had a longer life ahead of him, going beyond Berserk and into his other endeavors, professional and personal, but that will unfortunately never happen now.

Everyone knows I have a lot of thoughts and opinions on Berserk. Most of you found out about me through my blogging several years ago, and I’m pretty proud that I was never the sort of fan that groveled at Miura’s feet and treated Berserk as some untouchable holy book: there were things I disliked about Berserk and things that disappointed me about Miura’s writing, but there were SO MANY MORE THINGS that I loved about Berserk and was proud of Miura for, and I wished him to continue his advancement in narrative growth. He did so and we watched it happened.

And, by meeting so many friends and acquaintances through the fandom, we saw a lot in ourselves change too. It’s surreal how we always joked that it would be one of us fans who would die before Berserk ended or the worst-case scenario of Miura dying; maybe some of us secretly preferred for that happen. But when we weren’t waiting around for another chapter… look at how much we’ve done with our lives! We graduated high school, undergrad, grad school, started and advanced our careers, traveled the world, got together, popped out a kid or two!... And while we experienced a lot of downfalls and tragedies that coincide, can you believe how much we have accomplished together?

We were all personally inspired, motivated, persuaded by Berserk in different ways: a lot of us were inspired for the better and admittedly, some for the not-as-good (if spending countless hours on Tumblr has taught me, there were definitely some toxic fan takeaways that had to be confronted). I’m not going to go to the point of saying that I now live my life by Berserk’s philosophy to a T or live as a reflection of certain characters (because I’m pretty sure that Miura was trying to tell us to NOT live your life like some particular characters) but it certainly helped to brings some aspects of life and existence into perspective, through the lenses of so many characters. Berserk also inspired me to write more, an already favorite pastime of mine, and how I should go about writing and planning a story, taking cues from Berserk on how to and how NOT to write and approach things in my own way, which I think is for the best in the long run. I can only dream that I’ll be published someday – which doesn’t have to be a pipe dream because it’s still much more possible than impossible. And so many other have done the same, creating our own stories and works.

And OF COURSE Berserk inspired me to be a little bit badass from time to time in moments of frivolity and seriousness – but it reminds us all that being badass and being a kinder person who tries to become the best version of themselves are not mutually exclusive. We definitely need more of that in today’s world.

We all made our own little bonfires of dreams happen, and because of Berserk existing, there will be a lot more beginnings than endings, and I don’t see a lot of bonfires being extinguished anytime soon. Miura poured his heart and soul into Berserk and its characters, and while he has passed on, his characters and lessons will live on through us and everything we create and how we live our lives (hopefully for the better).

I was happy to share all of my thoughts with you all – and I’ll continue to do so, since the mythos of Berserk has been a major backdrop of my creative mind for over fifteen years now and there is still so much to dissect and speculate. Personally, I don’t see Berserk ending just yet, if only because I’d be surprised that Miura or his publisher didn’t have some Operation London Bridge type plan in place in the event that this happened (Berserk is, after all, a major title that most likely brings Young Animal a lot of revenue). Again, I never treated Miura or Berserk as divine untouchables, so if there are plans in place to continue Berserk without Miura (BUT with his permission) or just on how to wrap up the story to give it a fulfilling conclusion, I personally would be okay with it (as a friend of mine put it, it’d be more of a tribute than an imitation). Going beyond our lifetimes, works will continue to be interpreted and reinterpreted as they have since time immemorial; perhaps Berserk will reach that point someday.

Honestly, and many have thought so too, Berserk was also meant to be cosmic level in both scale and concept. The plot is so grand and Byzantine that, even under Miura’s direct supervision, I always had a hard time envisioning how a story of this scale would conclude. As much as we love to hate him, a final showdown between Guts and Griffith seems too simple, too “good vs. evil”-esque for Berserk. Maybe having a low-key, vague but optimistic and bittersweet wrap up is what is best for Guts, Casca, and their new-found family. But that’s just another one of my fan speculations.

Regardless or what is to become of Berserk now, I think it’s safe to give adulations. We all came across Berserk at different times in our lives and stuck with the story for different reasons. For some of us, it was just another series that our friend from the campus anime club recommended to us; for others, we were drawn in from a morbid curiosity of its dark notoriety in anime circles. A few of us read for the gratuitous violence and the clout (because we all know you’re so deep and hardcore [/sar]), but a lot more of us read for the journey and the characters that we became a part of. The heaviness of Berserk made us confront a lot of trauma and even relive our own. For some of us, understandably, it was not a good idea to dive deeper (and maybe somethings could have been handled better); for the rest of us, it helped us cope, if not entirely through the story itself, than through the support network we made for ourselves in this fandom and its many realms (some realms, I argue, are more caring and nurturing than others).

From time to time, I always wonder if I would ever “grow out” of Berserk. There were indeed several times I took a step away from fandom and have tried to reduce my exposure to the story - but I always came back in some way, because the essence of Berserk has never left me and never will. Humorously I envisioned myself actually forgetting about Berserk for several decades, decades in which I work at my career, raise my family, mourn my elders, but continue living my life, only to go on the future internet in my mid-50s to find out… Miura is STILL working on that ending, sitting at his desk in the same pose as that famous monochrome capture of him, only he’s grayed and wrinkled, like the great Miyazaki.

The possibility of that future is over, but there are so many others.

[henryobsessed]

The Veterinarian and the Werewolf - Chapter 16

Word Count: 1634

Warnings: none

A/N @sillyrabbit81 and @amberangel112 - you guys are so important to getting this story finished - Thank you.

and to my beautiful readers, your encouragement, engagement, and cheeky comments fill my day with Joy :) So here is another chapter.

Chapter 16 – Jessie

The soft translucent steam wafted up from the cup of coffee warming up Jessie's hands. She had been called out in the middle of the night to a cattle ranch to help with the birthing of a cow in distress. She was grateful that Joe was still staying with them as she had been able to wake him to go with her. Together they had helped the cow deliver twins, one had been breech, and they had to help manipulate it to turn.

That had been 5 hours ago, and on returning, Joe washed up and went back to bed. But Jessie had too much adrenaline rushing through her system. Instead, she used this time, the stillness of the kitchen, the soft early bird calls outside, and the clicking clock on the mantle to help her calm down. To process what had happened over the last few days.

Yesterday had been so eventful, full of fear, anxiety, joy and then sadness. Henry had finally managed to change back to his human form and just in time mind you. Her fear that they would make her kill him had driven her to desperately call to him. When he turned the relief that flooded her body had been enormous. It was followed, however, with another kind of fear, this Henry didn’t recognise her, or where he was. In fact, she had surmised this consciousness was still that young man that fifteen years ago had come searching for her. In one way that was great, he recognised she was his mate and was not fearful in her presence. But she was left with the horrible task of reminding him that his family were all dead. That his nephew was living with another pack, and unless he remembered where the pack was, there was no way of finding him.

On top of that, she had a young man to worry about. When the trio had returned last evening after shopping for clothes for Henry, she noticed that Tom was very quiet. Joe was his bratty self, proclaiming that he had told her that Wolfy was a were all those weeks before. Dillon was accepting of this unusual event more than she thought was right to be. But Tom, he was quieter than normal. He didn’t run away or hide in his room, but his body language was closed off, he held himself aloof no longer playing with Joe. The whole evening and night Henry had slept, so the boys had not been able to question him. But she knew it would happen and wondered what the conversation between Tom and Henry would look like. They had been so close when he had been in wolf form, that she was worried that the young man would struggle now that Henry was a 31yr old man.

She heard a creak on the stairs and looked up just as the man in question walked into the kitchen. Tom’s hair stuck out at all angles, his skinny yet toned chest and arms were bare, giving him an almost manly look, if it had not been for the Pokémon PJ bottoms he was wearing. He walked to the coffee pot, pouring himself a cup before he turned, leaning his bottom against the bench. He took a sip of the black brew and almost dropped the mug when he recognised Jessie sitting at the table. She chuckled at his sleepy self. “Didn’t sleep well, Tom?” He shook his head and then lowered his eyes, staring into the mug as if it held all the answers to life and the universe.

She went back to her own coffee, she wasn’t going to push the young man to talk, it wasn’t her place. The only thing she wanted to do was give him a safe place to land, and a family to belong to. Now that Boyd was dead, the ranch was safer, but his father was still an unknown part of the equation. She wasn’t really sure even of his mother who had made no contact since he had been staying with them. It broke her heart to see that the young man had not grown up in a loving home, instead one dominated with proving you were good enough for affection.

He pushed himself off the bench and placed the now empty mug in the sink. “Are you going into the clinic today?” his soft voice seemed hesitant in the stillness.

“I will yes, but not before I get some sleep. I’ve been out most of the night at the Happy Saddle’s Ranch. Helping birth twins.”

He nodded at that. “I’ll stay here with Henry when you do so you won’t have to worry.”

She smiled a small soft smile. “I would like that, thank you. I don’t think he is ready to get out of bed for too long yet. His shoulder will take longer to heal… Well, that’s what all the were books say. They take longer to heal when human. At least that’s what Joe was talking about all the way to the ranch and back again this morning. And Tom, don’t push him on his memory. Just give him what he wants ok?”

A big yawn caught Jessie by surprise. Tom walked forward and took her empty mug. “Ok, Miss Jessie. Why don’t you head back to bed? I will field any calls that might come in. You just rest.”

Standing she yawned again before handing him her phone. “Thanks, Tom, you really are amazing, don’t let anyone tell you any different.” She lent up and kissed him on the cheek, red blossomed across his face at her action and he coughed a little.

“Thanks, Miss Jessie, I’ll remember that.” She touched his arm to affirm her words, then headed upstairs for bed.

As she reached the top of the stairs, she heard a whimper coming from her room. Inside she found Henry had tossed around claiming her side of the bed, burying his head in her pillow, and now his body was star fished on his stomach taking up the whole bed. Lack of sleep created anger in her chest. Agitated she stiffened her shoulders and wondered how the hell she was going to get into the bed. A new whimper interrupted her frustrated thoughts. Deflating, she slumped and walked over to where his head was, gently running her hand through his hair, then the tips of her fingers down his furrowed brow. His eyes slowly opened. There she saw a lost empty look before recognition and then peace. “Hey,” his deep rough voice broke out. “You were gone.”

“Sorry, I had to go to work. How about you scoot over and I’ll tell you about it.” He rolled onto his side and moved back as she wearily slid between the sheets. Just as she was about to lift her arm and invite him into a hug, she felt her body being pulled into his hard warm physique. Her face tucked into his furry chest, the familiar scent of his musk, and his thick arms wrapped around her. She didn’t want to, but in that moment all her memories of their time at the tree came flooding into her brain, causing her to begin to weep. She had missed him, missed his touch, missed his confident warmth. As she began to unravel his hands soothingly ran up and down her back. Eventually, she wore herself out, the comfort she felt lulling her into a deep sleep.

A few hours later she awoke in the same position, soft voices speaking around her. “Are you sure she has to be woken? Can’t we just cancel her work for the day?” his voice rumbled softly.

Before anyone had the option to answer she spoke up, “I’m up, it’s ok.” She tried to push out of his arms, but he held fast growling at her movement. “Henry, Love, you have to let me go. Tom will stay with you while I’m at work, it will only be for two hours then I will be back again.” She felt the hesitation at first until Tom’s name was mentioned.

“You mean the tall boy?” she stifled a laugh by burying her head in his chest.

She made a move out of his arms. Looking at his face, irritation laced across his brow. “Yes Henry, the tall boy. When I get home, I will cook you up some nice large pieces of steak, ok?”

That bought a smile to his face. “OK.” Chuckling at the now boyish look on his face she climbed out of bed, grabbing some clothes then left to shower.

Joe was in the car ready to leave. Dillon had left to get more clothes from their house as it seemed Joe was unwilling to miss out on any werewolf interaction. Tom stood at the front door, Henry leaning gingerly against the door frame holding his head high even though she could see the strain on his face. “You two be good, ok? Why don’t you watch a movie? By the time it finishes, I will be home.”

Tom smiled and reached an arm around Henry, helping to prop him up, his tall lean body towering over the shorter, well-built man. “Don’t worry Miss Jessie, I’ll take good care of him.” An odd look crossed Tom’s face as he spoke, and Jessie felt a niggle in the back of her head. But she had to leave, and until now Tom had been trustworthy, he had put his body on the line for Jessie and Wolfy. Dismissing the thought, she smiled back waved at Henry and jumped in the truck. Only a few hours she mused as she looked in the revision mirror at the two men waving at her as they drove away.

Chapter 17

[hollypunkers]

reasons Mako is really really great and should be appreciated so much for how he raised Bolin coming from just watching Republic City Hustle:

He made robbing people fun. It was a necessity, and clearly a dangerous way to live but their only choice, so he not only clearly picks a target that isn’t a threat but turns it into a game where Bolin can play the Good Guy and fool around, be a hero, and have fun.

In that same vein, with almost every chance he gets he compliments Bolin (“nice grab little brother” etc. a trait he continues until adulthood with people he cares about, it’s stilted and awkward later but clearly Mako’s trying) this is probably why Bolin’s confidence is basically through the roof.

Bolin recognized Toza and calls him his “hero” indicating he has been to pro-bending matches before, later we see them both working at the match while Mako has to remind Bolin he is working too. Mako also doesnt recognize Toza on sight. I think it’s safe to imply Bolin working with Mako is new (some evidence for that later as well) and Mako would normally work while letting Bolin have a fun night watching the matches.

Bolin is sad to see his hero lose, Mako tries to reiterate a lesson that basically boils down to “they wouldnt help us, why should we care?” It’s a lesson that rings true for Mako, the caretaker, but doesn’t for Bolin because Bolin always had Mako and knows what it’s like to be cared for.

When Shady Shin threatens to send them back to the streets Mako’s first instinct is to give Bolin a reassuring pat on the back and tell him not to worry.

While Bolin is doing his antics we always see Mako just behind him, watching and keeping an eye out. The only time he isn’t is when it is implied Mako was doing some work on his own (after Bolin got mad) and Bolin snuck away, after which Mako immediately finds Bolin the moment he’s in danger to save him.

Bolin wants an adorable pet, Mako immediately tells him “No. The last thing we need is one more mouth to feed.” Again, Mako as the parent having to juggle being the good guy and the bad guy, taking all the responsibility of caring for them on his own shoulders. And he has a point. Mako is clearly struggling just to keep Bolin and himself fed (“We didn’t eat anything yesterday.”) and the last thing they need is a pet.

Bolin begs Mako (typical kid stuff wanting a pet “aw he’s so cute!” “Ple-ease??”) and is suprised it doesn’t work and sad when Mako tells him to toughen up. Bolin begging is interesting because it tells us it often probably works, Mako giving Bolin what he asks for; and in this instance Bolin is very much acting like any normal child while once again Mako is the (reasonable) parent.

From what I inferred earlier where Bolin helping with the work being new, Mako has just started to get Bolin into this criminal world with the Triple Threats and is clearly worried Bolin is too soft for it, while at the same time interestingly never brings up how Bolin is five years older than Mako was when Mako started taking care of them. I think one of the arcs of this series was Mako realizing Bolin, because of who he was and how sheltered he’d been, couldn’t survive in the same environment Mako was. Mako has earned the respect of Shady Shin, meanwhile Bolin can’t even handle this one job. (Mako, a pragmatist, realizes by the end that if Bolin stayed in this work he’d have to become more like Mako, and so Mako takes the out Toza offers.)

Bolin. Is. An. Optimist. Bolin grew up living on the streets, hungry and poor, and he’s an optimist. Why? Just jump back to the scene with Shady Shin where the moment things seems scary Mako immediately reassures Bolin. Mako is hypersensitive to Bolin’s emotions, even when chastizing him he falls back to a kind voice and explains why, so it’s no small leap to say Bolin always thinks things are going to turn out okay because that’s what Mako has told him his whole life.

“Maybe I’m not as mean as you! Maybe I just can’t turn my back on people when they’re down!” Bolin calls Mako mean and uncaring, and Mako.... sighs. He doesn’t respond, just takes it in, lets Bolin have his emotions and even say cruel things to him and just internalizes it and leaves it alone.

Mako weirdly knows exactly how to handle a dangerous snake. I don’t know what this means. Either he has experience or it’s pure Mom Instinct where he sees Bolin in trouble and just wrangles a dangerous snake and flings it back into its cage in seconds.

Mako relents on the Pabu business right after Bolin puts himself in danger to save the animal and Bolin gives him puppy dog eyes (also after Bolin called him mean). Maybe he thinks having a pet can teach Bolin responsibility, or maybe he doesn’t want Bolin to think he’s mean, either way, Mako knows it’s not a great idea to have a pet but still gives up, apparently not able to say no to Bolin twice.

Bolin never apologizes or is asked to apologize for calling Mako mean and uncaring. In fact, considering the sequence of events, Mako is the one who apologizes by letting Bolin keep Pabu even though by all accounts Mako was right not to want a pet. When Mako does admonish Bolin it’s only in ways Bolin needs to act in order to survive, otherwise Mako seems unwilling to defend himself or make Bolin change in any way. (Mako models this type of forgiveness despite being the wronged party which interestingly, Bolin shows later throughout LoK and it is something people love about him, but the origins are here, coming from Mako.)

“You really have a habit of getting in stupid situations” Mako tells Bolin, indicating this type of behavior, Bolin getting in trouble and Mako coming to save him, happens a lot. (Even in the end, Mako finds out Bolin bet all their money on a fixed match, like c’mon Bolin.) Bolin just says “I know” and Mako leaves the conversation at that without rubbing it in. A surprising amount of maturity for a fifteen year old.

Bolin can’t keep his mouth shut and gets them in trouble, shouting and excited during the match; as Mako looks embarrassed and worried, another indication that this, Bolin being present with the Triads, is a recent development and a clear indicator Mako was right telling Bolin to toughen up or he wouldn’t survive, as they instantly find themselves running and fighting for their lives.

“Can we, Mako? Mako, can we? Mako, please!” Mako is so explicitly the parent to Bolin it’s sad. He is fifteen, he’s been on his own with Bolin since he was eight and literally witnessed his parents die, and throughout the series we see him comforting Bolin, suppressing his own emotions, and being a parent over and over again. Meanwhile Bolin acts like a child, who had a normalish childhood, who plays games and laughs and is optimistic and confident and wants a pet, so despite everything they went through, and how hard it was, Mako was clearly a very good parent to Bolin.

Shady Shin miscalculates in the end by telling Mako “don’t go soft on me”, the same thing Mako was telling Bolin; which goes all the way back to my earlier point that Mako knows Bolin won’t last as a Triad and needs something else. “I do have to take care of my brother, and I think this is what’s best for him.” There, explicitly, the only reason they become pro-benders is because Mako thinks it’s right for Bolin, ‘what is right for Bolin’ is the basis of all his choices, what is right for Mako isn’t considered because what Mako wants is for Bolin to be happy.

In conclusion, if you hate Mako and love Bolin, I think you need to take a step back and remember who raised Bolin.

[emerywrites]

Fanfic: “Please don’t make a fuss”

So, I recently got back into Harry Potter and reread all of the books. Percy Weasley is one of my favorite characters and since its his birthday I wrote a fic. I hope that people enjoy it. :) 

 Summary: After the Battle of Hogwarts, Percy hated anyone making a fuss about his birthday. For twenty years he got away with passing it by with little acknowledgement. One year his daughters decide to change that.

Genre: Hurt/Comfort

Warnings: survivors guilt, PTSD

Percy always did his best to ignore his birthday. During the time that he had been estranged from his family, he had seen little reason to make a fuss about his birthday and the habit had stuck with him. Soon after he and Oliver had reignited their relationship, he told him that he didn’t want any birthday celebrations. Oliver had respected that other than a small gift and a “Happy birthday, love” the morning of August 22nd every year.

When Molly and Lucy were old enough to understand birthdays, things had changed, of course. They insisted on making homemade cards and having a cake. Percy allowed it and ate a small piece of cake as he admired their artistic efforts.

He remembered some particularly interesting cards on his birthday after they’d turned five. “That’s you, Daddy, and that’s me and that’s a dragon!” Molly had explained as she pointed to barely discernable shapes she had drawn in crayon.

“Oh, a dragon, how unique, dear,” he said to his daughter before leaning over to mutter to Oliver, “She’s been spending too much time with Charlie.”

Lucy showed him her own art of their family playing quidditch and Percy had been just as encouraging. It was easy to enjoy a birthday with small children who were an easy distraction. When they were young, he could allow his birthday to be more about them than himself.

But as they got older, that changed. His daughters wanted to get him gifts with their pocket money. They asked why they had birthday celebrations at the Burrow for everyone else in the family and why they went to see Papa’s family on his birthday, but never did any of that for Daddy. It was difficult to explain the complicated emotions that went along with Percy’s desire to not think about his birthday. So, he never did. He only ever said that all he wanted for his birthday was peace and quiet with his husband and daughters.

 ----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Molly and Lucy were fifteen and August 22nd had come around yet again. They successfully avoided mentioning his birthday other than a kiss on his cheek that morning with a “Happy birthday, Dad”. The rest of the day was spent in Diagon Alley getting their school supplies and of course a special gift for Molly for being made prefect and Lucy for being made captain of the quidditch team. Percy was more than happy to make their successes the focus of the day.

After they got home, Molly ran upstairs to try on her new robes with her prefect’s badge. Moments later she came running back down. “I can’t find my badge!” Percy promised her that they would look until they found it.

Then Lucy piped up with, “I think you left it at the Burrow yesterday, when we went to show Grandmum and Granddad.”

Molly gasped. “You’re right! We have to go get it, right now.”

“Alright,” Percy agreed. “Ollie, you take Molly to get the badge. Lu and I can get started on dinner.”

“Dad, you know how Gran is, she’ll be disappointed if we don’t stay for dinner,” Molly told him. “We should all go.”

That was when Percy got suspicious. But he didn’t want to act paranoid and relented into going along. He side-long apparated with Lucy and Oliver with Molly. When they showed up outside of the Burrow, Percy immediately knew something was wrong. None of his nieces or nephews were outside running around. Usually there were at least a couple of them always underfoot no matter where you went around the Burrow.

He got a bad feeling that he knew what was about to happen. “Ollie, I’m not feeling too well. The three of you can stay. I’ll just go back…” But the three of them were already going up to the door. Percy followed, feeling his stomach twist into a knot as he desperately hoped that he was wrong in his prediction.

They entered the Burrow, just for the entire family to shout, “Surprise!” Every one of his siblings and their families were there, crammed inside his childhood home. It was overwhelming to see all of their smiling faces, there for him. Percy’s first instinct was to bolt and he would have if it had not been for him backing straight into his husband’s strong chest. He swallowed hard and plastered on a grin.

Percy kindly thanked them for such an amazing surprise. Everyone explained how it had all been Molly and Lucy planning the whole thing. Oliver hadn’t even known about it as the girls knew that he could never keep a secret from Percy.

Percy told himself, he would just get through the evening. He could do it. He’d often enough kept up a façade for politicians and department heads that he had to socialize with. He’d managed to trick Death Eaters into thinking that he wasn’t a threat to their take over of the ministry. It should be easy to pretend to his family that he was happy on his birthday.

They all sat outside at tables magically extended to their limit to hold the, what seemed to be, ever-growing number of Weasleys. Percy sat next to Oliver who was holding an enthusiastic conversation about quidditch with Ginny. His daughters were a bit further down the table talking animatedly with their cousins. He caught a few words of Molly bragging about her new status as prefect in the up-coming school year. Percy tried not to think about his twin brothers’ teasing about “perfect prefect Percy” and how he kind of wished he could reminisce with Fred and George about it. And, now he was thinking about Fred…

Percy hadn’t even noticed that his mother had gone inside. Then she was suddenly coming back out into the garden, floating a towering chocolate cake that had his name in icing. Freddie and Roxanne’s set of Weasley’s Wizard Wheezes patented fireworks flashed and screamed through the sky. Percy thought he was going to throw up. He flinched and saw flashes of the walls of Hogwarts castle coming down… Fred’s lifeless eyes…

Percy stood abruptly, knocking his chair backwards. Everyone’s attention turned to him. Smiles faded from their faces when they saw the panicked expression he wore. “I have to go,” he said shakily.

He ran inside, knowing that there was no way he was steady enough to apparate. The intention was to take the floo home but the powder was not on the mantle where it usually was. He was about to try and summon it when Oliver came running in.

“Percy! Percy, what happened out there?” Oliver’s voice was so concerned and that just made Percy feel worse for making a scene.

“I can’t do this, Ollie,” he said hoarsely. There was a lump of emotion in his throat that made it difficult to get his words out. “I can’t be here.”

“Why not, love? I know you don’t like people to make a fuss about your birthday but the girls really wanted to do something special. They wanted to give you a proper birthday.”

“And they are lovely for wanting to do that. But you don’t understand!” How did he explain it? How could he, when saying it out loud would hurt more than anything?

Then Oliver was much closer. He put his hands on either side of Percy’s face and used his thumbs to wipe away the tears that Percy didn’t even realize he had shed. “Love, you’re scaring me. What is going on?”

Percy gently took his wrists and pushed the hands away. “I hate my birthday,” he said slowly. “After… after I left, I stopped caring about my birthday. I had my work and it just felt like another distraction.”

Oliver nodded. “So, you’re out of practice in celebrating. We can fix that. We’ll just start a bit smaller next time.” He laughed as if it was that easy.

“That’s not it!” he snapped. He was shouting. He didn’t mean to be but no one understood and they wouldn’t until he got it out. He couldn’t help but look away toward the fireplace. The words that sat on the tip of his tongue weren’t supposed to be out there. They were meant to stay there in his heart, slowly eating him alive. At least there, they couldn’t damage anyone else. “My birthday is just a reminder, Ollie! It’s a reminder that I get another year, year after year! I get to grow old and Fred doesn’t! It’s a reminder to my family that the wrong son survived! I can pretend… I can pretend that I’m okay if I just don’t let anyone make a fuss about celebrating. It feels wrong to make them celebrate it.”

Percy finally allowed himself to look at Oliver. His husband was staring at him, his mouth opening and closing like he didn’t know what to say, but was struggling to find the words. But just past Oliver, standing at the threshold of the kitchen, was his father looking at him with pain-filled eyes.

“Is that what you really believe?” Arthur asked as he approached. “That we think the wrong son survived?”

Percy really wished he had just pushed through and gotten to the end of the dinner. He should have found a way to keep the smile on his face and his bum in his chair. Now, he was hurting his father all over again. “No!” he tried to lie. “I…it’s…” Both his father and his husband looked at him with pity and that was humiliating. There was no point in lying when they could see through him like a ghost. “Yes, that’s… that’s always what I believed. How could I not? It felt like the cost of me returning to the family was Fred’s life. Like it was some sort of horrible exchange. And you lost, someone as well-loved as Fred to get me… the broken one who came back too late.”

“None of us have ever thought that,” Arthur said with an adamant shake of his head. “Losing Fred was a tragedy. That loss is always going to be there. But I also got a son back that day, Percy. And I apologize, that we obviously didn’t do enough to make you feel fully welcomed back and that you thought we wouldn’t want to celebrate having you.”

“Dad, you don’t need to-” But then his dad was hugging him. It was strange. He tried to remember the last time his dad had hugged him like that. It had been a while.

When he was eventually released, he realized that Oliver had slipped out of the room. His dad looked at him and cleared his throat. “If you need to go home, I can tell everyone that you weren’t feeling well. But I think everyone would really love for you to stay.”

“I’ll stay,” he said softly as he adjusted his glasses. “Molly and Lucy did put a lot of work into this.”

The reassurance had been needed but the fear of being unwanted still sat like a heavy stone on his chest. But then he followed his dad back outside to the garden. Everyone turned to look at him and in overlapping voices said how happy they were he came back out. George came out of nowhere to throw an arm around his shoulders.

“Don’t worry, I told the little troublemakers to cool it with the fireworks,” George whispered into his ear. “They can set me off too sometimes.”

Then George was pulling him over to the cake, sitting on the table. The candles had been placed and were alight. A spell had been used to keep the wax from melting onto the icing. Molly and Lucy ran up beside him.

“Make a wish, Dad!” Lucy encouraged.

Percy let his eyes fall shut for a moment as he made his wish. Then he opened them again and blew out the candles. Everyone cheered and his mother gave him a kiss on the cheek before she went to serve the cake.

The overwhelming love he felt in that moment was almost too much. It had soothed his fear to the point that it had gone dormant. It would come back but he had a feeling its potency had been dulled.

“What’d you wish for?” Lucy asked softly.

“For every birthday to be as amazing as this one,” he replied.

[unbridgeabledistances]

soft prompt ideas: comforting each other, cuddling, waking up together/going to sleep, going on a date, idk just being in each other’s company? i’m terrible at being specific but i hope these help!

hi bby<3 thank you so much to u (and everyone else!!!) for sending in prompts, they brought me so much joy and now i have SO many little soft things in the works:’)

yesterday ended up turning into a long day and i didn’t get to finish most of the things i started, but i wrote this while i was freshly showered and in bed and wanted to quickly whip up some bedtime softness to end the day right!! so here is the softest, quickest pre-11x07 bedtime one-shot and ode to the gallagher house, i hope u enjoy<3

--

Ian turned the creaky handle to shut off the shower, stilling the scalding water that had been beating a steady stream onto his body, soothing his aching muscles and weary bones. Ian was tired—after he and Mickey had gotten back from their various security stops around the outskirts of the city, he’d promised to help Lip track down and deliver parts to the people who’d bought the odds and ends of the stolen bikes, and then he’d somehow ended up in Lip and Tami’s living room that was half-packed into boxes for hours, silently sipping a beer and listening to them tag-team their attempts at persuading Ian to convince Debbie into wanting to sell the house— an effort that was a lost cause, and they all knew it.

It was kind of funny— they’d all gotten so close to losing the house so many times before, from being pulled out by DCFS officers to being kicked to the curb by fucking Patrick, to feeling desperate ripples of fear as they watched the house be put up for auction for a bunch of Northsiders and boujee fucking families who picked through the bare skeleton of the rooms as they pleased— so it was funny that after all of that, after their front door being plastered with more bright orange eviction notices than they could count, that the eventual thing driving them out of the house in the end would be a Gallagher himself, just because Lip wanted some extra cash. Ian got it— they were older now, and Lip had a kid to worry about— but he couldn’t help but feel a soft pang in his gut, something muted and dull but still there, every time Lip nonchalantly mentioned “fixing the house up” and “making gentrification our friend” and “getting on with our lives”—even though he and Mickey had readily agreed, at the family meeting that Mickey now had a right to be a part of, that it made the most sense to sell the house and for the two of them to find a place of their own.

And honestly, that prospect was a little terrifying; it sounded silly, but this crumbling house, with its paint stripping away and its roof nearly caving in, had pretty much been the only constant in Ian’s life for as long as he could remember. He had memories, ones that were soft around the edges, of him and Lip and Fiona sleeping curled in the backseats of cars and, on a few of the worst nights, on playgrounds or stoops or streetcorners when Frank and Monica were too far gone— and then inevitably one day, one sunny afternoon, they would come home to this sturdy gray house, and even then Ian understood that this was a place he could always return to. He didn’t really know what a world without the Gallagher house looked like; he always found his feet leading him back to these four walls, even those months when he was living with Mickey and he’d walk the silent moonlit city blocks back home to splash in the pool with everyone on those muggy, late summer nights. Thinking about the comforting sag of the Gallagher house was one of the few things that kept Ian going in the colorless cinderblock walls of his prison cell; the concave mattress of his single bed at home wasn’t much better than the inch-think foam pad he scrunched onto each night in his cell, but it was still familiar, it was still home, it had still held him through all of these years.

Lip wanting to sell the house was just another bitter reminder, along with the changing storefronts of the Southside neighborhood stores, the people walking by with baby strollers and shopping bags of organic groceries, the notches on the closet door that showed how much Franny had already grown, and the tinny sound of Fiona’s voice wafting through a Facetime call, a voice too small and too quiet to fill the absence she’d left behind—that things were always changing, that life wasn’t going to stop for any of them.

Ian clambered out of the shower and wrapped a towel around his waist, scrubbing his face with his hands to try to clear his head. The hallway outside the bathroom was still, the only sound the soft hissing of the radiator—when the fuck did this house get so quiet? There was no boisterous laughter wafting up from downstairs, no clanging in the kitchen, no WWE blasting from the TV at full volume; Lip and Tami had moved out, Liam was grown up and preferred steady conversation to the classic Gallagher screeching, and Carl was either off at the station for the night or doing god-knows-what in the basement— when did silence start to sink into these walls, without anyone really noticing? Even Frank was getting quieter, somehow, giving more blank stares than quick replies when they talked back and forth in the kitchen.

Ian stepped out of the bathroom and crept down the hallway, walking carefully in case Franny was sleeping; there was a comfort in the melody of the creaking floorboards, reminding him of all the nights when he’d lay awake staring at the ceiling, sometimes gripped by the swirling black thoughts he thought he’d never be able to shake off, and he would hear Fiona tiptoeing around in the hallway, checking in on everyone while she tried not to wake them. Ian gripped the handle of the flimsy accordion bedroom door and slid it open as quietly as he could muster, ready to crawl into bed and hopefully snap out of all this wallowing.

And… oh.

The lamp on the bedside table was still on, shining a soft glow into the cramped room— but Mickey was curled up and fast asleep on Ian’s side of the bed, his mouth half-open and his head tucked to his chin, his hair slightly mussed and ruffled by on the pillow he was gripping onto. Ian smirked—he knew it was getting late, and Mickey might be asleep when he got home—but there was something so soft and innocent about the way Mickey was laying, like he was breathing in the scent of Ian’s pillow, that made him stop for a moment before mindlessly crawling into bed next to him. Ian let himself linger in the doorway for a moment, just listening to the steady waves of Mickey’s breathing, taking in the sight of his flushed cheeks and the innocence in his sleeping face that was so bare and open that it almost hurt to look at.

Instantly, Ian felt something bloom in his chest from the pit of uncertainty that had been planted there. The Gallagher house had always been his home—but he realized in a sweeping moment that his best days here, ones where he felt solid and settled and himself rather than someone he was pretending to be, were the days when Mickey was nearby, the days when Mickey was just down the road.

Mickey made up the only other home he’d had, the only other place he’d felt this safe; they’d built a cocoon around themselves in the equally-as-shitty Milkovich house, smoking and laughing and whispering into each other’s skin in the darkness. Even as Ian’s grip on reality felt like it was slipping through his fingers, Mickey’s warm body next to his kept him rooted, in the same ways Mickey’s thrumming presence beside him kept him safe in all the blaring uncertainty of federal prison and imposing cell walls and the press of too many strange bodies in orange jumpsuits. Ian had always felt safe in the Gallagher house—but so much of that, since he was a scrawny fifteen year old, was because of the nights he spent awake in bed thinking up pipe dreams of a future with the loudmouthed kid he worked with at the convenience store, or when he could crawl into bed after a late night EMT shift and feel the solid, grounding weight in his chest as he remembered his road trip with Mickey to the border, and thought about Mickey having some kind of a better life in Mexico. So much of that feeling of home, especially through all of the epic highs and colossal lows, was just knowing that someone out there, by some miracle, loved Ian as deeply as Mickey Milkovich could— knowing he had a doorstep to run to when his own house was infiltrated by Monica and some stranger threatening to take Liam, or a bed to crash in for months when everything else in his life felt like shifting, unstable ground. So much of home was right here, and it always had been.

Ian quietly slid shut the squeaky folds of the door, discarding his towel and throwing a threadbare t-shirt over his head—and then he gingerly stretched out onto the opposite side of the bed beside a sleep-soft Mickey, his body radiating heat and the ends of his hair still damp from his own shower, smelling of the fresh scent of cheap shampoo and very slightly of toothpaste, mingling with the earthy smell of cigarette smoke and the other scent that Ian could only just describe as Mickey. Ian let himself lay there for a moment, listening to Mickey breathing— just breathing.

He reached over Mickey’s torso and shut off the bedside lamp, enveloping the room in a heavy cloak of darkness—but this time the silence didn’t seem so bad with Mickey’s steady breaths punctuating the quiet. He slid a hand over Mickey’s waist, resting his chin on the crook of Mickey’s shoulder and breathing in deep—he could feel Mickey’s heartbeat vibrating into his own chest, feeling the rise and fall of his ribcage as he held him close. Ian felt all the latent tension, the lungful of air he didn’t even know he had been holding, drain out of him—and it started to make him feel weirdly light and giddy to imagine sometime in the near future when he and Mickey would actually have a place of their own, a place where they could ride out the silence together just like this— a place with clutter and creaking floorboards and slanted moonlight of their own.

If the Gallaghers were “getting on with their lives,” like Lip had said—then this right here was the only thing that Ian was moving towards, just like he always had been.

[wiypt-writes]

Stark Spangled Banner

Ch47: The Terrible Twos Part 2: Fuck off, Clown.

 Intro: In the fourth year since the snap, Jamie enters the terrible twos.

Warnings: Bad Language words. Smut (NSFW, 18+)

Pairing: Steve Rogers x OFC Katie Stark

A/N:  So this chapter is kind of a little different to the others here really, as it’s almost like a collection of long drabbles detailing their life over 2022. And just a little reminded, Phobias, Steve admits to Katie he has a fear of clowns…keep that in mind! @angrybirdcr​ really did outdo herself with these edits too...

Disclaimer: This is a pure work of fiction and classified as 18+. Please respect this and do not read if you are underage. I do not own any characters in this series bar Katie Stark and the other OCs. By reading beyond this point you understand and accept the terms of this disclaimer.

Chapter 48 Part 1

Stark Spangled Banner Masterlist // Main Masterlist

 September 2022

“Mom.” Emmy’s voice was soft and Katie instantly looked up from her laptop. “Where’s Dad?” “He’s gone for a run, well as much of a run as he can with Jamie hanging off his back.”  Katie said, frowning slightly as she saw her fifteen year old daughter wasn’t dressed for school. “Is everything ok? I can call him.” “No, it’s fine. It’s you I wanted to talk to.” Emmy hovered from one foot to the other. “I err…”

She looked down at her feet, a huge flush on her face. Katie closed her laptop and stood up. “Em, what’s wrong?” “I think I, well, no I know I err… I started my period and…” “Oh, Sweetie.” Katie chuckled slightly as she wrapped the girl into a hug. “You feeling okay?”

“Erm, I got cramps and I’m really tired.” Emmy mumbled, her cheek pressed against Katie’s shoulder “And, I err, I got some on the sheets.”

Katie smoothed back Emmy’s hair and shrugged “It’s no big deal. I’ll get you some painkillers and why don’t you go have a bath, I’ll sort your bed and then we’ll sit and watch shit on TV all day. I can stay home.”

Emmy nodded eagerly, and peered up at her mom. “Snacks?”

“Dur.”

“Thanks Mom.” Emmy hugged her tight.

“It’s okay, I know how it feels. And, just for the record, beinga woman sucks at times but other times it’s kinda cool.”

“Cool?” Emmy frowned, stepping back a little.

“Yeah, you get boobs.” Katie gestured to her chest “They tend to fascinate most men.”

Katie followed her daughter upstairs where Emmy retreated into the bathroom, whilst Katie found her some pads before she stripped the sheets down and headed to the utility room at the side of the kitchen that held their washing machines and dryer. She was just turning the machine on when the door opened and Steve stepped in, Jamie on his back, giggling away. Steve’s face was red from the brisk November air and the part of Jamie’s cheeks which were visible from beneath his hat and above his scarf were also tinged pink a little.

“Laugh it up, Pal.”  Steve shook his head, as he bent down so Jamie could slide off his back “That’s the last time I’m taking you.” “You said that yesterday, and the day before.” Katie smirked, taking the kiss Steve offered, ignoring Jamie’s noise of disgust. “You love it.”

“Hmmm.” Steve made a non-committal noise in his throat. “Any breakfast going or shall I start some?” “Go get a shower and I’ll make it. We can eat together when Emmy’s out of the bath.”

Steve frowned “Shouldn’t she be on the bus?”

“She’s not feeling too good.” Katie shook her head. “I told her I’d stay home with her, today.”

Steve’s frown deepened as he shrugged off his running jacket. “What’s wrong with her? She sick?” “It’s nothing a day in front of the TV, a heat pad and a blanket can’t fix.” Katie gave him a significant look. As ever it took him a while to cotton on, but when he realised what she was saying, Katie really had to bite back the laugh as his face rearranged itself into a look of surprise, which flickered to pure dumbfoundedness as he struggled for a reply.

“Don’t worry, I got it.” She grinned, patting his chest.

“Momma?” A voice came from the kitchen and Katie turned to face Jamie who was stood by the fridge “I’m hungry.” “Yeah, I’m gonna start breakfast now, baby.” she smiled, “Eggs and toast ok?” “Nomm!” He grinned as he padded over to the table and pulled himself up into a seat. Steve had to give a snort, without his seat he could barely see over the top of the table. He made his way over, lifted Jamie easily with one hand causing the boy to cackle before he replaced him back on the booster and scooted him closer.

“That better?” He asked, dropping a kiss to his son’s head.

“Fankoo, daddy.” he grinned.

“You’re welcome, Buddy.” Steve said straightening up. He turned to Katie “I’m gonna go shower then I’ll come help.”

Katie waved him away with a smile. He took the stairs two at a time and headed into their bedroom. If he was honest he’d been shitting himself about this day for ages. He’d watched Emmy grow up way too fast for his liking over the past few years and now, well he didn’t even want to think about the whole turning into a woman thing. All he knew was he was thankful for Katie’s level head.

He showered quickly, dressed in a pair of dark jeans and a red plaid button down ready for his meetings that day and headed onto the landing, just as Emmy was emerging from the larger bathroom wrapped in a robe.

“Hey, Sweetie. Your Ma said you’re not feeling too good.”

She shrugged, “Not really.” “Will a hug help?” He asked and she smiled, nodding. He opened his arms and she stepped into them as he gave her a soft but firm snuggle.

“Thanks, dad.” she said softly.

“Any time, baby.” he dropped a kiss to her head. “Now I’d go get dressed if I were you, before your brother eats all the breakfast.”

*****

When Steve came back that evening, his girls were pretty much in the same spot they had been in all day. When he asked if they’d moved at all, Katie grinned and pointed out that they were both in clean sets of Pyjamas and Jamie was in bed, so of course they had moved, and that they were getting take-out for Dinner because she couldn’t be bothered to cook and it was Friday after all. With a good natured roll of his eyes, Steve cast one final look at them over his shoulder before he headed upstairs to change, leaving them to watch Love Actually. It was nowhere near Christmas, but he knew what they were like when it came to their soppy films, so he left them to it.

When he came back downstairs they were deep in conversation, so he paused for a moment at the door. He didn’t mean to listen in, but he didn’t want to interrupt. And if he was honest, there was something so pure and innocent about their chat that he simply couldn’t help it.

“You know, I still never forgave Adam Rickman for breaking Emma Thompson’s heart.” Katie sighed as Emmy scoffed.

“Has Dad ever bought you a really crappy gift?” she asked.

“No.” Katie replied. “He’s very thoughtful. Although the best gift he gave me wasn’t one he bought anyway.” “Your emerald?” Emmy asked, and Katie made a noise of affirmation. They fell silent for a moment before Emmy spoke again.

“Can I ask you something?”

“Course.”

“If anything happened to Dad, do you think you’d ever like date again?”

Steve frowned slightly as he heard Katie exhale “That’s deep Em. I dunno. I don’t think I’d ever be able to love another man the way I love Steve. In fact I know I wouldn’t. What on Earth made you ask that?” “Oh, Brooke is trying to get Jen dating but she keeps saying she loves Brooke’s dad too much and I kinda think it’s sad as he’s been dead for years. ” “Yeah, well, the thing is Em when you’re in love, and I mean truly in love, it consumes you. That person becomes as much a part of your life as you are and to lose them like that…well I can’t imagine what a hole that would leave in their place.”

“Yeah, suppose.” “You’ll figure that out soon enough.” Katie chuckled.

“Was Dad your first love?”

“He’s been the only man I’ve ever truly been in love with, yes.” Katie replied “For most people a first love and a true love are very different things.”

“How do you mean?”

“Well, for instance my first love was a guy called Mikey, he was my first boyfriend. I wasn’t much older than you, dated him for about twelve months.” Katie mused. “He was the first guy I ever slept with. Then there was Grant and we don’t talk about him, ever as he was an asshole.”

Emmy gave a snort

“But your dad, well, he was different. We cared so much about each other before we even started dating. I mean, if I’m honest, I loved him way before he even asked me out.” “Who made the first move?” “He did.” Katie smirked and at that point Steve gave a scoff and walked into the room.

“Liar.” “Oh you so did!” Katie looked at him, unabashed he’d been listening. “You kissed me after Rumlow’s party. You’d have kissed me before that as well if you hadn’t been such a chicken shit.” Steve rolled his eyes and flopped onto the seat at the opposite side of the coffee table. “You didn’t exactly push me away.” “Dur.” It was Katie’s time to roll her eyes as Emmy snorted “I’d been waiting for you to make a move for months.”

Steve raised an eyebrow at her as the teenager quipped. “You were still a bit slow on the uptake back then I see.” “Err, less of your cheek young lady.” He shot back and she giggled.

“You know the first time we had sex he literally ripped my pants off.” Katie grinned at Steve and he pulled a face as Emmy cackled.

“Jesus, Doll.” He flushed bright red.

“Wasn’t the only time either.” “Okay,” Steve stood up with a sigh, shaking his head, as Emmy cackled. He wasn’t particularly keen on discussing his sex life with his fifteen year old kid. “I’m gonna get the Thai Menu.”

Katie watched him go before she winked at Emmy and stood up, following him into the kitchen. She wrapped her arms around his waist and nuzzled into his shoulder. “I love how after all this time I can still make you blush.” “You’re a damned nightmare.” He chuckled as his hands rest on top of hers, using them to pull her closer as he turned to face her.

“But you love me.”

“Yeah, yeah I do.” He smiled, dropping a kiss to her lips.

****

Steve didn’t quite rip Katie’s pants off that night, but it was still passionate enough to send them both into an orgasm induced sleep almost straight away. But Steve was a light sleeper, not as light as he had been once-upon-a-time, as sleeping besides his wife gave him a sense of peace. That said, his super-soldier hearing always woke him should something be out of place, so when he was pulled from his slumber it took him a while to realise that the soft voices he could hear downstairs was the TV. Knowing it could only be one person, he swung his legs out of bed and pulled on a sweater before he padded down the stairs.

“Emmy?” He asked gently as he opened the door to the living room. The teenager looked up from where she was sat, knees tucked up besides her.

“Couldn’t sleep.” She shrugged and his sharp eyes didn’t miss the movement her hand made over her tummy. “And lying in bed was doing my head in.”

“Did you take anything?” Steve asked and she looked at him. “For the pain?”

“Oh,” she flushed slightly, “yeah, but it hasn’t worked yet.”

Steve nodded and headed into the kitchen, putting on the kettle. He made the pair of them a hot drink, stuck another heat-pack in the microwave and then paused as he passed the cupboard where he kept his secret stash.

Well, if this wasn’t an occasion it was called for then what was?

Emmy looked up as he walked back into the lounge. He placed the peppermint tea down on the table in front of her, before he passed her the heat pack and then wordlessly produced the Dairy Milk bar from his sweatpants pocket.

“You’re giving me your chocolate?” Emmy looked at him.

“Don’t tell your brother.” Steve said as he sat next to her, flopping his feet up on the coffee table.

She grinned and unwrapped the bar, offering him a piece which he took and shoved in his mouth.

“You’re pretty clued up on all this given you’re like a hundred and five.” She grinned cheekily

“Yeah well, I’ve been with your ma for ten years so I picked up a few tips.” He shrugged. She took a sip of her drink, rearranged her blanket and then picked up his arm so she could snuggle into him. He gently ran his hand over the back of her head as she got comfortable.

“What we watching?” He asked.

“Bad Boys.”

Steve chuckled. “I like this one. That is if I’m not too old to keep you company for a while?” “Nah.” She grinned as she placed a kiss to his cheek. “You’re good.” Katie found the pair of them flat out on the sofa the next morning, Emmy’s head propped up on a pillow as she snuggled up against Steve, her back pressed to his chest as the solider was stretched out down the sofa behind her, arms around his daughter as they slept.

****

October 2022

“All set?” Katie asked as she reached the bottom of the stairs as Steve walked back into the hall having loaded their bags into the car. They were heading off to Tony’s lake-house for a few days where he was throwing a bit of a Halloween party, nothing major but it was a chance for the kids to get dressed up in costumes and eat a load of candy whilst the adults could kick back and drink. Katie was looking forward to it for two reasons. Firstly, it was always nice to gather together with friends and family, well those of them that were left post snap-it made her feel normal, and she could push that persistent feeling of sadness that seemed to manifest on a daily basis, back down into the depth of her mind. And secondly, she was a little excited because she had no idea what Emmy or Jamie’s outfits were going to be.

Emmy had asked a month or so ago if she could be in charge of getting the pair of them costumes and Katie had agreed, simply handing over her card when she wanted to order whatever it was off the internet. She’d even resisted the urge to check her statement to see what it was, as Emmy had demanded she didn’t try and find out. Katie had a sneaking suspicion that Tony had also been involved in these costume choices, as the last time her brother had been over a few weeks ago, the pair of them had been huddled on the large arm chair, sniggering as they looked at something on Tony’s phone. With that in mind she was expecting Jamie to come down in some form of Iron Man or Captain America costume and she had every intention of filming Steve’s response.

“Yup. Locked and loaded.” Steve nodded, dropping a kiss to her cheek.”As soon as the kids are ready we can go.”

“No rush.” Katie shrugged, looking at her watch as they walked into the kitchen. “We don’t need to be there for a few hours.” She wrinkled her nose and slapped at Steve’s hand as he went to peek under the foil wrapped plate on the side. He sharply withdrew it and grinned at her.

“Tell me that’s a pie.”

“Apple and pumpkin, but it’s for the party.”

Steve pouted and she laughed and jerked her head behind her. “There’s another there as I knew you wouldn’t be able to wait.”

“You-” Steve pecked her lips “-are” another peck “-the best.”

“Flattery will get you everywhere, Captain.” She smirked as his lips hovered over hers and he deepened the kiss slightly, both his hands sliding down to give her ass a playful squeeze before he stepped back and walked over to his coveted prize. Steve peeled back the little cloth that was over the top and gave a little groan that was positively sinful as he inhaled the smell.

“Don’t eat that straight out of the pie dish,” Katie warned him as he made his way to the freezer for the ice cream, “I was gonna cut a few slices for the kids to munch on the way.”

“Then they can get their own.” Steve grumbled a little, but he grabbed a plate none the less.

“Oh yeah, where from?” Katie asked, her hands on her hips.

“Don’t know, don’t care.” Steve muttered as he cut himself a huge slice of the coveted pie. He ladled a generous amount of vanilla ice cream on top then carried it over to the breakfast bar, sitting down as Katie gathered the rest of the food items she had said she would bring which included a huge dish of Mac and Cheese that she’d coloured green with food colouring, spaghetti and meatballs that were supposed to be worms,  cinnamon and apple cookies in the shape of pumpkins and a batch of home-made raspberry and cherry gin which had been done using the raspberries and cherries from the brambles and trees in their small orchard at the bottom of the garden. She began packing it all into a hamper as Steve took the first bit of his pie and gave another groan.

“You know,” he swallowed, waving his fork at her as he gave her a playful grin, “I think this pie is actually better than sex.”

Katie looked at him, arching her eyebrow. “Is that so?”

“It’s a very close call.” He nodded.

“Well maybe I should make you a pie once a week instead of letting you get me on my back.” Katie looked at him, closing the lid on the basket and pushing it to one side, leaning over the breakfast bar.

“Okay, first off we have sex way more than once a week,” Steve pointed his fork at her, “and second-“ his eyes glinted cheekily “-you’re not always on your back.”

“True.” Katie pursed her lips and reached for his fork, snatching it from his hand, “but if you think I’m baking a pie more than once a week you’ve got another thing coming.” She used the fork to take a piece of the sweet treat along with a large blob of ice cream and shoved it in her mouth, closing her eyes. She moaned a little, ensuring that the noise that left her throat was as sinful as she could make it, before she opened her eyes and used her thumb to wipe at a little trickle of ice cream in the corner of her mouth. With her eyes locked on Steve she sucked her thumb clean and smirked a little at the familiar glint of dark in his eyes that he always got when he was turned on.

“You’re lucky you’re the other side of the breakfast bar.” He leaned forward a little, elbows resting on the marble surface, his voice a low timbre that sent those familiar sparks up Katie’s spine.

“Yeah? Why’s that?” Katie asked innocently, ignoring the sudden flutter she’d felt between her legs at his tone.

“Because if you weren’t you be in my lap right now testing my theory.”

“Shame.” She nodded, looking around. “I mean it’s not like you could reach and drag me over it or anything.”

“Well I could,”  Steve agreed, “but there’s a piece of pie in the way. And it’s too good to waste.”

“You’re a jerk!” Katie shook her head as Steve laughed, before he leaned back in the stool and patted his right thigh.

“C’mere pretty girl.”

Katie grinned, the sound of him calling her pretty girl always did things to her, as did the soft instruction to ‘come here’ in his Brooklyn accent. She rounded the bar and he reached out, easily pulling her onto his lap so she was perched sideways, legs hanging over the side of his right thigh as he curled his left arm around her waist, right gently resting on her thigh. Katie’s right arm slid round his neck and he titled his face to look at her.

“Just for the record you taste far better than any pie you make.” He grinned and Katie’s mouth fell open at his dirty comment.

“Steven Grant Rogers!” She snorted, slapping his shoulder slightly and he laughed, his hand on her thigh tightening its grip slightly, fingers curling round the toned muscles which were evident once more due to Katie having started training again. Steve actually kind of missed the softness that she’d had since having Jamie but he was damned if he was going to tell her that. He leaned towards her slightly, his nose bumping hers a little as she gently trailed her hand over the nape of his neck, nails scratching just below his hair line above the collar of his black sweater.

“Love you.” He muttered gently, his lips brushing hers and she smiled, her fingers tanging in the hair at the back of his head.

“More than apple pie?”

“Infinitely Mrs Rogers.”

“More than Mac and Cheese?”

Steve hesitated and Katie scoffed.

“For the record I love you more than anything.” Steve chuckled, pressing his lips to hers. “Well, apart from the kids.”

“I’ll accept that exception.” Katie chuckled, her mouth finding his again. The kiss deepened, Katie letting out a soft sigh as his tongue brushed against hers, tasting the apple pie and Ice Cream he had been eating before. Steve’s hand skated up the outside of her thigh coming to rest on her hip, finger tips brushing the strip of skin where her top had ridden up slightly as her own hand fisted slightly in his hair. Completely lost in one another they almost missed the little footsteps coming down the stairs and the giggles in the hallway.

Almost.

Steve pulled back, looking at Katie who grinned. “Play your cards right we can finish this later.”

“At Tony’s?”

“Won’t be the first time we fucked in his spare room.”

Steve snorted at her and patted her ass as she hopped off his lap.

“Mom, Dad!” Emmy called. “We’re ready!”

“We heard!” Katie called back as Steve stood up, grabbing his plate of pie. He took another bite before he wandered into the hallway where he collided with Katie who had stopped dead just outside the door. Frowning he looked up and felt his heart jump.

A clown.

His 2 year old son was dressed as a fucking clown.

And not just any clown, which would have been bad enough, but that bastard clown from IT. The film he refused time and time again to watch because of said bastard clown, which was now stood on the bottom step of the stairs holding a red balloon.

And suddenly, all he could see was that damned clown at Coney Island chasing him through the stalls, Bucky’s laughter echoing in his ears, and then that fucking mirror maze where he’d had the panic attack as he was surrounded by them.

The plate holding his precious pie slipped from his hand and dropped to the tiled floor, where it broke into 3 pieces, its contents splattering all over the grey slate.

“Woah, Dad, didn’t think it would be that scary!” Emmy grinned from behind Jamie as she stood in her outfit, which was a superb replica of the Wicked Witch of the West complete with full green face-paint and a broomstick.

Katie looked over her shoulder at Steve and she could see from his face that he was really struggling to keep it together. Trying not to laugh at the expression of sheer horror on his handsome features, she clamped her lips together and turned to Emmy.

“Your dad’s…” she took a deep breath, trying not to laugh “He’s scared of clowns.”

“Oh…” Emmy frowned “Uncle Tony said he would love it.”

“I bet he did.” Steve bit out a little harshly and Emmy looked at him.

“Are you mad?” She asked and seeing the look on her face Steve inwardly cursed his phobia and his damned brother in law.

“No, honey,” he shook his head, “not at all…you both look…” he trailed off.

“Daddy, look!” Jamie grinned, and he jumped off the bottom step. “Balloon!”

He toddled over towards Steve who automatically took a few steps back and Jamie stopped in front of him, right by Katie’s side, a confused expression crossing his painted face. “Daddy?”

“Yeah, pal…I gotta…” Steve exhaled “I gotta put some stuff in the car so we can to go to Uncle Nee’s okay?”

“Kay…” Jamie said a little quietly.

Katie watched, her shoulders shaking in silent laughter as Steve went to move round Jamie, turning sideways so he could keep his eyes on him, before he pushed past Emmy and bolted up the stairs taking them three at a time.

The hallway was silent bar the sounds Lucky was making as he cleaned up the remnants of the pie on the floor, not wanting to miss a single crumb of his human food treasure.

“Em, why don’t you two take Lucky and go get in the car, we’ll be out in a little moment.” Katie smiled at her.

“Okay. Come on Jay!” Em grabbed his hand but Jamie, clearly now finding the reaction his dad had amusing, turned to his mom and made a little growling noise at her. Katie gave a fake scream and jolted back, causing Jamie to cackle a little, tilting his head back in mirth before allowed Emmy to lead him away.

As soon as they were out of sight and earshot Katie started to laugh. She laughed so hard that she had to retreat to the kitchen to sit at a chair. She doubled over, clutching at her stomach, trying to gather her breath as the tears poured down her face. Try as she might, she couldn’t get the image of Steve fighting the urge to punt his own son into another room out of her head.

Eventually she managed to sort herself out enough to grab her phone and swiped over to the number she wanted.

“Hey, Kiddo.”  Tony greeted

“Tony, you…” she started to laugh again “You better be able to run fast because Steve…he’s…”

Tony chuckled. “He liked the costume then?”

“Tony he freaked, like, seriously. Poor Steve. I expected some form of full Captain America outfit, not that!”

“Well, on this occasion the Spangles just weren’t enough”

“You’re a little shit, you know that?”

“It’s been said.” He conceded. “Did you get it on video?”

“No.” Katie sighed “I was going to but when I saw Pennywise on my damned stairs I knew what was gonna happen so…”

“Shame.We could have played that back later. For science.”

At that point Katie looked up as Steve walked into the kitchen, glancing round.

“He’s not in here…” She chuckled and Steve glared at her, before he gestured to the phone.

“That Tony?”

She nodded.

He reached out and snatched the phone off her. “You’re a dead man,” he growled down the handset, and Katie could hear her brother’s roar of laughter before Steve hung up and tossed the phone down onto the table.

“Calm down!” Katie laughed, standing up. “Steve, it’s just a costume.”

“Katie, they freak me the hell out!” he shook his head “You don’t…” his hands dropped to his hips and his head dropped. “Did you see his face when I backed away?”

“Oh, he’s fine!” Katie rubbed Steve’s arms. “He couldn’t care less.” Steve took a deep breath and she looked at him. “Do you want me to get him to change?”

Steve shook his head “No, he was so pleased with himself…plus, I don’t fancy that particular tantrum now do you?”

“Not really no.”

Steve shrugged “Then I guess I’m stuck with it. Come on, let’s get gone. Sooner we get there the sooner I can carry out my threat to kill your asshole brother.”

Steve grabbed the food hamper and headed out to the car with it, settling it onto the trunk of the car as Katie got into the passenger side. Once Steve finished his usual checks to ensure the door was locked, he climbed into the driver’s seat ant they set off.

“Daddy?”

“Yeah buddy?” Steve asked, glancing in the mirror automatically and once more was confronted by that fucking clown. He swallowed and turned his eyes to the front.

“No scared, daddy. I not a real clown.”

Katie chuckled as Steve pulled out of the drive onto the road. “I know pal, but it’s Halloween. Everyone gets scared at some point.”

Jamie nodded, accepting his answer and turned to look out of the window. As they approached a junction, Steve checked the mirror again and then sighed, shaking his head.

“You’re gonna hafta drive.” He looked at Katie.

“What?”

“I can’t do it.” He shrugged “Every time I check the mirror, all I can see is…”

“Are you being serious?” Katie looked at him.

“Absolutely.” Steve unclipped the seatbelt and climbed out of the car.

And right then Katie vowed that if Steve didn’t kill Tony, she was gonna.

****

December 2022

“Did he go down alright?”

Steve dropped onto the couch, picking up one of the super strength beers Thor had send him as part of a pre- Christmas testing package, lifting his arm up so Katie could settle into him.

“Very well, actually,” he narrowed his eyes taking a pull of his beer, “almost suspiciously so.”

Katie chuckled as she replaced her glass and dropped her head to Steve’s shoulder as she pressed play on the remote. The two of them simply stayed like that, the odd movement and hands stroking shoulders, thighs or knees as usual, comfortable in their own little world, the light of the fire and twinkling of the Christmas lights giving the room a cosy, comfy ambience. They were about thirty minutes into the film when, Katie felt Steve’s head move off the top of hers and she glanced at him and saw the beginnings of a smile forming on his face.

“What?”

He looked down at her. “You know,” he said, a light in his eyes that she knew all too well, “It’s Friday, Emmy’s out, Jamie’s in bed…” Steve trailed off and raised an eyebrow at his wife. She grinned too, mirroring his expression.

“I like where this is going,” she smirked and within seconds, her legs had been pulled from underneath her drawing a giggle from her lips as she lay flat on the sofa, Steve hovering over her. Katie wrapped her arms around his neck as their lips met, and she was just beginning to thread her fingers through his hair when they both heard a shout.

“Heeeeeyyyyy!”

Steve dropped his head and groaned. “I’ll go.”

He placed one last kiss on her lips before he stood up off the couch and headed into the hall way.

“You’re supposed to be in bed,” he said as he headed up the stairs, seeing Jamie stood in his doorway at the baby gate.

“No sleep.” Jamie’s response was a whine.

“Not an option pal” Steve shook his head, a hint of amusement in his voice. “You know Santa won’t come if you don’t.”

“Can’t sleep.” Jamie tried again, and Steve had to bite back the smile that was about to cross his face. His son had certainly inherited his, and his wife’s for that matter, tenacity.

“Did you even try?”

There was a pause and Jamie furiously nodded his head in a blatant lie.

“Sure you did.” Steve rolled his eyes “Well what do you think would help you sleep?”

“Story, daddy!”

At those words a smile spread across Steve’s face. Over the last six months, Jamie had taken a real interest in the tales he told him, so much so that they had swapped night time readings of chapters from books for Steve’s real life stories, most of them being pulled straight from the streets of Brooklyn or Manhattan during Steve’s own childhood or adulthood pre-serum. 

“One more.” Steve caved and Jamie shrieked with delight. “But!” he continued in a warning tone, “You have to be quiet.”

Jamie stilled immediately and clapped his little hands over his mouth before he turned and ran, diving back on his bed. Steve chuckled and made his into Jamie’s room, as the two year old climbed under his Iron Man Duvet cover (Thank you Tony for that one…) and peered up at Steve as he settled down next to him, his son setting under his arm, snuggling into the crook of his arm against his chest.

“Did I ever tell you about the time that I went to the theatre-”

Katie didn’t wait for Steve to come back down, she knew full well that he would have been coerced into one more story. Their son had his dad wrapped around his little finger, and Steve at times found it simply impossible to say no. She glanced up at the clock, noting that it was almost nine… they could watch the film in bed. She turned the TV and tree lights off, she took the empty glass and bottle into the kitchen, let Lucky out for a pee whilst she made sure all the doors were locked before letting the now slightly older and slower dog back in.

“You staying here tonight, Luck?” She asked, and the dog yawned, stretching as he rolled onto his back in the dog basket which was placed in the hallway under the stairs. “Take that as a yes then.” She scratched behind his ears before standing up and creeping up the stairs to the door of her son’s room, which was open enough for her to peek through.

She loved Steve’s stories almost as much as Jamie did, if not for the same reasons. Jamie loved their action and adventure, often joining in with his own loud whoops and laughs, but Katie simply loved listening to Steve’s voice as he narrated. His tone would change from low and dramatic to loud and comical, and Katie found it simply adorable. A pure, unadulterated moment of love between father and son that made her heart swell every single time she watched or overheard.

“And then, all of a sudden this man appeared, in the alley way. And I didn’t have anything to protect myself with. So I picked up a trash can lid, and held it right here, like a shield.” Steve drew his arm across his chest. “Like Cap?” Jamie said, thrusting his Captain America bear at his dad.

“Just like Cap, yeah, Buddy.” Katie smiled to herself, Jamie was still too young to really understand about their history with the Avengers. He knew about who the Avengers were, well what he could grasp being so young, thanks mainly to Tony and Natasha, but he had no idea about his dad’s alter ego. And for now, it wasn’t important, they were just a normal family and long may it stay like that.

Katie watched as Steve continued to talk as he sat up on Jamie’s bed, his back against the headboard as his mini-me, led besides him, looking up at his father, eyes wide and full of adoration. These were the moments that brought out all of Steve’s best characteristics, and Katie simply loved him all the more for it. Smiling to herself she headed into their bedroom and tossed her clothes aside before she stepped into the shower in their en-suite.

Steve could read his son’s body language like a book, and about ten minutes after his super hearing heard Katie leaving where she had been stood outside the room listening, he could feel the little boy starting to droop slightly, one small hand fisted into Steve’s white t-shirt, the other was in front of his small face, thumb in his mouth as his index finger gently rubbed against that Stark nose. A few moments later he glanced down and in the dim glow of the dinosaur night light, he saw his son was fast asleep. Gently, he moved and stepped off the bed, tucking the duvet up under Jamie’s chin before he stooped, dropping a kiss onto his head, his hand gently caressing the shock of blonde hair. With a last look back he closed the door to, leaving it open just a chink, and headed into their room.

Katie was just emerging from the en-suite wearing a bathrobe, long hair piled up on her head.

“He has you wrapped around his finger.” She grinned, sliding her hands up her husband’s chest.

“Oh, and you don’t?” He muttered, hands connecting at the bottom of her spine.

“You gonna read me a bed time story then, Captain?”

“I got a better way of getting you to sleep.” He murmured, dropping his lips to hers, and she grinned as he backed her towards the bed. “There’s only one problem.” “Oh yeah?” She asked, as his arms pulled her closer, his lips trailed down her neck, mopping up the speckles of water from the shower that remained.

“Yeah, this is in the way.”

He softly kissed at that spot beneath her ear, his hand dropping to the belt of her robe. She grinned as he pulled at the tie and gently shrugged the robe off Katie’s shoulders, allowing it to drop to the floor as his lips claimed hers again. He wrapped an arm round her back, tugging her onto her toes so he could take a nipple in his mouth and she let out a groan as she looked downwards, moving her hands to undo the chords on his sweat pants.

“Off.” She muttered, pulling at the bottom of his t-shirt. He released her temporarily so she could slide it up, before he pivoted and dropped them both onto the bed, trapping her in between his hands and legs.

A familiar warmth exploded along her lower abdomen as he kissed her, one hand on the side of her face, the other sliding to her hip and across her stomach, making its way slowly between her legs. She arched her back and groaned as he slipped two fingers inside her, feeling him smirk against her neck.

“Fucking drenched aren’t you, Sweetheart?”

She let out another groan at his words. “Only for you.” A low growl rolled in the back of his throat as he slammed his mouth onto hers, shucking off his sweats as he began to kiss her chest, then stomach, before going down her legs.  He set his mouth to her, lapping at her, her sweet, salty tang, so familiar yet so delectable, and as he worked her, it was all she could do to mewl softly, and grip one hand in his hair as she writhed at his touch. His tongue flicked strongly and he sucked at her clit gently, before upping the pace as she whimpered, trying so hard to keep her noise down. Steve continued to tease and nibble and when he took her swollen clit between his lips again Katie let out a silent scream as her orgasm hit her hard, causing her knees to turn inwards, squeezing around his head, involuntarily. She fell back against the pillows with a sigh of satisfaction and looked down as Steve crawled back up her body, leaning forward, placing his hands on either side of her head.

“God, you’re gorgeous.” He whispered, making her grin before he crashed his lips onto hers, the sudden action drawing a small grunt from her mouth. She reached down taking him in her hand and he took in a sharp breath as he pulled away from her mouth, sliding his fingers down her legs. He moved her legs apart and pushed into her, a low sigh of satisfaction leaving both their lips before he began to move, burying his face into her neck, nipping at the spot under her ear gently. She keened underneath him as he grew more urgent with his thrusts, her eyes locking onto his as he gripped her hands at either side of her head, leaning back down to kiss her fervently. He was hard, fast, desperate for hris release and she met each of his thrusts fervently with her own hips happy to give herself to him. 

“So good,” He praised in a low voice, dragging his face against her hair before he looked at her. “I’m close, tell me you are…”

Katie responded with a moan, “Stevie.” and then her legs shook and she came again, closing her eyes as she tightened around him, burying her face into his neck to stifle her noises as the spasms came involuntarily around him again and again.

“Oh, fuck, Doll.” he stuttered, biting his lower lip as his eyes fluttered closed before his rhythm stilled and he let out a soft groan as he came, the utter bliss consuming him fully. He fell forward, head dropping into the hollow of his wife’s neck to catch his breath, his body slumped on top of hers, his familiar weight pressed her into the mattress as they both came down from their high. Katie ran her fingers through his hair, pressing soft kisses along his shoulder as her nails gently scratched at his scalp, causing Steve to hum out a soft sigh of contentment as he lay still, enjoying her touch.

“Stevie?” she muttered.

“Yeah?” “How long do you think we have before Jamie realises he can climb the baby gates now?”

“I’m amazed he hasn’t already.” Steve leaned up on his elbows to look down at his wife “Why?”

“Because I think we might need to invest in a lock for our door.” she grinned “For when you’re reading your baby momma her bedtime story.”

*****

Chapter 49

 **Original Posting 1 2 3**

[buoyantsaturn]

So Come On, Talk it Out (your voice brought me back from the dead) (1/1)

summary: A relaxing date between Nico and Will the spring before Tower of Nero.

word count: 2616

read on ao3

The air was finally warming up late that spring. The snow had all melted a few weeks back, but it had still been too cold to stay outside for more than an hour or two. It definitely hadn’t been warm enough for a pseudo-picnic under the shade of a tree, but now it finally was. And it would probably be their only chance to do so before summer rolled in and brought a hundred kids back to camp. 

Nico had kicked off his shoes and socks before laying his head down in Will’s lap as the son of Apollo sat upright against the trunk of the tree. Nico planted his feet firmly in the grass, and Will cringed at the sight. 

“You’re just going to stick your feet in the grass like that?” he asked.

Nico shrugged as best he could in his current position. “Yeah, so what? It makes me feel more...grounded, more connected to everything.” 

Will snorted. “Yeah, connected to feeling like you’ve got bugs crawling over your feet.” 

“That doesn’t even make sense.” 

Will poked him in the forehead. “You don’t make sense.” Nico snatched Will’s hand away and brought it toward his mouth, biting down gently on the side of Will’s hand before Will could rip it away. “Hey! I thought we agreed on a nice, relaxing date! Relaxing does not include biting.”

Nico reached up and squished the tip of Will’s nose down with a single finger. “No, you agreed on a relaxing date. I already took you on one last week.” 

Will scoffed, and swatted at Nico’s hand. “Almost dropping me in a vat of Cheez Whiz in Venezuela is not relaxing! And I ran out of KitKats, so you couldn’t even get your energy up enough to bring us back here!” 

A smile started to creep its way onto Nico’s face, and he started to brush his fingers across Will’s cheek. “I still can’t believe you committed a crime for me.” 

“Well, what was I supposed to do?” Will demanded, waving his arms frantically. “They wouldn’t accept my drachmas and didn’t speak English, and you--! You couldn’t even open your eyes long enough to see where we were! What was I supposed to do, not steal a few KitKats?”

Nico’s smile was full blown as he gazed up at Will with hearts in his eyes. “So you agree: best date ever, and I win.” 

Will started to laugh - a little bit in shock that Nico would even think that, but also finding it hard not to crack up at the absurdity of their conversation. What other fifteen year old had ever stolen KitKats from some shop in Venezuela to restore his significant other’s magic powers so that they could teleport back home? He almost sounded crazy!

“No,” Will told him, still laughing. “Not the best date ever! And definitely not relaxing! I wanted to, like, sit together like this, and maybe share some snacks and play twenty questions. Not run from cops in Venezuela.”

Nico’s nose scrunched up - something Will had recently learned his did when he was confused - and Will wanted to kiss the wrinkles away. “Why would we play twenty questions?”

“To get to know each other. Duh.” 

Nico tipped his head back and met Will’s eyes, frowning slightly. “Do we...not already know each other?” 

“Well, we do,” Will replied, his head tipping to the side, “but not everything. I don’t even know your middle name.” 

“Yeah, so? I don’t know yours either.” 

Will grinned. “And that’s why we play! Tell me your middle name.” 

Nico rolled his eyes, but answered, “Vincenzo.” 

Will hummed. “Nico Vincenzo di Angelo… I know you’re Italian, Death Boy, but that’s a lot of o’s.”

Nico pursed his lips and turned his head away, gazing out toward the lake. After a moment, he said, “Actually it’s… Niccolo Vincenzo di Angelo.” 

“Your name is Niccolo? That’s so cute!” Will repeated the name to himself a few times in his head, and then gasped. “Like piccolo! Oh my gods, Nico, can I call you piccolo?” 

Nico leveled him with a glare so strong that it could’ve made flowers wilt on the spot, but Will didn’t so much as flinch. “Absolutely not.” 

Will lifted a hand and started to brush his fingers through Nico’s hair. He leaned into the touch, despite how angry he was pretending to be. “Okay, so only in private, then.” 

“No! Never!” 

Will simply continued to smile down at him, carding his fingers through Nico’s hair and gently releasing tangles in the curls. He wondered if Nico’s hair would curl up even more if it was shorter, but they’d both gotten fond of the length. “It’s your turn to ask,” Will reminded him softly after a few short moments of silence. 

Nico crossed his arms with a huff, and looked away again - though only with his eyes this time, as though not to dislodge Will’s hand from his head. “Same question.” 

Will hesitated. “Can you call me piccolo?”

At least Will’s brief moment of stupidity brought a smile back to Nico’s face. “No, your middle name.” 

“Oh! It’s Andrew. William Andrew Solace.” 

Nico repeated the name, whispering it to himself, and Will felt his heart skip a beat at the sound. Then, Nico’s hand searched out Will’s - the one that wasn’t twirling curls around his fingers - and laced their fingers together. He met Will’s eyes as he said, “William Andrew Solace, I want you to know that if you ever betray me, I will use your full name to embarrass you as payback.” 

Will’s smile only brightened. “Why would I ever betray you?” 

Nico shrugged again. “You might not even realize it when it happens. I’m not talking about any big stakes. I mean, like… Like if Sherman’s on the lava course, and you don’t tell me so I can avenge my loss against him. That’s a betrayal.” 

“You really are kind of a sore loser, huh.” 

“I am not!”

Will nodded. “Uh huh. Okay, Piccolo.” 

Nico ripped his hand out of Will’s and used it to smack at his arm. “Shut up!”

With his hand now free, Will was able to reach into the backpack he’d brought with him, and pulled out a clementine. He took away his other hand, causing Nico to sigh in disappointment, though Will didn’t tease him for it. If the sudden blush on his face was anything to go by, then Nico hadn’t intended to make a sound at all. Will laid one arm across Nico’s chest, the other held over Nico’s head as he reached around him to peel the clementine. 

“Where was the first place you shadow traveled to?” Will asked. 

Nico paused to think, one of his hands coming up almost subconsciously to curl his fingers around Will’s arm. “Uh, China, I think? I don’t really remember. I kinda...jumped, and then immediately passed out. I think Minos said I was out for, like, three days, and then I just jumped back.” 

“You went all the way to China? And you didn’t bring any KitKats?” 

Nico pinched his arm. “We just learned about the KitKat thing a month ago, Will. Whatever. Um, did you have any pets before you came to camp?” 

Will grinned at the change of subject. “I did! I had a golden retriever, and her name was Sandy.” He dropped the clementine peel into the grass and broke the fruit into pieces. He took one small piece and held it out for Nico.

“No thanks,” Nico told him.

“You haven’t eaten since yesterday,” Will reminded him.

“I went without eating for a week when I was in that jar.” 

“Yeah, and I wish you would stop reminding me of that, because it just makes me want to feed you even more. So, open up!” 

Nico rolled his eyes, but allowed his mouth to drop open so that Will could feed him the slice of clementine. Nico’s face scrunched up as he chewed. “It’s kinda sour.” 

Will ate his own slice, and shrugged. “Not really. You just haven’t eaten a fruit in over a year and forgot what it’s supposed to taste like.”

“Uh, pomegranates are fruit, and I--”

“Ate those in the jar, I know,” Will cut in, “but you were in a trance and probably didn’t even taste them, so that doesn’t count.” 

Nico huffed. “Whatever.” Still, he opened his mouth when Will placed another slice of clementine at his lips. 

“Have you ever thought about getting a tattoo?” Will asked.

Nico shook his head, gently rolling it back and forth over Will’s thigh. “Nah, I’ve been stabbed with a knife before and that wasn’t great, so I don’t think I need to get stabbed with a thousand tiny needles. Why, have you?” 

Will frowned. “Okay, we’re going to circle back to that later, but yes, I have.”

“What were you thinking of getting?” 

Will moved the few remaining clementine pieces into one hand, and placed the other on Nico’s chest. He drew a circle with his finger directly over Nico’s heart and said, “Right here, I want to get a sun.” 

“Why’s that? Are you afraid people won’t think you’re sunshiney enough because of the...everything about you?” 

Will flicked him in the chest, right in the center of the circle he’d drawn. He smiled as he lifted his gaze out toward the lake - he was worried about something, Nico could tell that much just by looking at him.

“I’ve been thinking about my dad a lot recently,” Will started, his voice hushed as though he was sharing a secret. “I haven’t heard from him in so long and I’m...worried about what’s going to happen if he doesn’t make it. I’m worried about the state of the world, first and foremost, don’t get me wrong, but… What about me? Do I lose everything? Will I still be able to heal? Or use any of my other powers?” 

He dropped his gaze again, eyes focused on the spot on Nico’s chest where his fingers had started to circle again. “So I want that tattoo as, like, a way to remember him, and a way to remember that part of myself, just in case things don’t go as planned.” 

Nico covered Will’s hand with his own, and brought it up to his lips so that he could press a kiss to his knuckles. “Whatever happens, you’ll always be my sunshine.” 

Will smiled at him sweetly and said, “Who are you, and what have you done with my significant annoyance?”

Nico huffed and threw Will’s hand away. “Way to ruin the moment.” 

“Just ask me another question, would you?” Will asked, and popped another piece of clementine into his mouth. There was just one left - he’d give it to Nico.

“It’s not my turn,” Nico told him.

“Oh, yeah.” Will fed him the clementine and tipped his head back against the tree as he thought. “What’s your favorite movie?” 

“I dunno, I don’t watch a lot of movies,” Nico replied. “I don’t really have the attention span for that, so I haven’t seen...any?” 

Will’s jaw dropped. “You haven’t seen Star Wars?”

Nico hesitated. “Uh, no? I think Percy said I didn’t need to see it anyway, because there’s apparently some other Star-something movies that are better.” 

“Star Trek?” Will shrieked. “Absolutely not! The Apollo cabin is a Star Wars family, and I will not stand for this kind of slander. For our next date, we’re watching the original trilogy.” 

“Woah, hang on a second!” Nico held up his thumb between them. “First of all, I get to pick our next date.” He raised his index finger. “Second, I just said I can’t even sit through one movie, and you want me to watch three? I don’t think so.” He added his middle finger. “And third-- Uh, no actually, I don’t think I have a third point.” 

“Okay, then two dates from now, we’ll watch Episode Four, and then another two dates later, we’ll watch Episode Five--”

“Why wouldn’t we start with the first episode?” Nico asked. “Wait, and I thought these were movies. Actually, no, never mind. Whatever, as long as it makes you happy.” 

Will smiled. “It will.” 

“So, I assume that’s your favorite movie.” 

Will hummed an affirmative. He started to stroke Nico’s hair once again, and Nico’s eyes slipped shut at the feeling. “You gotta ask me another question,” Will whispered. 

Nico cracked one eye open. “I just did.” 

“That wasn’t a question, it was an assumption. And besides, I can’t think of another one, so you go.” 

Nico rolled his eyes. “Oh, like I can? This game was your idea, Solace.” He let his eyes fall shut again, though there was a tiny wrinkle between his brows that let Will know he was trying to think. “What other powers do you have?”

Will tapped his fingers against Nico’s skull a few times, and then resumed playing with his hair. “Well, you know about the healing, and my sonic whistle. And, uh, I don’t know if this is a power, really, but I’m good at calming people down. And I can, um.” He cleared his throat, and Nico opened his eyes to see that Will was looking everywhere and anywhere that wasn’t at Nico. “Glow. So what other powers do you have?” 

Nico sat up instantly. “Hang on, did you just say you can glow?” He turned to face Will, clutching his hands in his own and demanding, “Show me!” 

Will’s cheeks were turning pink, and he still wouldn’t meet Nico’s eyes. “It’s-- I can’t, it’s too bright out here, so you wouldn’t be able to see it anyway, and… I dunno, it’s embarrassing.” 

“No way, it’s not embarrassing, it’s cool. Just show me!” 

Will sighed, and his eyes flickered up to meet Nico’s for just a second before he looked away again. “Fine, but only for a second. Can you try to make it a bit darker? It’ll show up better that way.” 

Nico released Will’s hands and dropped his own to the ground. The shadow of the tree they sat under stretched and darkened, and the air around them grew cold enough that Nico wished he had a jacket. Will started to take off his flannel shirt, and Nico was half-tempted to reach out for it and put it on himself when he saw Will hold out his arms and close his eyes. A moment later, his skin turned from bronze to gold, each of his freckles acting as little flashlights to let the light escape from beneath Will’s skin.

Nico grinned. “That’s so cool!” 

Will let the glow fade, and he pulled his flannel back on as Nico released his hold on the shadow. “It’s really nothing special,” Will muttered.

“Yes it is!” Nico insisted, waving his arms around for emphasis. “I have my own personal glow-in-the-dark boyfriend!” 

Will’s head snapped up, his eyes locking on Nico’s as his jaw dropped open again. “Did you… Did you just say boyfriend?”

Nico’s cheeks had developed a bit of their own blush, but he refused to look away. “I… Yeah, I did. Is that okay?” 

Will beamed, reaching out for one of Nico’s hands to lace their fingers together. “That’s so okay. That’s more than okay! Does that mean I can start calling you my boyfriend now, too?”

Nico let a smile creep onto his lips. “Nah, you’re my boyfriend, but I’m still your significant annoyance.” 

Will rolled his eyes, but nothing would be able to take that smile off his face. He tugged on Nico’s hand to pull him close and press a kiss to his cheek. “You got that right.” 

thanks for reading!!

buy me a coffee | come talk to me if you need a distraction!

[readyourimgaines]

The Little Things

Summary: Derek knew fully well that moving in with Spencer was going to bring around some changes. Dr. Spencer Reid was different and Derek loved him for it. There were little quirks that the doctor showed at work and some Derek was still learning. So there must be some at home.

And a special thanks, of course, to @chaoticgremlinwholikescheese​ for helping me compile this list!

1. Alphabetizing Movies by Title

“Pretty Boy?” Derek was crouched down in front of their TV looking for their movie while Spencer did the dishes. The latter hadn’t seen Happy Gilmore and Derek couldn’t let that stand. 

“Yeah?” Spencer called from the kitchen. 

“I can’t find it?”

“What?” Spencer stepped away from the sink and went to the living room. Water dripped from his fingertips. “The movies are alphabetical. It’s between Hamlet and Ice Age.” He went to Derek’s side and gestured to the movie. “I was going to order them by director, but Hotch said most people don’t know directors very well. Which is a shame because J.J. Abrams destroyed Star Trek but Guy Riche-” 

Derek pressed a kiss to Spencer’s lips with a fond smile. Spencer blinked. 

“Sorry,” the doctor blushed. 

Derek just chuckled. “You know you’re adorable, right, Pretty Boy?” 

“You may have mentioned it a time or two,” Spencer laughed. 

“You can tell me all about directors later,” Derek promised. “I know a bit about the mainstream guys, but not a whole lot.”

“All you really need to know is that J.J. Abrams kills anything he touches and Peter Jackson doesn’t get as much attention as he should.”

*****

2. Morning Rituals

One thing that Derek very quickly learned about Spencer was that he 

had a specifically timed morning ritual when not on a case. And that if it was broken or disturbed, the whole rest of the day would go down hill like a train on greased tracks. 

He woke up at 6:17, was in the shower by 6:25, eating breakfast by 7:00, his bed made by 7:30, and shoes on his feet by 7:32. The last half hour before they left at 8:00 was free game. 

The first morning in their new place was the roughest. Spencer went 

about his usual morning, but Derek didn’t usually wake up until 7:45 because he took less time to get ready and ate in the car. So when Spencer finished breakfast and went back to their room to make the bed but Derek was still asleep… He paced for the next fifteen minutes and his head nearly went through the ceiling when Derek’s alarm went off. 

Spencer almost had a panic attack as he fumbled his way through making their bed and cramming his feet into his shoes. Needless to say, the extra half hour was spent- in vain- trying to calm the doctor down. None of the rest of the day lined up properly and Spencer was on edge and fidgety. Hotch even had to gently remind him to focus a few more times than the usual redirection of infodumps. 

That was the first and only time Derek didn’t follow Spencer’s morning routine. He found the same day that Spencer had a much simpler night ritual: Snack (sometimes) at 10:10, teeth brushed by 10:25, in bed by 10:35, reading until (supposed to be) 11:18, and then lights out. This routine was much more flexible and relaxed.

Derek found waking up and going to bed at the same time every day made the former much easier. He also found that Spencer reading to him most nights- no matter the book or topic- was very relaxing. And of course there were nights when Derek read to Spencer.

*****

3. Sugary Coffee

Derek took a sip of coffee from his travel cup and whistled. “Think I got yours, Pretty Boy. There’s enough sugar in this to hype up a six year old’s birthday party.” 

Spencer braced himself and took a sip of the coffee in his own cup. He was pleasantly relieved when the bitterly sharp taste expected never came. “I-I put sugar in both of them. I wasn’t thinking,” he said sheepishly. 

Derek shrugged. “You know what they say: I’ll try anything once.” He chuckled. “I’ll just brush my teeth for an extra three minutes.” 

Spencer scoffed as he got into the passenger seat of Derek’s car. “Who knows? Maybe you’ll like it. You don’t get the caffeine drop when the eight hour half-life is over.” 

“Is that why you put so much sugar in coffee?” Derek raised an eyebrow, thinking he already knew the answer. 

“And coffee tastes like battery acid. I’d rather drink vinegar than black coffee.” Spencer shuddered. 

Derek chuckled but didn’t say anything else as he pulled onto the street.

*****

4. Cuddly Sleeper

Even though Spencer wasn’t huge on PDA like Derek was, he sure was a cuddly guy. The second the door closed, he was a six foot koala. That included in bed- but usually not until after he was asleep. 

Some nights, Spencer would fall asleep reading. So Derek would take his book, close it, gently remove Spencer’s glasses, and turn out the lamp. Nine times out of ten, Spencer was curled up against his side before Derek was asleep himself. 

At first, Derek found himself wondering why Spencer wasn’t nestled against him before sleep took him. But after a while, it sunk in that the doctor unwound by reading. 

The look on Spencer’s face when he curled into Derek’s side always sent the older man over the moon. The absolute peace on the doctor’s face. One night, Derek almost woke Spencer up laughing. Derek rolled over to out the lamp and Spencer had gripped Derek’s arm tighter and whined in his sleep. Derek then had to assure his boyfriend- in soft whispers as to not actually wake him up- that he wasn’t going anywhere. 

Spencer never thought to question why his book and glasses were gone when he woke up.

*****

5. Leaves Books Everywhere

Anyone who had a 30 second conversation with Spencer- anyone who glanced at Spencer- could tell the man read more than he did anything else. 

Derek picked up the doctor’s satchel once and was moderately surprised the slim man hadn’t dislocated his shoulder with how heavy the bag was. But Spencer didn’t only keep books in his bag. No. They were all over the place. 

Their bedroom, the craft room where Derek made floor plans for his renovations, the kitchen, the dining room, the living room. Even both bathrooms and the basement. 

When the two first moved in together, Derek debated building an extension onto the living room for a library. He still debated it from time to time (just in case). But as time wore on, Derek grew to appreciate the countless (if seemingly random) books around the house. 

Spencer would read when Derek was working on floorplans, so Derek would read when Spencer worked on an academic paper or consult. 

“What’re you reading?” Spencer asked one night, finally looking up from his notebook. He was writing an essay on how handwriting analysis could help catch a serial killer and/or rapist. 

“I don’t even know,” Derek chortled. “Uh..” he looked at the cover, “it’s Introduction to Law by Joanne Banker and Yvonne Ekern.” 

“Oh! Hotch loaned that to me yesterday,” Spencer noted. “I should get that back to him soon.” 

Derek just shook his head. “You know, Pretty Boy, I didn’t read this much in college.”

Spencer smiled. “See? Maybe there’s a good side to not spending thousands of dollars on building a library,” he teased.

6. The Nightlight

In the bedroom, in the outlet closest to the door was a nightlight. But not just any night light. This nightlight made the move in the front pocket of Spencer’s satchel. 

“So what’s the story behind this platypus, Pretty Boy?” Derek had to ask one night as Spencer turned it on. “Because you’ve had this since before we were dating.” 

“My uh- my mom’s went on a sort of field trip with her hospital a couple years ago. It was on one of her good days. She saw this in the aquarium’s gift shop and bought it for me.”

“That’s pretty cute,” Derek encouraged. He knew Spencer didn’t open up about his mom often so Derek tried to learn everything he could about the woman during the rare occurrences. 

“We named him,” Spencer laughed. “Alfred Nicholas Brian Reid.” He giggled. “I just… He helps.”

*****

+1. Bleeding/Infected Hangnails

Spencer usually had something to stim or fidget with. A strip of paper, a pen or pencil to twirl, a shirt with a loose thread, something. On the off chance that he didn’t, the doctor somehow decided that his fingers were good enough. If Spencer didn’t have a hangnail, he’d start one. 

This was the one and only thing about Doctor Spencer Reid that Derek Morgan hated. He could see the minute flinch when Spencer held a utensil wrong and it pressed on the swollen skin. He heard the soft hiss when Spencer got tomato or orange juice in the broken skin. 

What Derek hated even more than that was when the hangnail would get infected. The skin around the nail or turn a greenish-yellow and harden. Which, in turn, gave Spencer another thing to pick at. 

“Pretty Boy, you gotta stop,” Derek sighed. He’d gone into a convenience store to get them something other than coffee- but tastier than water- to drink. While inside, he bought a box of Band-Aids and a tube of anti-bacterial cream. 

Spencer snapped out of his daze. “What?”

“Picking at your nails.” To prove his point, Derek took Spencer’s hand in his to show him, as well as to stop his current picking. “I know you’re worried about the case, Baby, but we’ll catch the son of a bitch and put his ass behind bars like we always do. You gotta stop destroying your hands.”

“I didn’t realize I was,” he admitted. 

“I know,” Derek said softly. He applied the cream and a Band-Aid to each finger that needed it (five in total between both hands). “We just gotta get you a couple of those fidget cubes Garcia has.”

Tag List: @mayonnaiseismycomfortfood​

[imstillworkingonit]

CR AU: When Jester was not there to answer the door

I fell into the widojest hole about a month ago (literally reactivated my tumblr to follow the tag) and had some FEELINGS about yesterday’s episode and the potential conversations that could have been had if things had been a little bit different. I’ve never attempted fanfiction before, but here’s the AU oneshot for if Jester hadn’t been there to answer Fjord’s knock. I wrote it directly after the episode through the night, so please excuse any glaring characterization errors or typos. This is just what my brain needed to do. (Also, no hate to the budding romance between our handsome half-orc and adorable tiefling—they’re not my favorite ship but they’re still friggin precious.)

>>>>>>

It was not a sudden realization. Jester’s incessant flirting had waned over the past months, and while her initial words had sounded childish to him, the lack thereof was jarring. Fjord missed it. Then came the little moments, where Jester’s light shone so bright it blinded him, even through closed eyelids. She was, indeed, very charming. Hard not to enjoy her company, really.

So when he saw her, frozen in the middle of those stone statues, his world stopped. What is a world without her smile, her laugh, her brightness? Her constant joy that had helped tear him away from the darkness that was his past?

But she came out of it. Shocked, scared, changed, but alive. And then the fear came. The bitter winds of Eiselcross tore through his winter coat, but his body was too warm. The adrenaline that typically came with a fight kicked in, and he began triaging. Gathering information that had cost too much. All the while, in the back of his mind: “I could have lost you.” and “I have to keep you close.” and “I need to tell you how dear you are to me.” So he began rehearsing.

Words had always come easy to him, but there was too much he wanted to say. “I promised your mother I would protect you.” “I don’t want to see you throwing yourself into danger.” “I want to keep you close and never let go.” How far is too far? It took longer than he expected after dinner and the evening’s events and interrogations to properly finalize what he wanted to say. It was the fear in the pit of his stomach that allowed him to spend only a brief few seconds considering what Jester’s response to his declarations would be. Fear, and perhaps a lack of doubt about her response.

Fjord made his way up to the bedroom floors of the tower, and he knocked on her door. “Jester?”

There was no response. He waited for a breath and a half, face hot, and head down, then knocked again. “Jester, are you in there?”

He waited for another minute or so, resisting the desperate curiosity. Is she in there and just doesn’t want to see him? That wasn’t true, was it? But if not, where could she be?

…

After Jester left the tower’s dining area, she went directly to her bathroom. Without looking in the mirror, she carefully shrugged the layers of her winter clothes off and daintily folded them beside her. One at a time. They felt different on her now, somehow wrong. Once they were all removed, Jester slowly brought her eyes up, and made eye contact with herself in the mirror. Moving slowly, she traced the lines of her face. The difference between one’s early twenties and their late twenties isn’t a lot, especially for blue tieflings with pretty rockin’ genetics. It is, however, a lot to see at once.

Her horns were indeed ¾ of an inch longer than they were. She pulled at her hairline, checking for… yes. There they were. A smattering of shimmering silver hairs interspersed with the blue. Not too many, just a couple on each side, but noticeable to her. Her fingers traced down her face. Some of her remaining baby fat had gone—she finally saw her mama’s cheekbones on her own face, and there was also something in her more defined jawline that reminded her of the Gentleman. There were, in addition to the cheekbones, lines on her face for the first time. The tiniest of crows feet, some smile lines around her mouth. Those… those would take some getting used to.

Her hands moved downward, poking and prodding at the skin of her collarbones and down her arms. Her skin feels different. Less hydrated, less springy. Older. Her breasts were fuller, perhaps her hips were as well, but everything just… off. Unrecognizable, even to an artist’s touch.

Her fingers stopped prodding and started scratching, itchy in a blink. This skin, this body, is not really mine. It belongs to some older woman, who just looks exactly like me.

The panic came not just from the change in her body—it also came from the loss of what she could have done with all that time.

How many pranks won’t be pranked because I lost the years that I was going to do them? What if my brain is different too, and that this new future Jester brain, when it catches up, won’t love painting, and dicks, and pranks? What if the Traveller doesn’t bother with me anymore, decides I’ve changed and I’m not fun enough? I got my statue question answered, but how much am I going to lose? Oh... Traveller. What if the Nein only kept me around for my smile, my sunshine? Will I lose that? 

This will pass. This feeling has to pass.

She found herself curled on the bathroom floor, staring into nothing, eyes aching with unshed tears. In half a moment, she was on her feet, groaning with new pains, and grabbing a nightgown and robe. Not her usual, ostentatiously and horrendously pink ones, but a peach-ish set. She stared around at her room, at the winter clothes she’d paid a fortune for, at the corner of the secret Nicodranas painting on the canopy over her bed, and even that felt wrong somehow.

Imposter.

She picked up her sketchbook, but couldn’t find it in herself to open it. What could she say to the Traveller: “Hi Artie, guess what, I just lost five years and I’ll never get them back. I had really great plans for all of my time on the earth and now I’ve lost part of that. I’m still here but I’ve lost part of me. I’m haunted by what the statues gave me and what they took. I can’t get the image of what they showed out of my head, and I’m afraid to show any of my friends anything less than my best new smile because that’s all they need from me.” Yeah, that conversation would go well.

The Traveller wouldn’t understand. No one could. Except… someone who had lost years themselves.

She found herself at Caleb’s door.

…

Caleb couldn’t deny that he appreciated what age had done for Jester’s appearance. She had always been a beautiful woman, but now it was shockingly apparent. He had foolishly blurted that out twice too many times upon the discovery of this change, this loss, as well. But it’s something that she needed reinforced, because gods she’s young—so young—and five years at that age is fifteen for anyone else. Not that he would know, he’d lost that time too.

She seemed fine, though distressed at first, and was back to her cheerful self in short order. The rest of the Nein followed her lead, and all seemed well throughout dinner. Caleb was not keeping a closer eye on Jester throughout dinner, he wasn’t. He couldn’t help but notice that, whenever Jester thought there weren’t any eyes on her, her eyes went dark. Her smile became increasingly hollow as the meal progressed, and she departed quickly. Caleb’s ever-sharp mind immediately reminded him that this was Jester’s facade cracking, just as it had done after the Iron Shepherds. Her steps, as she moved away from the tables, were fragile too, as if she wasn’t sure she could rely on her own feet.

He bid his own goodbyes to the remaining members of the group shortly afterward. He had research to do. For someone as full of life as Jester to lose her youth, her confidence in herself, to be haunted so deeply from the actions taken in the blink of an eye… he knew there had to be a way to reverse it, he just needed to figure out how. Of all the arcane tomes he’d devoured during his early days at the Academy, of all the snippets and scrolls he’d glanced through on the road or in random bookshops, something had to have the answer. He just needed to find it.

In the back of his mind, he was reminded: To show her you love her, but never say it.

“Georg, Cinnamon, Pancake, Rickon, please gather all the compatriots you can, and bring me all research in this tower that may include information on powerful restorative spells accessible to an arcane caster such as, ah, yours truly. Thank you.” The cats nodded in understanding and padded off in search of Caleb’s requested materials.

It was but a few minutes before a parade of amber-colored cats came back through the cat-flaps, each one carrying a tome, a scroll, or a report. Once the cats placed their selections near the small desk in the corner, they disappeared back through the cat-flaps, and Caleb settled down to work. It will be a long night of research, Ermendrud. Buckle in.

Caleb, after no more than twenty one and a half minutes, was broken out of his research reverie by a quiet, brisk knock at the door. “Caleb?” Jester’s voice whispered.

Ah, sheisse. Jester. What could she possibly want from the tower’s resident eccentric and broken old man? What could she possibly want that I have?  “Coming.” Caleb quickly closed and stacked the research materials behind him, and opened the door a crack.

She stood in the doorway with doll-like eyes. Glassy and empty. Her body was slouched, nothing like the confident woman from this morning. She didn’t say a word.

“Ah, Jester. What can I do for you?” She shrugged, looking hollowly past Caleb’s shoulder. A smile flashed across her lips, but not for long. It was a cruel and empty smile, a smile found much more commonly on his own face than on hers. Jester’s facade had finally broken.

It wasn’t that long ago that that hollow look had been plastered on his own face. The Nein had not been together that long. Before them, Caleb had been a cruel and empty man. He knew those eyes, and he knew that smile. Because not long ago that he’d woken up in the sanatorium and realized that he’d lost eleven precious years of life, of learning, of youth. Of pain and suffering and truth and forgiveness. Those eleven years of his would not have been good ones, with the ripples of Ikithon’s effect reverberating, but he still ached with that loss. That loss for Jester, who had so much good, so much passion, so much enthusiasm...five of her years were worth fifty of his.

They stood together in the doorway, living their individual losses, for just over three minutes. Caleb, eventually, shook himself. None of that matters, Ermendrud. She’s here because she knows you’ve experienced something similar. She needs a friend that shares this.

He cleared his throat, voice hoarse with disuse or emotion. “Please, Jester, come in. I have...ah...another story for you. Not a children’s tale this time, but I believe it still has a good ending.”

A faint knocking floated up from the floor below, followed by Fjord’s quiet call of “Jester.” Caleb raised his eyebrows at her, locking eyes with her for the first time since her arrival at his door. Meeting her, hollow stare to hollow stare. She shrugged, shook her head, and moved forward into Caleb’s room, taking her seat on the couch. It hadn’t been too many days since he’d read Der Katenprinz to her, but it seemed like eons now.

Jester looked up from the couch, patting the space next to her. “Fjord, you know… he just wouldn’t really understand. I don’t want to explain it to him. I know I don’t really understand either, and I’m really confused about what I saw today, and what’s going to happen now that I’m… like this.” She gestured to her changed face. “But I don’t think I can talk to him about it without it seeming...childish. You know?”

Caleb nodded, and sat down. They stared off in companionable silence for thirty seven seconds, until he began telling Jester his own story. She’s heard most of it before, but not in order and not all at once. He didn’t skip over anything, but he did spend the most time on his time in the sanatorium, and the time that immediately followed. To share with her how it felt for him, to let her know that feeling the loss of that time was normal. Halfway through his story, her hands started shaking. Steeling himself with a breath, he wrapped his long fingers over hers. She was very cold, he could share his warmth.

Jester looked at him, eyes wide, still innocent, but with an incredible intent on deciphering something. “The change is hard and it’s shocking, Jester, and I’m sorry you must deal with it. I know you must feel wrong, uncomfortable in your own skin and unsure about everything around you.” If he was not holding her hands, he would be scratching his arms.

She nodded, and cleared her throat. “That is...yes. That’s part of it, I think? I know it sounds weird, but I think I might be mourning? Like… all I can think about are all of the things that I could have done with that time. And if losing it will change me enough that no one will like me enough to keep me around anymore. What if the Nein and the Traveller get sick of the new, old me?”

Caleb squeezed her fingers. “These are fair concerns. But no, getting sick of you, at the very least, is impossible. I refuse to speak for the rest of the Nein or your god but I swear I could never get sick of you. And if I did speak for them, they would say the same. You’re the group’s smile, Jester, but you’re also its heart. Its soul. You’re an incredibly powerful woman who can play tricks on and kick the asses of incredibly powerful creatures. I would fo-- hmmm.”

“Yes, Caleb?”

“Ah, well… I would follow you anywhere. I trust your judgement. You see the world and everyone in it in a unique light, and it is incredible to behold. I-- we are lucky to have you. It is difficult not to lo-- care for you, no matter who you grow into. And I will strive to ensure your days for the foreseeable future are filled with enough adventure and entertainment to make up for the lost ones. I can enlist the Chaos Crew to assist.” A wry grin appeared at the corner of his mouth, just for a second.

Jester looked down at her hands, completely enveloped by Caleb’s. They’re no longer shaking.

“And that is the short-term. I swear on my spellbook and on your holy symbol that I will do everything in my power to get the time back for you, to restore the years you’ve lost. I have already begun the research.” Caleb gestured back to the stack of pages and books spilling across the desk.

The ghost of a furrowed brow passed across Jester’s face, then something that resembled a smile. “Caleb, as your first act of helping me... will you please make your room look like Hupperdook, like you did while we were eating the other day?” 

Three seconds passed as Caleb swallowed the request, then nodded. “Uhhh… ja, of course.” He used major illusion to again replicate Hupperdook’s tavern as closely as possible—with the exception of the fireworks. Some sparks were of pink dicks and green cloaks, some were red books and orange cats. There were some multicolored cats wearing cloaks, or playing with dicks. And there was a single book with a small dick in the corner of the page. The page for the spell “Friends.”

Jester’s eyes lit up the tiniest bit watching the animated illusion, and Caleb couldn’t help but admire how the illusory fireworks sparked and crackled in her eyes. A sudden courage gripped him as he pulled Jester to her feet. “As my second act of assistance, Jester… I would like us to revisit the waltz. So you can enjoy a dance with an individual who does not have two left feet, and who is not more booze than man, and know that you are still just as capable and as erapturing as you were those many months ago.”

A giggle escaped from Jester’s lips, and he could see her again, putting together the pieces and cautiously probing the new shape of the world. Caleb inclined his head to his dance partner, and she pulled his arms into the dance’s starting position. Caleb, with a nod to the tower surrounding them, started the music as the steps began. They danced in companionable silence for precisely eight minutes and twelve seconds, gazing contentedly at the illusion around them and at their dance partner before them. Caleb tried to avoid looking at Jester too closely, but he couldn’t help but notice a darker purple flush high on her cheeks. A trick, perhaps, or a product of the surrounding illusion.

On that thirteenth second of the ninth minute, Jester shifted her hand from cupping his shoulder to looping around his neck, and removed her hand from his, only to wrap it around his waist. Her head now rested plainly on his chest, directly over his fast-beating heart.

“You know, Caleb, you’re pretty okay for being a stinky wizard.”

Caleb froze, but only for a second. His arms moved to hold her in a light embrace, their bodies fitting together like a slightly-fractured puzzle. The dancers just started to sway in place. “Ah, I would like to think so. Okay is good. You know, you will be alright Blueberry.”

With her head to his chest, Caleb could make out her quiet words, and the true smile on her face: “It will take time, I think. And help. But I hope so.” She paused for a moment. “And Cayleb? This is a good ending to your story.”

[sohotthateveryonedied]

We Dream in the Dark, for the Most Part

Read here on AO3!

Summary:

Jason is in the middle of lathering his hair with shampoo when suddenly the lights go out, leaving him in darkness. An instinctive chill runs down his spine, only to be replaced with annoyance. Of course. Beyond the shower spray, he can hear Lian shriek in fear, followed by Roy muttering curses.

Jason sighs. “Roy?” he calls.

“Handling it!”

It was a grueling patrol, but Jason is relieved to be home. He missed having Roy by his side tonight, but their usual babysitter, Mrs. Peterson from next door, came down with pneumonia yesterday and canceled. She doesn’t seem to have any idea that her neighbors are vigilantes, but they pay her enough that she doesn’t ask. Lian is coloring at the coffee table while Jason toes off his boots, leaving them at the front door. She’s wearing her fluffy Stitch pajamas, which she’s been practically living in for the last week and a half. “Hey, princess.” Jason drops a kiss on top of her head as he passes. “Where’s your dad?” “In the kitchen. He’s playing with the electricity again.” “Oh, good. Because, you know, I was actually hoping our place would explode, just to spice things up.” Lian giggles. “Has he fed you yet?” She shakes her head, her black pigtails swinging back and forth. “Nope. But he promised me special sushi if I cleaned up all my books.” Jason will never understand Lian’s passion for her “special sushi,” which is just deli ham slathered in strawberry yogurt and rolled up like a spring roll from hell. Jason gets nauseated just thinking about it, but the kid loves the stuff. “And did you clean up?” Lian points over at the bookshelf against the wall. They don’t have a huge apartment by any means, but Jason insisted on dedicating an entire wall to his books. That was one of the conditions when Roy first asked Jason to move in with him and Lian. It took weeks of finagling to convince Jason to relinquish a small section of the bookshelf for Lian’s picture books, which are indeed all in their right places. “Then it looks like you’ve earned your sushi, little miss. I’m gonna shower first and then I’ll make it for you, alright?” “I can make it by myself.” Jason snorts. “After what happened last time? I don’t think so.” It was his own fault for thinking a five-year-old could prepare her own food. It took a solid hour to scrub the yogurt stains out of the carpet. Jason pokes his head in the kitchen on his way to the bathroom. “Tell me you’re not burning the building down.” “Okay, then I’m not burning the building down,” Roy says around the screwdriver trapped between his teeth. He stands in front of what was once a light switch, tinkering with something that he most definitely should not be tinkering with, but Jason is picking his battles today.

“I’m not going to bother telling you that you’re on your second strike with the landlord. If he has to come up here again, I’m not defending you.” “You know what I miss? The old days when people would greet each other by saying things like, ‘hi, sweetie, how was your day?’ ‘Oh, it was lovely, darling. How about a kiss after spending hours apart and missing each other dearly?’ ‘Babe, it’s like you read my mind!’ You know, stuff like that?” Jason arches an eyebrow. “I’ve got mobster blood caked in my hair. Still want a hello kiss?” “Not really, no. Go shower.” “Try not to blow a fuse in the meantime, please.” Roy salutes with his screwdriver. “Aye, aye, captain.” Jason goes to the bathroom and relishes in the feeling of peeling off his armor and the bodysuit underneath, every layer soaked with sweat and blood. It’s a good thing his Red Hood getup is all dark colors, or he’d have scarred Lian for life ten times over already. He turns the shower knob as hot as it’ll go, letting his muscles slowly unravel under the spray. He takes his time scrubbing off the blood and dirt, whistling some shitty pop song that Dick paid Barbara to blast through the comms all. Night. Long. Jason has plans to add that to his repertoire of torture techniques if he ever needs some extra edge. It’s definitely effective. Jason is in the middle of lathering his hair with shampoo when suddenly the lights go out, leaving him in darkness. An instinctive chill runs down his spine, only to be replaced with annoyance. Of course. Beyond the shower spray, he can hear Lian shriek in fear, followed by Roy muttering curses. Jason sighs. “Roy?” he calls. “Handling it!” Another sigh. This is what he gets for leaving Roy alone. It’s Jason’s own fault, really. He quickly rinses the shampoo from his hair and leaves the bathroom, and towel wrapped around his waist. He navigates the pitch black apartment and finds Roy lighting a match in the kitchen. He’s got Lian tucked in one arm. “What did I say?” Jason asks. “I know, I know—” “I said not to blow a fuse. That was your one job.” “Technically, I didn’t blow a fuse. I just overloaded the circuit and cut off the electricity for the whole building.” Jason smacks himself in the forehead. “Wonderful.” Remind him again why he’s in love with this man? “I’m sure it’ll be fixed in no time.” “You can’t see it, but I’m rolling my eyes.” “You’re overreacting. It’s just a little blackout.” “We have ice cream in the freezer.” “I’ll buy more.” Jason runs a hand through his wet hair. “You’re killing me, babe. Again.” “It’s just one night without power, right? I’m sure it’ll come back on in the morning.” He bounces Lian a little, who’s got her face buried in Roy’s neck. Poor thing is terrified of the dark. “What do you think, pumpkin? You think you can be brave for one little night in the dark?” “I don’t like it. It’s scary.” “I know it is, sweetheart. But do you want to know a secret?” He leans in close to her ear, mock-whispering, “Jaybird over here is afraid of the dark too.” Lian looks at Jason with wide eyes. “Really?” Roy nods. “Yep. But you know what? He’s so brave and strong that he overcame that fear and now it hardly bothers him anymore. Do you think you can be brave like that?” “I can be super brave.” “That’s my girl. Not, sit here for a minute, ‘kay?” He sets her down on the arm of the sofa. The match has fizzled out by now, leaving them in complete darkness. “I know I have some scented candles around here somewhere. Dinah keeps getting them as gifts and pushes them on me when she doesn’t like them.” Jason’s eyes widen. “Wait, watch out for the—” Roy trips with a shout, glass shattering as he falls. “—coffee table.” Roy just groans in response. “Hang on, let me get a light.” Jason makes his way to the drawer they keep the emergency flashlight in. He turns on the beam to show Roy on the floor, surrounded by glass shards and clutching his leg. There are several small cuts peppering his knee like he crawled on a beach made of broken bottles. Jason gasps. “Oh my god, Roy! You broke Lian’s crayons!” Roy flips him off, angling his hand so Lian can’t see. “I’m fine, thanks for asking.” Jason helps him up and hands him the flashlight. “Lian, honey, will you help him get to the couch? I need to put some clothes on.” And he’s almost positive there’s another flashlight somewhere in Roy’s nightstand. They’re going to need all the light they can get. Jason gets dressed and retrieves the flashlight, plus one of Lian’s Disney princess glow sticks. When he returns, Roy is on the couch with his leg propped up on what remains of their coffee table. Lian is shining the flashlight on her tiny first-aid kit which Kori gave her last Christmas. She sifts through her collection of band-aids. “One to ten?” “Barely a two,” Roy says. “I already dug the glass out, and none were deep enough to need stitches.” Jason checks him over anyway, just to be sure. He wipes away the blood and applies some ointment over the cuts. He turns to Lian when he’s finished. “Can I trust you to finish this up while I make dinner?” She nods enthusiastically. Perfect. Lian can keep herself busy plastering Roy in Hello Kitty bandages, and Jason will have time to figure out what the hell they’re doing, food-wise. “How do you expect to make dinner without electricity?” Roy asks, reading his mind yet again. “What, did you never have to eat cold leftover pizza in your million-dollar mansion growing up? Weird.” He dodges the pillow Roy throws his way, laughing. “Those jokes don’t count when you also grew up in a million-dollar mansion.” Thirty minutes later and the three of them are sitting on the couch, Roy and Jason eating cold mushroom casserole while Lian enjoys her ham and yogurt. Once you get over the temperature difference, cold casserole turns out to be just as tasty as hot casserole. Gordon Ramsey should take notes. Jason managed to track down the candles Roy was talking about earlier and set them in various places around the living room, lighting the room in a dim glow. It’s not perfect lighting by any means—not even good lighting, really, but at least no one will be falling into another coffee table anytime soon. Roy’s knee is covered in Hello Kitty band-aids, some of which are in spots that weren’t even cut up by the glass. Roy doesn’t seem to mind. Jason took a picture for potential blackmail reasons. “I’m bored,” Lian says after a while. “You could always go to bed,” Roy suggests, “given that your bedtime was fifteen minutes ago but your daddies are nice enough to let you stay up this long.” “That was nice of us,” Jason agrees. “I think we’ve earned a quiet night to ourselves.” Lian pouts. She grabs Jason’s arm, clinging to his bicep like a koala. “But it’s dark in my room.” “It’s dark in there every night.” “It’s really dark tonight. Can I stay here with you instead?” Her eyes are big and innocent, perfectly disguising the mischief lurking within. This girl could be a successful con artist one day. (Not that Jason or Roy will ever let that happen. She’s going to grow up and become a veterinarian or something equally harmless.) Roy and Jason meet eyes, having a silent conversation over Lian’s head. Finally, Roy sighs. “Fine. You can stay up with us a little longer, but only because of the blackout, okay? Don’t go thinking that this trick is going to work tomorrow night.” Lian claps her hands, bouncing in her seat. “Can I have coffee?” “Absolutely not.” She isn’t deterred in the slightest. “This is gonna be so fun! We can stay up all night long, even past midnight and three o’clock which is when the ghosts come out.” “Ghosts, huh?” Jason says. “Yeah, Aunt Stephanie told me all about it! Three o’clock is when the witching hour happens and witches and ghosts come out like Bloody Mary and Freddie Cougar and they call come into your house and walk around but you can only see them if you’re awake, which I’m gonna be because I’m not even tired, I could stay up all night long and for a million, bazillion years, and—” She lasts seven minutes. Lian is fast asleep now with her head in Roy’s lap, her tiny feet dangling off the arm of the sofa. Jason drapes a blanket over her, kissing her on the forehead. He’s careful not to jostle Roy’s bandaged leg as he takes a seat beside him, putting his arm around Roy’s shoulders. “Well, I’m fucking exhausted.” “It’s cool if you want to go to bed,” Roy says. “I don’t mind sticking around here with Lian until the power comes back on.” “Nah, it’s fine. I like it better in here, anyway.” In here, where the light is. Roy doesn’t comment on the hidden meaning that he definitely catches on to, and Jason loves him for it. He just kisses Jason’s cheek, settling against his side. Jason doesn’t mention the darkness thing often. Or at all. After all, grown men don’t get scared of the dark—especially when they live in a place like Gotham and were raised in a literal cave. But if Lian insists on having the hallway light on in addition to the night light next to her bed, then Jason isn’t about to discourage her. Roy never says a word about it. Every night he keeps the door to his and Jason’s bedroom cracked open just enough so a sliver of hallway light floods in, and it’s good for both of them, really. Jason feels safer with the light on, and they both feel safer being able to hear every creak and draft in the apartment, falling asleep knowing that nothing will sneak up on them. Even when Jason was living on his own, post-resurrection, he always kept a lamp on when he went to sleep in whichever safehouse he was squatting in that night. Back before he had a place to call home. On especially bad nights, he would turn on the lights in every single room, even the one in the microwave. Only then could he sleep soundly. He can’t exactly do that now, but he doesn’t need to. Whenever his head gets too heavy to bear, he’ll simply wrap his arms around Roy and fall back asleep to the sound of Roy’s heart beating under his ear. He falls back asleep in minutes. Jason isn’t entirely sure what caused the light issue in the first place. Sometimes he can’t remember if it arose before or after he was adopted by Bruce. Other times he’s sure it’s lingering trauma from the coffin, from waking up in pitch blackness six feet underground. No bearings, no sense of what was happening or where he was. The only thing in there with him was the thick, cloying darkness on every side of him. Jason shivers just thinking about it. “We should get her a new night light,” he says. “Battery powered, not a plug-in. It would be a good investment if you ever try destroying our electricity again.” Roy hums. “We can pick one up tomorrow. I need to take her clothes shopping anyway. And it might be a good idea to have a couple for the living room and bathroom so we don’t have a repeat of tonight.” “Good idea.” God, Jason’s craving a cigarette right now. Every nerve in his body urges him to get one and soothe the anxiety buzzing in his brain, but he has a rule against smoking in the apartment or anywhere near Lian. He’d settle for a beer instead, whatever keeps the buzzing at bay, but he doesn’t drink at home either out of respect for Roy’s sobriety. He’s stuck. Roy must notice Jason’s twitching fingers because he reaches into his pocket, careful not to wake Lian as he pulls out a stick of nicotine gum. “Here.” Jason unwraps the gum and shoves it in his mouth. He takes a deep breath in as he chews, letting it out slowly. It takes the edge off some, but not completely. Still, it’s better than nothing. “You’re just carrying these on you now?” "Came in handy, didn't it?" “And I thought Bruce was the king of being prepared for everything.” Jason straightens the wrapper until it’s flat like a card. He holds it over the nearest candle until it catches, watching the flame consume the paper, eating away at its edges. He blows it out just before it gets too close to his fingers. “When I was a kid,” he says after a minute, “my mom and I used to light candles like these. The heat would get turned off pretty often since she was usually too high to remember what day it was, let alone when the bills needed to be paid. But whenever it happened, she would send me to the store with a couple dollars and I’d buy a bag of marshmallows. We’d roast them over the candles and pretend we were camping.” “That sounds nice.” “It was. I mean, now I realize that it’s actually really fucking sad that we had to resort to candles ‘cause my mom wasted all her cash on drugs and couldn’t pay the heating bill. But at the time, it was nice. It’s one of the few good memories I have of that time.” He feels more than sees Roy’s fingers lacing through his own, clasping their hands together. “I was telling the truth earlier, you know. You’re brave and strong and badass all the way.” Jason snorts. “Even if I get freaked out every time the lights go out?” Roy doesn’t laugh with him. “Yeah, even then. And you know why?” He rests his head on Jason’s shoulder, lets Jason feel his warmth. “Because of all the things to be afraid of, you picked the one that can be fixed by just turning the lights on. Once you do that, there’s nothing left in the world that can scare you. And that’s pretty damn badass if you ask me.”

[heyheydidjaknow]

I’m uploading this Friday at 12:10 am. Or, at least, that’s when I finished writing this. Yes, we’re still on the angst thing. It won’t last forever, but still.

Chapter 9

“How is she?”

Donatello sits down next to his brother on the couch. “Same as yesterday,” he sighs. “Comatose.”

“I still can’t believe it,” Raphael smirks. “That stupid bitch decided to total the fuckin—"

“Raphael,” he promises coolly, “I will personally make it my life’s goal to make sure you can never open your mouth again if you don’t shut up.”

He puts his hands up. “Yeah, yeah.”

“Will you two be quiet for a minute? I’m trying to listen.” Leonardo kneels in front of the television.

There is a new news story.

“They can’t arrest her, can they?” The tallest brother glances at the others.

“Nah.” Michelangelo is sprawled out on his portion of the couch, eyes dully focused on the screen. “They’ll side with her before someone from a street gang, ‘specially with those…” He trails off. “’ Sides,” he clears his throat, “any good public defense lawyer would call it self-defense, and there’s no way the police would convict a teenage girl of any degree of murder with the injuries she has; bad press.”

“Mikey,” Leo asks, “how come you know that and not how to multiply numbers by seven?”

“Because seven is a stupid number that was created just to make us all feel stupid.”

“Leo—”

“He’s right,” Raph agrees. “They won’t put her away for something like that.” He chuckles darkly. “Besides, there’s no more evidence.”

“After what happened with the neurologist?”

“Donnie,” Leo turns to look at him. “She’s going to be fine.”

He opens his mouth to argue, closes it.

” The perpetrator,” the news anchor reads, ” was found this morning after a panicked nine-one-one caller had seen the hand of the assailant hanging over a ledge. The corpse had, presumably, been flung away from the scene of the incident as a consequence of the explosion, miraculously landing on the roof of a nearby restaurant. The body has been identified as Fong Zhao, who was arrested on multiple charges of armed battery earlier this year. The police have refrained from offering Channel Six detailed information, but we have an anonymous source who claims that he and the gang he is supposedly involved in, locally referred to as the Purple Dragons, was also involved in the hijacking of a truck carrying a substance believed to be tear gas. The driver of the truck testified in favor of this statement earlier this evening. An investigation is currently ongoing regarding the involvement of the men in question, and we at Channel Six implore our viewers to come forward with any information you may have on the case or the supposed ringleader, the recently escaped Xever Montes. More on that later tonight. Up next, a local—”

Leonardo shuts off the television. “Well, there you go.” He stands up. “See? Didn’t even mention her name.”

Donatello breathes out a sigh of relief. “Good,” he nods after a moment. “That’s... good.” He cradles his head in his hand, his concerns hardly pacified by the report.

This, he cannot excuse. This is entirely a matter of his own negligence.

‘I should’ve noticed sooner, insisted to come with.’ He zones out, his brother starting a conversation about something he cannot bring himself to pay attention to. ‘How could she be that reckless? It’s Shredder for fuck’s sake; I should’ve at least noticed the body or something, anything.’ His fingers lace together as he stares a hole into the ground. ‘Even if I couldn’t have stopped her, I should’ve been there, if only after the fact.’ He runs his tongue along his teeth absentmindedly. ‘Some ninja I am. Some friend. Some—’

“So, I broke Y/N’s arms, right?”

His head snaps up. “You what?”

“There he is,” Raph chuckles. “Knew that’d get his attention.”

“Don’t make me go over there,” he glares. His face flushes in embarrassment.

Leonardo rolls his eyes at his brother’s antics. “As I was saying, it’s been pretty quiet, hasn’t it? Since the incident?”

“Now that you mention it,” Raph points out, “since the whole Leatherhead fiasco, I don’t think anything’s really happened. Ya know, besides the Kraang thing.” He crosses his arms behind his head, leaning back into the couch. “It’s been getting’ kinda boring If I’m bein’ honest.”

“It’s that desire to fight that’s going to get you killed,” Donatello informs him, staring at the television screen. “Saw what happened to her, right? Weren’t you just saying how stupid she was being?”

“Yeah, but that’s different.” He smiles sharply. “She’s got exactly no training. As much as you guys seem to have a thing for humility all of a sudden,” he waves his hand contemptuously, “the only reason she got hurt is that she was being stupid, so we’re pretty much undefeated, no thanks to Leo.”

He stands up, deciding against fighting him. “If you need me,” he says curtly, “I’ll be in my lab.”

“Watch it, Raph,” the eldest brother snaps.

“Why should I?” He throws his hands up. “Am I wrong?”

Mikey quietly grabs his comic off the floor, retreating to his room, presumably.

Donatello slides the door in between him and his brothers as he sits down at his desk.

You have been stuck in the hospital for about two weeks now.

‘Technically,’ he corrects himself as he pulls his laptop open, ‘it’s been three hundred fifty-seven hours, meaning it’s closer to fifteen days than two weeks. Why do I know that?’ He pulls up an image, uncapping a permanent marker and working on one of the more mindless parts of his latest project: reviving an incredibly battered map. He already has a frame for it once he is finished, but, knowing his brothers, the fading colors would likely be a point of contention if he did not at least make an effort to make it easier to read. Fortunately for him, it is not laminated. Unfortunately—depending on how you look at it— a lot of the finer details—the integral streets names in particular—are all irreparably smudged and, therefore, will have to be all rewritten by hand, turning a once twenty-minute job into at least a two-hour investment.

He tries to tune out the incessant arguing of his two older brothers as he focuses on making his minute handwriting legible despite the infuriatingly fat marker nib.

“You should have taken her offer for a pen when you had the chance,” he mumbles to himself.

His hand stops.

‘Would it be weird to go check on her again? Just to make sure she’s still alright? I mean,’ he goes back to work, ‘even if it were, how would she know?’

He shakes his head to clear it. ‘Stop that. You’re being a creep again.’

Over those two weeks, his distractedness has become more of a problem than it has in the past in reference to his work. He is hardly a stranger to having a thousand thoughts bouncing around his head at once, but where once a rapid stream of information was there is now an aggravatingly slow sludge. The origin of said mind sludge is not at all a mystery to him, which makes the whole thing infinitely more frustrating. ‘Frustrating? Depressing? Does it even matter?’

He rubs his eye absentmindedly with the heel of his palm as he strains to see what he is doing. The smell of the marker is corrosive in his nostrils. His hand shakes. He sets it down, wringing his hands as if to force them back into submission as he stares holes into the map. ‘This is not supposed to be challenging.’ He closes his eyes, the image of you lying on the ground, a bloody, skeletal figure shaking and begging for your life carved into the backs of his eyelids, a hideous scar.

He can not stop thinking about what you said the night before the incident. Something about being able to care for yourself.

What would you say to him now? He imagines that it would be something to remind him of how the accident is your fault, how he should not beat himself up over it, but all that does is convince him that he should have been faster to act or to respond or something. There had to have been something he, in his infinite wisdom, could have done. What else can he reason? That he is powerless? That he had no say in what happened that night of nights?

‘How come I can plan and build a combat vehicle out of alien technology and an old subway car and I can’t—’

He jumps at a loud banging at the door.

“Donnie!” He can hear Raphael’s wicked grin from behind the door. “Bank robbery! Let’s go!”

He sighs, capping the marker. His breakdown will have to wait.

“Comin’!”

--

The ringing in your ears is already annoying.

You have been awake for about five minutes. You have elected against moving for a plethora of reasons, but the ringing is a relatively large determining factor in your decision. You are, admittedly, not sure where you are until you hear the tell-tale incessant beeping you remember from your childhood. You do not open your eyes yet. You are incredibly drowsy for some reason.

‘Hospital?’

You sit up carefully, wincing as a numb pain permeates through your arms. You run your fingers over your face curiously, feeling for any perceived disfigurement as your eyes scan your surroundings. The small room you have been placed in seems standard; there are a couple of chairs under a window that makes up half of the wall, a television screen in a corner of the room, an inoffensive painting, and a small vase filled with some sort of white flowers.

You feel a protruding scar on the right side of your face. It traces from the bridge of your nose to about halfway across your cheekbone. As you bring your hands down to pull the hospital gown away from your body, you catch sight of your hands. Long, jagged cuts run vertically along the front of your hands, and as your eyes travel up your arms, you notice fewer, shorter scars along the insides of your forearms. You swallow, pulling the cloth away from your body to see long scratches running from your thighs to under your ribcage. You pull the blanket off to find that one of your legs is encased in a white cast.

You blink. ‘What stupid thing did I do?’

You lay back down, fingers absentmindedly tracing the scars. ‘I must have been out for a bit.’ You push the hair out of your face, noting how oddly shaky your hands are as you try to focus on what had happened. ‘Why wouldn’t my folks be here? They wouldn’t ditch me in a hospital, would they?’ You hold them out in front of you, palms to the ceiling. ‘I don’t look old or anything. My nails aren’t much longer than they were before, so I can’t have been out for that long.’

Your eyebrows furrow. ‘Parents…’ You swallow. ‘Oh, right. The fire.’ Your eyes go out of focus. ‘Dead. I was, too, until recently.’ You put your arms down. ‘I’m hungry. Where am I?’ You close your eyes. ‘New York. East coast. How far is the East Coast from the West Coast? I should call her so she knows I’m—no, she’s dead.’

“All dead and gone,” you mumble the tune to yourself.

You cover your face. ‘Focus. What happened?’ You recall what you think is a church. ‘Turtles. Turtle. Oh, TMNT. Where are people? Focus.’ You yank at a piece of your hair, mumbling to yourself as you try to run through the memory again.

The image of that man’s body takes your breath away.

You shut your eyes tighter. ‘Right. Car. Glass. Glass would be a good candy. Could you make glass out of sugar? Isn’t that what a lollipop is?’ You hug yourself tightly, careful of the IV as you roll onto your side towards it. ‘I killed someone. Someones. That’s not a word. Gasoline smells bad.’ You feel tears prick at your eyes. ‘I deserve to die for that. There has to have been an easier way to do that. I deserve to burn again. That explosion was so prettily animated in that episode. I can’t breathe.’

You curl your legs up towards you, using the arm not connected to the IV to hook behind your knees. You bury your head in your shoulder as you force your breathing to slow. ‘I miss her. Where is he? They’re dead and you killed them, you heartless bitch.’

You feel a sob rise in your throat. You swallow it back. ‘Stop being a pussy.’ You hear yourself start to count softly. ‘They’re all dead and gone. You’re on your own here, so get a grip.’ You grip the blanket. ‘After all, who are you going to turn to? The guys who already risk their lives every day? Or maybe Splinter, who will probably tell you some bullshit about letting your pain go?’

‘That’s not fair,’ you argue with yourself. ‘You can turn to Murakami. Casey might be willing to help.’

‘Because Casey’s known for his reliability and Murakami would want to deal with your stupid emotional problems.’

“Twenty-three,” you whisper, keeping your voice even. “Twenty-four, twenty-five, twenty-six…’

You pull yourself back up, bringing your knee to your chest as you wipe any tears that may have leaked out with the back of your hand.

You do not have to wait long until someone comes in to check on you, a taller gentleman with sharp features and sunken eyes behind curly black hair. He introduces himself as Nurse McGrath, gives you a run down of the dizzying number of injuries you had suffered in the accident, what they had done to fix the problem, and starts to discuss what would become of you now.

“The doctor predicts that you’ll be able to remove your cast in approximately six weeks, and that you will regain your fine-motor skills fully in eight.” He is obviously half asleep, but you can hardly blame him; the clock on the wall reads that it is about three in the morning. “The symptoms from the whiplash should completely fade in about three months. If you would be open, there are medications we can prescribe to help with the pain.”

You smile. “Thank you, sir, but I’d rather not.” You are sincerely concerned what might happen if you start taking any sort of medication right now, considering your mental health.

“I should probably warn you in advance that the police might ask you to come in to identify the guys who kidnapped you.”

You blink, confused. “How do they know I was kidnapped?”

“Anonymous tip, according to the news.” He scratches something into some form or another. “I dunno the specifics, but nobody thinks they’re gonna charge you with anything, ‘specially since the driver was from that street gang.”

You nod. “Gotcha.” You purse your lips. “What day is it?”

“Twenty-fourth, now.”

You sigh. “Well,” you shrug, ignoring the pain it causes, “at least I’m not dead.”

“At least.” He caps his pen. “Technically, you’re free to leave, but the doc thinks it’s a good idea to stay overnight. Your insurance provider has your medical bills covered, so you’re good for it.”

“Honestly? I’m surprised I don’t feel weaker.” You smile. “I’m more than happy to head home tonight, if that makes most sense.”

“Personally, I wouldn’t stay.” He starts heading out of your room. “Your cellphone is locked up. I’m guessing you want it?”

You nod eagerly, realizing quickly that makes the ringing worse.

“I’ll bring it right back, then.”

You refrain from touching it until he leaves.

It looks as if it was put in a blender, but you find it does still turn on. A problem quickly arises: your hands cannot hold the phone. You set it down on the mattress, each movement taking a ridiculous amount of time to coordinate as you type like someone who has never used a phone before. ‘Fine motor skills. Right.’ You type out a message after approximately too long that tells Donnie that you are out of the hospital and heading home.

You check out of the hospital at approximately four-thirteen. The trip home is a straight line of a walk that takes you approximately twenty minutes. Getting in through the door with a walker is a bit of a challenge, but it works out well enough.

You lock the door and windows when you get home, shutting your phone off as you crawl into bed.

You let out a low groan as your head punishes you for your heinous crime of moving. You had realized ten minutes into your walk that you were not at all physically strong enough to walk that long, and you already hate yourself for it, among other reasons. As you crawl into bed, ignoring your body’s protest, you still stand by your decision to not take any medication, especially now.

You feel as though you are being suffocated as you cling onto your pillow, pressing your face into it as you cry silently, the ringing in your ears only getting louder in the silence of your apartment.

‘I feel sick.’

You remember your first night here. You remember the feeling it had caused you, the numb ache of loss as you submitted to the situation you had found yourself in. It feels like an eternity ago, now. You know, logically, it cannot have been more than two months since you got here.

You had decided against taking a cab back home. You had the cash, and you still do, in your bloodstained pocket. You saw many as you walked home, and you had turned a blind eye to them all.

You feel yourself trembling again. You remember the first night you had slept on your own here, the nightmares you swore were the product of a mind much more sadistic than yours ever was. You remember, too, the nightmares you had after Bradford, the way that, for the first time in your life since you were five years old you woke up drenched in sweat and crying for your mother.

What possible dream could come from this?

You reach a hand to the nightstand, hovering over your cellphone as you consider your next action.

Slowly, you retract it, letting it rest next to you. ‘It’s four. He’s not awake.’ You do not have the energy to get up to grab the bottle of sleeping pills from your bathroom.

‘I don’t want to sleep. I can’t take another nightmare.’ You rest your cheek on the pillow, forcing your eyes shut. ‘Mare. Why is it called a nightmare? Are mares truly that terrifying?’

“One,” you whisper. “Two. Three.”

Table of Contents

Chapter 8

Chapter 10

[sanktnikolais]

Unknown King (pt. 2)

A/N: yes i know it’s been a while KLJHASDFKLHAL but here y’all go, more sad smol Nik for the soul :(((

no rights for Vasily at all

Part 1

Word count: 4600

His blood was still ringing in his ears even as they were already out of the duke’s estate. Nikolai knew he should have calmed down by now, considering the time that had passed. But his earlier outburst kept him on the edge. That wasn’t supposed to happen. He almost gave himself away.

          Was it because of stress? Or was the fatigue looming over his shoulders for the past weeks had built up too much and caused him to have a sudden surge of power in him? Everything was the usual prior today; the meetings, the headaches, the endless problems that came from left and right. They were the constants in their duties. So why did he snap today? It could have been any time yesterday or the day before that.

          Something clicked in his mind. He remembered the twins warning him about trying to neglect his abilities for long, saying that it would take a toll on his body and leave him exhausted and restless. Maybe that could have been the reason. 

          Though they can’t just expect him to use his powers from time to time as he was always in the palace. Being inside the confines of the capital meant guards and basically anyone could be watching everywhere. Nikolai couldn’t have that, and they couldn’t know the truth. 

          His family treating him like some kind of monster was already terrible enough. But a whole country of people? It might be a cause of another revolution, and he didn’t want any more wars to come to his people again. They expect him to be the one to start dragging them out of centuries’ worth of misery done by a man with greed much bigger than his humanity and powers beyond comparison. 

          Saints only knew how people would look at him if they knew about his truth.

***

Nikolai let out an exasperated sigh and ran a hand through his hair. Merely thinking about it already brought another wave of stress in his mind, and he would welcome any kind of distraction if it meant pulling him out of his thoughts.

          Realizing that there won’t be anything unless he did something, he turned his attention to the ever scowling face of his general sitting across him. Zoya jolted in her seat, as if she hadn’t expected him to suddenly look at her, and she quickly recovered with a narrowed glance.

          “Busy staring now, aren’t we, Nazyalensky?” he said smoothly, an easy grin coming to his lips like he hadn’t just been mulling over his existence a moment ago. Hiding under various masks was always his specialty. “I have to say, I would be staring at me too when I have the chance.”

          Zoya huffed. “I’m only making sure you don’t decide to haul yourself out of the carriage,” she said. There was a slight hesitation in her eyes before she added, “You look troubled.”

          Breathe and deflect. Just like he always did. “Worry not, dearest general,” said Nikolai, I assure you this is a normal expression after doing something unethical.”

          “So you’re having a moral dilemma now.”

          “I prefer ‘my conscience trying to speak some sense to me’, but yours is a shorter way to say it.” He shrugged. “I’ll take that.”

          “You’re fine, then,” Zoya said. She leaned back comfortably in her seat, some of the stiffness on her shoulders disappearing. “You still talk too much.” 

          Nikolai put a hand over his heart. “I am flattered you noticed.”

          She just shook her head and didn’t say anything else. Another silence stretched in the coach again, but it was less tense this time, with the momentary distraction from their conversation easing the weight in his chest. Perhaps he still sounded convincing enough for her not to press further.

          But when she continued sending wary looks at his way as the trip progressed, he felt a bit nervous and he didn’t know why. It wasn’t as if he had something to hide. There wasn’t anyone inside the carriage except them—Tamar had chosen to ride on horseback at their rear, while her brother manned the coach. Zoya looked like she wanted to say something more, but she kept holding back and turning to the window instead. 

          Sometimes he wished he could read her mind, to know the thoughts that plagued her, so it didn’t feel like he were reaching in the dark whenever he decided to strike up a conversation. 

          "Do tell me what's bothering you, Nazyalensky, and let's both end our misery," Nikolai said. He meant it as a jest, but his tone came out in a tired voice instead. "When you furrow your eyebrows like that, you look like you're about to lunge and strangle me where I sit." 

          “That is exactly what I’m thinking of every single day I wake up and meet you in the war room,” said Zoya, fluffing her hair over her shoulders. He would have answered back something sarcastic if it weren’t for the flash of uneasiness in her eyes. Something was definitely bothering her. “I am just holding back, Your Highness.”

          If there was something they had in common, it was deflecting matters they didn’t want to talk over by starting a banter with snarky remarks. Their only difference was that Nikolai was the first one to reach out and try to ask her about it.

          “Zoya,” he said, and Zoya snapped alert like a soldier being called by their commander. “What is it?”

          She held his gaze, a conflicted look evident in her eyes. It was rare to see her not getting straight to the point; she always liked facing everything head on while he preferred beating around the bush for a while before giving in. “It’s not something serious,” Zoya replied. “I just found your earlier behavior strange.” 

          Cold dread washed over Nikolai, and his throat felt completely dry. He put on his usual easy-going grin to cover up his nervousness. “Ah, yes. The reason for my moral dilemma,” he said. He fought the urge to drum his fingers to his knees. Zoya knew that tell.  “Fret not, dearest general, I promise not to do it again.”

          The crease between her eyebrows remained. “You were different,” she said quietly, and this made him wince. He hadn’t felt like himself either. She seemed to realize her tone and recovered with a shake of her head. “Sometimes I keep forgetting you’re the king.”

          And you’re capable of being cruel too, was what Nikolai could hear next, though it was never said aloud. And the worst part of it was Zoya noticing the sudden shift of his demeanor as if he wasn't the man she knew. "It could be quite forgettable indeed, Nazyalensky,” he said mildly, giving Zoya a rueful smile. And for once, he had nothing else to say. 

          He watched her as the stiffness in her shoulders eased yet again, her hand coming up to the sleeve of her kefta and gently pulling at it over the amplifier around her wrist. The lack of weight on his ears became noticeable, and he tried not to reach up to it for comfort. 

          His wolf-tooth amplifiers were left at the palace, stored safely in his chambers. Both Tolya and Tamar had been reluctant to have him remove the amplifier, but he insisted on leaving them as he didn’t want his abilities to strengthen all of a sudden.

            And yet his previous outburst had still happened.

          Nikolai gazed up to his general’s face, to the blue eyes that always held the fire and determination that kept him going, and he was reminded of someone that once had eyes of the same color as hers. The only difference was the look of disgust and fear in that person’s eyes that still haunted him even after years.

          Monster.

          He shuddered, willing the voice of his late brother away. But his voice would forever be the one battling Nikolai’s conscience, the constant reminder that he would always be the aberration in the royal family.

          The worst mistake of their mother. 

          Some time fifteen years ago, it would have been just a normal day for the eight-year old Nikolai, with his older brother treating him like dirt while he continued to seek Vasily’s approval. He wasn’t sure what had prompted the awakening of his powers that time. Maybe it was the fact that they had been near the lake at that time and the waters seemed to have called to him, or his patience for his brother’s constant revilement of him just reached its end. 

          But whatever reason it was, everything only became worse on him from then on.

          Vasily had been his idol, someone he looked up to and wanted to be like one day. Whatever he did, Nikolai showed interest in it too, all in hopes for his older brother to give him the affection and approval he always sought from Vasily. 

          But instead of proud smiles, praises, or even occasional pats on the back, Nikolai received nothing but insults and mockery, anything to make him feel he didn’t belong. And as he grew up, he started to realize that maybe he wasn’t really meant to be one of them. 

          A royal. A true Lantsov. 

          He would always be just Nikolai, and Vasily had never failed to remind him of that.

          “Run along,” his older brother had said, waving a dismissive hand towards Nikolai. He came from somewhere near the Little Palace, possibly from the labs which he started frequenting for the past weeks and Nikolai had been going there as well in hopes to talk to Vasily about anything. 

          Nikolai had to run to catch up with his older brother’s wider strides. “Vasya,” he called, a skip in his steps evident due to his excitement, “have you seen the bulletproof kefta the Fabrikators are trying to make? It can withstand even a sniper’s bullet!”

          Vasily huffed. “They’re not trying to make it, little fool,” he said, clearly annoyed. He quickened his pace, and Nikolai still kept up with him. An exasperated expression appeared on his face. “It’s already bulletproof, and it's nothing that I don’t know of so you don’t have to tell me.”

          The words stung, but Nikolai didn’t let it linger. “Since when have they been like that? And can they withstand a lot of gunshots at once?” he asked. Questions started to pile up in his mind, and he knew once his curiosity got the best of him, it would not stop. “How did the Fabrikators do it?”

          His brother didn’t answer and continued walking. They had taken the long way back to the Grand Palace, rounding the narrow path by the lake at the side that led straight to the royal’s private chambers at the west. Nikolai loved the place to bits. This was where he always pictured his ‘delusions’—as per Vasily’s words—and it involved the image of an extraordinary ship that could fly. 

          Here, he felt at least a bit free. He didn't even have to pretend that he was fine with anything that was happening to him. Where Vasily's sharp words brought sadness to Nikolai, the lake offered comfort, the serenity of the waters calling out to him as if it was where he belonged. 

          It felt like home. So unlike the atmosphere of his family whenever they were around him. 

          Nikolai tore his gaze away from the beauty of the lake. “You know, when I grow up, I want to be like you,” he told Vasily, his pace never wavering. “Like a real prince of—"

          He was cut off when his older brother whirled around to face him, and he walked right into Vasily's side with a muffled oof, causing Nikolai to stumble back a step. 

          Vasily wore a cold, angry expression as he looked down at Nikolai. "Look here, you runt," he said, bowing down a bit and pointing a finger to his little brother's face. His next words came out harsh, and Nikolai never knew it would haunt him for the rest of his life. "You will never be like me, do you hear me? Never." 

          Unwanted tears stung Nikolai’s eyes with his brother’s outburst. He had endured all Vasily's insults before. Even their mother had known of the humiliation he always brought to Nikolai. She was the one who told him to just let it go, and for years, he had done it. 

          So why was he crying now?

          "It doesn't matter whether our mother decides to keep you or possibly disown you someday. You will always be the son of some merchant. A mistake." Vasily sneered. "Nikolai nothing."

          Something inside Nikolai’s chest snapped, and at first, there was total silence as he watched his older brother’s form walk away. Then there was the rushing of blood in his ears and he heard a voice call out to him.

          Let go.

          His hand twitched. A snarl came out from his lips. He felt as if the earth was rumbling beneath his feet when his anger narrowed down to Vasily's retreating figure. 

          Everything flashed before Nikolai’s eyes. All the times his brother treated him like dirt. Every insult, every mockery he had endured, and the anger Nikolai had been keeping in was much deeper than he expected. He focused on that feeling.

          Let go, Nikolai.

          And the lake erupted behind him.

          Vasily only had a second to look back before a whole wave was crashing to him, sending him skidding on the pavement, and the grounds were suddenly flooded everywhere. For a long moment, there was only the sound of rushing water around him and the strange, exhilarating feeling in his chest of seeing his brother sprawled on the ground. 

          Then terror took over, overwhelming Nikolai enough to make him tremble. His eyes widened as he looked down at his hands. 

          What had he done? Had he done that?

          He looked up and spotted Vasily yards away from where he had last been before he was thrown off, coughing up water. Nikolai recovered from his own shock and quickly ran to his older brother. 

          "Vasya?" he called out as he neared, but his voice was not even more than a whisper as if he were afraid of letting him hear. He tried to speak more clearly when he stopped at his brother’s side and reached down to touch his shoulder. "Vasya, are you—" 

          Vasily wrenched away from him, moving so abruptly it knocked Nikolai from his feet and he landed on the ground. "Stay away from me," his brother hissed, pointing a finger at Nikolai as he slowly backed away. Behind the resentment and anger Vasily always sent his way, there was a new emotion in his eyes that Nikolai had never seen before. Fear. "Don't even dare come near me.”

          The tears Nikolai had been holding back finally fell from his eyes, and he didn’t have the strength to wipe it away. What had he done? “I didn’t—” his voice broke as more tears fell down. “I didn’t mean to.” He shook his head, never feeling so hopeless as he was now. “I didn’t mean to.”

          “I should have known there was something wrong with you from the start,” Vasily spat, standing up and backing away from Nikolai like he was some kind of monster. And under his brother’s gaze, maybe he really was. Vasily looked down at Nikolai again. For a long moment, he didn’t say anything. Then a disgusted expression morphed on his face, followed by a scowl. He shook his head. “Grisha? It’s true, then. You’re no Lantsov.”

          Nikolai thought he was already numb from hearing all the insults from his brother. But it turned out he never was, and never had been. He had only bottled it up so much thinking it would fade if he didn’t acknowledge it. He had never felt so wrong.

          “Vasya, it's still me,” he said, and yet the words sounded hollow, meaningless. Could he still prove that he was what he thought he would be? “I’m still your brother.”

          Vasily only shook his head, a hard look evident in his eyes, and it was his next words that Nikolai would hear in his mind for as long as he lived. “You’re a monster.”

          It was the last straw of him trying to gain his brother’s approval. He was never going to be accepted. Not now that people would know who he truly was. 

          Monster.

          With nothing else but another glare sent his way, Vasily turned and left the area, leaving Nikolai to stare at him as he walked away. Would it have been different if he didn’t try to annoy his older brother by asking too much? Was it his fault that his unexpected powers had suddenly manifested at this time? 

          He should have been stronger, braver, to take the insults and brush it off like it was nothing. And yet here he was, only giving his older brother another reason to despise him. 

          Nikolai became ashamed of himself—the first emotion he felt had been euphoria, the eerie delight of finally seeing Vasily cower away from him instead of the other way around. Maybe it really was his fault. 

          It had been a palace guard on patrol duty that saw him later, still sitting on the same place by the lake. Whether hours or days had passed, he didn't know. All he knew that he was exhausted, and if time allowed it, he would have stayed there by the lake that witnessed everything and yet still brought him comfort. He didn't want to go back. 

          It felt more like home than the Grand Palace, anyway. 

          But then his world was small and limited, and for someone young like him, he couldn't afford to run away. He was trapped and bound to live in humiliation, something bastards always experienced. Something he was destined to live through. The saddest thing about it was that he couldn't do anything to change that. 

          Vasily and his parents were already expecting him when he was escorted back to the throne room. His brother’s eyes were dead set on him, a burning fury evident in them. But it wasn't him that caught Nikolai's attention. It was the fourth person at the dais with them. Because of their bright kefta, it only took him a second to realize who they were. 

          A living Grisha amplifier.

          The king barked at the guards to leave the premises, adding that anyone caught poking around would be hanged, and then he ordered the Grisha to confirm Vasily's claims. Nikolai had the urge to run, but he forced his feet to stay where they were. He would not make it more difficult for them all.

          The moment the Grisha touched his wrist, he felt his powers respond instantly. He thought he was ready to come clean, let them know the abilities that had manifested just earlier. And yet in a last, desperate attempt to conceal his powers, he still tried everything to suppress them; when he felt his powers press forward, he pushed them back. He wasn’t sure how he would be able to do it. But whatever effort he seemed to have done was futile, like preventing the tides from crashing to his ship in the middle of the storm, as the small goblet on the table beside the throne exploded, spilling wine over the dais and painting the ground blood red.

          It was real. He was a Tidemaker.

          Grisha.

          Nikolai wrenched his arm away as if he were burned, almost stumbling down when he did. He refused to meet his family’s eyes, and if it was still possible, he felt even smaller under their gazes. The ground could have opened up and swallowed him whole, and he wouldn’t have cared. They probably wouldn’t have cared too. Especially now that they knew about him. 

          Monster.

          For a long moment, there was a complete silence in the room, and Nikolai swore he could hear his heartbeat in his ears. Even without looking up, he felt their gazes on him, heavy enough to make him want to shrink smaller than he was. But it was his mother who approached and knelt down in front of him, and it was only then did he dare to meet his gaze with hers. 

          She held her hands to his face and gave him a smile. Her expression was almost kind, only if it weren't for her smile that looked forced and eyes showing fear and hesitation as she searched his face. Nikolai tried not to show his sadness.

          At least now he knew that even his mother was terrified of him. 

          "My dearest Sobachka," she murmured, her voice mild. She gently caressed his cheek with her thumbs. When she opened her mouth to say more, she only had to close it again when she found that she didn't have anything. 

          Nikolai blinked the unexpected tears away and tried to give a smile back to his mother. But it only made his face crumple, and the next thing he knew, the tears were already falling from his eyes. 

          I'm sorry, he was trying to say. I'm so sorry. 

          He didn't know why he was apologizing, as if doing so would change the reality or undo what he had done, and yet he still did, even though he couldn't say it aloud. 

          You are no royal, Vasily had hissed one time. It was during the supervision of the production of weapons in the Fabrikator labs, when Nikolai gave his insight on what he knew about the material from the book he had been reading. Know your place and keep silent. 

          His mother seemed to have sensed his anguish, and she pulled him in a tight embrace. In her arms, he felt safe and loved, the weight on his shoulders was somehow lifted off. He could let himself believe that maybe his mother still cared for him, that maybe she still accepted who he was. 

          Nikolai could let himself believe in another lie, like the way he let himself believe that his brother would accept him. He could do it again. 

          It was all he ever did, anyway. 

          He finally let his eyes meet his brother's, and Nikolai still saw the lingering look of disgust in his gaze, the same one Vasily always gave Nikolai whenever he tried to talk to him.

          That was the only time he realized his foolishness. How could he have let himself believe that Vasily would accept him? 

          And now, as he stared at the same shade of blue eyes of his commander, Nikolai asked the same thing in his mind. 

          Can you still look at me as your king once you know the truth of who I really am? Can you still trust me? 

          Can you still accept me? 

          Those questions threatened to slip out his mouth, the urge to tell her the truth stronger than he anticipated.

          She’s your General, a voice in his mind said. You can trust her. 

          Then another one interjected. She's had enough of another Grisha ruler controlling the country she fought tooth and nail for. Don't make it harder for her. 

          Nikolai clenched his fist, his nails digging to his palm enough to hurt, and he welcomed the pain. It kept him anchored to the reality he was in. 

          He heard her voice before the sound of the rain falling on the carriage roof. "The weather sure is strange," muttered Zoya, snapping him out of his thoughts. It was only then he heard the patter of rain outside. She scowled at the window. "The twins don't have anything to cover themselves with. We should stop at the nearest town and let the rain pass." 

          "Is that sentiment I hear, General?" Nikolai mused, earning a scowl from Zoya that made him laugh lightly. He was thankful for the easy distraction that only she could give him, and he figured he wasn’t going to ruin this comfortable interaction between them.

          Even if it meant lying to her.

          “It’s called consideration, Your Idiocy,” replied Zoya, and it made him laugh again. “I’m sure that’s what you’re thinking as well.”

          “You put too much faith in me,” he said even before he could think of it. He winced, silently reprimanding himself of speaking his mind. This could be the reason for his demise. He should really learn to control his emotions; but years of ignoring and numbing it when he was young made it difficult for him now. 

          A shadow passed over to his general’s face, and her jaw was set when she asked, “Should I not, Nikolai?” 

          If you know what’s good for you, then you shouldn’t. The thought stung, but it was reasonable. Zoya was trusting the version of him that was the king of Ravka, someone who could be cruel in a blink of an eye and lose control of his abilities once he let his emotions take over. She was believing in someone who was lying to her who he really was.

          And who was he? The young king. The former queen’s greatest mistake. The boy who once wanted his brother’s approval. The child who only wanted his family to accept him. A Tidemaker in hiding.

          Nikolai nothing.

          If Zoya ever met him, the real him that he had hidden beneath tons of masks he got as he grew up, could she still put her faith and trust in him? It was highly unlikely. She would want a ruler who was strong enough to lead a country and be its foundation, not someone who was unstable and always letting his emotions take over. That kind of character was the recipe for the downfall of Ravka, and they couldn’t have that.

          So for the sake of anyone, he put on the mask of a monarch again, burying and forgetting the boy who was once curious about everything.

          That boy wouldn’t survive this cruel world.

          Nikolai covered his thoughts up with an easy grin. “I’ll let you make that decision.”

          A long moment passed. Zoya observed him, the crease between her eyebrows deepening as the seconds ticked by. “I wouldn’t be here if I didn’t put my faith in you,” she said with all the conviction in her voice. “Because whether we both like it or not, we all are carrying the country on our shoulders. It would fall if even the trust between us is fragile. There’s no room for such predicament.” A determined look in her eyes became evident, like a fire burning in her gaze. “Am I wrong?”

          “Far from it, dearest general,” he replied with a small smile. Then he shook his head. “I was merely joking earlier, and I didn’t expect the turn of this conversation.”

          Zoya scowled, and just like that, the heaviness on Nikolai’s shoulders were lifted again. Where would he be without her? “Then stop saying statements with underlying meaning and keep your thoughts leveled,” she said sharply, the commanding voice of a general coming back in her tone. “And enough brooding.”

          He only chuckled as he watched her open the small latch on the carriage wall behind her, where she told Tolya to detour to the nearest town where they can find shelter as they waited for the rain to stop.

          And as the trip continued in silence, there was only one thought in his mind. He will not break her faith in him, even when his way of doing it was by lying to her. 

          Forgive me, Zoya, he thought wistfully. But you’re more important than the truth.

          Nikolai could only hope he was doing the right thing.

[jungcity]

𝐥𝐨𝐯𝐞, 𝐞𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐧𝐚𝐥. | iii

word count: 7k

“my soul 

chose yours 

and a soul 

doesn't just 

forget that”

— b.m.

“This is absurd!”

There was only one thing you wanted to do tonight; curl in your bed and watch korea dramas until your eyes sore from the radiation. But as you roll the wires of the hair-straightener free, all you could do was sniff the tears that was threatening to spill from your eyes.

Yuqi laughed loudly behind you, helping you unroll the knotted wires of the straightener. “Are you seriously gonna cry right now?” She cackled from seeing your frown that could almost reach your chin.

“I don’t know what’s got to my mind. I am seriously the stupidest person to ever exist in the world!” You screamed.

Yuqi’s laughed went louder while patting your back. “No one told you to grab your boss and introduced him as your boyfriend in front of your ex-boyfriend, sis,” Yuqi said, giving emphasis to the word ‘boyfriend’ before continuing, “… so yes, deal with the consequences.”

While praying for the ground to swallow you whole before you hear the honk of Jaehyun’s car in front of your house, you reminisced the insanity of yesterday.

It was a great sunny day. The weather wasn’t too hot, nor it was too cold. Wildflowers are blooming in the grass, with the wind carrying their petals into the air. You smiled, picking one and continuing your walk towards the bus stop with a flower in your hand.

It had been a month since Yuqi was discharged from the hospital. Her recovery had been incredibly fast. Unfortunately, she needed to drop her entry to the archery team— but the coach told her she could always try-out whenever she regained her full-strength. However, the topic is still on debate inside your home, since you didn’t want to see your sister looking as pale as a ghost on a hospital bed again.

Of course, you did not have any choice— again— but to stay in Jung’s Fiscals. Out of compassion or you-don’t-know-what, Jaehyun did not give you too much headache when it came to filing a loan. You were able to pay for all the hospital bills and other expenses such as medicines because of that.

You realized that this life won’t give you any chances to choose the way you wanted to live it. It had felt as if life itself decides for what was going to happen to you. You shook your head and ran from the negative thoughts. The day is bright and the sun is smiling softly at you, you have no reason to be pessimistic. Especially now that Yuqi is all well and far from danger.

There was only one thing that was persistently nagging on your system. Looking at the view outside while the wheels of the bus rolls down the highway, you think about your dreams. Nothing mysterious has happened after you dreamt about the lake— where you heard Jaehyun’s voice calling for someone named Aurora. You have no inkling about who she might be, or what she is to Jaehyun’s life. But there is a high chance that she is nothing but a part of your imagination. At first, you wanted to ask Jaehyun about the name, but his face welcomed no conversations for things other than business. And it felt absurd to ask him about your dream. He obviously has no responsibility to indulge himself to the visions that you see every time you drift asleep. Besides, you couldn’t risk him calling you delusional nor weird.

However, it’s been a month since you last had a peculiar dream. After the lake, all you dreamt about were shallow visions which you easily forgot the next day. It made everything more sinister, for you still remember every detail of the dream you had about Jaehyun. Before you lose your mind from too much thinking, the bus halted in front of Jung’s Fiscals. You gathered your things and departed the vehicle.

Surprisingly, the inside of the lounge gave off a warm atmosphere, so unusual from its grim and quiet surroundings the whole two months you have been working there. You supposed it was your mood that was taking in the bright sides; of the smiles and greetings you were too occupied to notice because you have always struggled every day to please your boss.

Soojin was on her usual place in the front desk, giving you a wave before continuing on her work.

Jung Jaehyun arrived thirty-minutes after you. As usual, he didn’t spare you a glance when you greeted him. It was not like you were expecting him to. Slowly, in the past eight weeks of working for him, you have already got a hold of his frowning, shouting, and disappointed looks. It almost felt like he doesn’t get into your nerves anymore. But sometimes, he still does. Especially right now.

“Where the fuck did you get this coffee?” He scanned the mug in his hand. You narrowed your brows at him. Surely, there wasn’t anything wrong about its taste. You have tasted the coffee for five times, resulting to five spoons waiting for you in the sink. The same taste still lingering in your mouth.

“Sir?”

“Nevermind. Book me a flight to London, send flowers to Johnny Seo— the dick’s giving me too much shit for not going to his gallery’s opening yesterday,” he said the last sentence to himself, clearly frustrated of his friend bumming him out. You quickly typed the important words into your mobile phone, careful not to misspell nor mistyped anything.

Johnny Seo owned a gallery fifteen-minutes away from Jung’s Fiscals. You knew about it when Mr. Seo visited Jaehyun to force him to go. He is a man of a great posture; tall height with lean muscles. Based from your first impression, he is the friendly-type of guy. He even invited you himself when you brought them drinks.

“And—” he paused. You looked at him, anticipating for his next command. Two minutes, of him looking at nowhere and two minutes of you waiting for his mouth to say something. He was completely speechless in his seat, his mouth a thin line and his eyes emotionless.

“Sir?” You decided to break the silence. Albeit not looking at you, his mouth said the order.

“And… make sure the painting from France will be delivered straight in my house tomorrow.”

You jotted the details of the parcel, and mentally reminded yourself to contact the delivery company for Jaehyun’s orders. When you returned to your table, you transferred the notes into the tab that was provided for you. You were halfway into the notes when you received a text from Soojin.

Yuta’s visiting TODAY! Make sure to look your best, bih! 😉

You emitted a silent gasp. Yuta’s arrival wasn’t on your to-do-list for today, and you have no plans to meet him. Soojin hadn’t given you any hint about his arrival, obviously planning to surprise you with the presence of your ex-boyfriend. And she succeeded. Darn it.

You frustratedly typed in the address of Jaehyun’s house into the mail that you created. Shutting your eyes and taking a deep breath, you think about all the possibilities of what could happen later. Soojin’s surely going to give you hell if you stand her up. And you won’t give Yuta the satisfaction of thinking that you still haven’t moved on from your feelings for him. You weren’t trying to be ‘bitter’, you just have no tolerance for cheaters. But for the sake of the friendship that is entwining the three of you, you will go.

Lunch time approached in a dashing speed. For the first time in your whole life, you dreaded the time of eating. There was a pit resting in your stomach by thinking about Yuta. Sure, there is a small part of you that wonders about his whereabouts now, but that curiosity isn’t enough to relive the friendship you once had.

The elevator door tinged, and a smiling Soojin came out. You grunted— there was no running from it now.

“What’s that face, Y/N?” she cooed before sitting on the chair in front of your table. You rolled your eyes at her, showing that you have no time for her teasing.

“C’mon! It’s been years, babe. Don’t tell me you still haven’t moved on?” Soojin raised her perfect brows at you. You threw a crumpled paper her way, earning a loud laugh from her. But it quickly receded as she realized that she was in the same floor as Jung Jaehyun.

“Of course I have moved on! But this meet up, it doesn’t sit well with me. And I don’t understand why are you so eager to see him, not like you didn’t slap him across the cheek when I told you he’s cheating on me,” you reminded her. She, indeed, slapped Yuta before that you feared his teeth would fall off from his gums.

“Like I said, it’s been years. Aren’t you excited to see our old friend?”

No. Yes. Maybe.

“Whatever, Soo. Where is he now?”

At your question, Soojin’s phone buzzed on the table. She mouthed ‘Yuta’ before sliding the green button. “Oh! Nakamoto! Yes, yes. Oooooh! I see that you’re a rich man now! Okay, I’m with Y/N now.” You winced at your name being said to Yuta. “Yes! Okay, okay. Got it!” Then she finished the call with a playful grin plastered on her face.

“He’s already here. And he’s gonna treat us to the nearest restaurant, c’mon!” Soojin dragged you to the elevator, chanting stories after stories as you both walked into the lounge and into the restaurant five-minutes away from Jung’s Fiscals.

Your heart was hammering against your chest as Soojin led you inside. As you passed the door, Soojin sharply turned on you— suddenly fixing your hair like you’re her doll.

“Alright! Let him regret letting you go.” She grinned. You were about to tell her that it’s you who practically let go of Yuta because of his cheating ass when a tall man stood in front of you.

“Yuta Nakamoto!” Soojin squealed, boxing him into a tight hug.

Yuta laughed in her shoulders but his eyes were directly looking at you. You tried to be polite and stretched your lips into a thin smile.

He looks more matured now. He does not look like the playful Yuta with studs almost covering the skin of his ear anymore, but a man who knows what he wants in life. His hair— tied in a neat man bun— is still the white that you remember. Maybe he continued to dye it that way, you will never know. When they pulled away from each other, Yuta spread his arms at you. You reluctantly spread yours and gave him a hug too.

The three of you settled in a four-seater table in the corner of the restaurant near the entrance. Yuta tried to sit beside you but Soojin pulled him beside her and into the seats in front, leaving you sitting alone opposite from them.

“Oh, I need to go to the bathroom,” Soojin said. You widened your eyes at her and she repeated the same expression while gathering her purse. You mouthed the words I’ll kill you before she disappeared from your sight.

You tried your best to ignore Yuta’s furtive glances by skimming the menu. But it was clear by the atmosphere that his tongue was going to say something soon. And he did.

“You looked good, Y/N.” He smiled at you. You chuckled at him, trying your best to sound natural. Once, those smiles were enough to let the butterflies in your stomach stir.

“Yeah, you too.”

He licked his lips, placing the menu on the table and suddenly grabbing your hands. You were too shocked to withdraw, so you let him hold it while looking straight at your eyes.

“Y/N, I know… I know I fucked up. I’m not gonna deny that. But I just wanna say sorry, for the pain that I’d caused you. And I…” He breathed before continuing, “… I came back for you. I… fuck— I still love you.”

You blinked at him, mouth going dry because of his apologies and revelations. Yuta’s eyes were glimmering with something that you could only identify as hope. But his statement didn’t even reach your heart.

It’s not even ten-minutes of you reuniting together. Heck, your butt doesn’t even feel warm in your seat yet. But here he was, ruining everything. However, even after his fucked up declaration, you still tried to gather yourself and remain composed in front of him.

“Don’t fool around Yu—”

He interrupted you by tightening his hold of your hand. “Just give me a chance. I’m a change man now, Y/N.”

Where on earth is Soojin?

“Yuta that is not the problem—”

“Please, Y/N?”

You sighed. This is what you have been telling Soojin all along the way, but she didn’t listen.

“Yuta, I don’t know about that.” You tried to meet his gaze, just so he could see that you were on your edge.

“Why? Soojin told me you’re single. Do you have anyone in your life right now?” He pleaded. You are so going to kill Soojin. You inhaled deep breaths, shutting your eyes. When you opened them, someone caught your attention.

He entered the restaurant like it was his own; with his expensive suit shouting the authority in his every step. His hands on both of his pockets— his eyes coldly scanning the crowd. A faint scowl deepened on his lips as his line of sight slid on to you, sitting and staring at him.

I’m not doing it. You told your brain, but your body seemed to disagree. For you sauntered up to Jung Jaehyun and linked your arms with his. His eyebrows creased, but you smiled widely at him, forcing him to walk to your table.

Stop, Y/N. You still have the chance to save your job and put an end to this nonsense. If your brain could scream, it probably would. But your lips seemed to have a life on its own when it said, “Yuta, this is my boyfriend Jung Jaehyun.” You turned your head from Yuta to your boss. “This is Yuta, my old friend.”

Your smile could reach your ears now, silently praying that your boss would go along this madness. Jaehyun smiled back at you— but you were sane enough to sense the danger between those pearlescent white teeth.

“Let’s sit.” You offered. He was now sitting face to face with Yuta. If your ex-boyfriend was devastated by your announcement, he showed no sign of it for he stretched his arms towards Jaehyun.

“Yuta Nakamoto,” he introduced himself, smiling. Jaehyun stared at his hand for almost a minute. Sweats started to form in your forehead but you let out a sigh when he finally took Yuta’s hand and shook it lightly.

“Jung Jaehyun,” he said. His face had an amused expression as he stared at Yuta, who is now scanning the menu.

“Damn it! I think my stomach’s—” Soojin stopped dead on her tracks, her eyes widening at the sight of her boss sitting beside you. You smiled at her, far too wide to be called natural. But she only widened her eyes.

“Oh, you’re back,” Yuta chimed. He stood up to let Soojin sit on her chair.

“We have Y/N’s boyfriend joining us,” Yuta declared. Soojin almost lost her balance.

“B-boyfriend?” She frantically exchange glances between you and Jaehyun. You swear you were going to collapse soon. But Soojin’s surprised reaction slowly receded to that of an understanding one.

“Oh yes! Ha-ha! Jung Jaehyun, right?! Long time no see!” Soojin even reached for Jaehyun’s shoulder and tapped it lightly. What the fuck? You almost wanted to scream at her, grabbing her hands away from Jaehyun. He looked at his shoulder, to the spot where Soojin touched him and you swear both of you would be dead meat later.

Your orders came— stopping Jaehyun from his quest to burn Soojin with his eyes— and the four of you shared a deafening silence with only the clanking utensils providing the sound.

“So, what do you do these days Jung Jaehyun?” Yuta decided to ask.

You glanced at Soojin, who choke on her food. She looked at you with after-this-we-are-fucking-dead eyes.

Jaehyun was silent for a moment, and you thought he was never going to answer when he wiped his mouth with a dabbing manner and said, “CEO of the building five-minutes away from here.” Then he added, “You?”

Well, that was unexpected.

“That’s cool. I am an actor and a musician in Japan,” Yuta said before biting his food.

You swear you almost heard Jaehyun scoffed, which made your head turn to him so sudden you thought your neck would snap.

“Actor, huh? Suits you.”

They refused to look at each other as they talk. You felt the tension rising up by Jaehyun’s last statement, for Yuta stopped on his chewing. Soojin kicked your shin below the table. She, too, felt the atmosphere as it thickens.

You cleared your throat before Yuta could retaliate. “The salad is good! Try it guys!”

Soojin seconded your motion. The two men snapped their heads to each of your direction.

“Try it, Jae.” The nickname tasted bitter in your mouth. You have witnessed as the same bitterness transferred to your boss’ expression.

“Thanks, chérie.”

There. That pet name again. You tried so hard not to let them notice the tremble of your hand as you leaned a little closer to Jaehyun to put salad on his own plate.

“Are you free this night?” Yuta suddenly voiced, glancing in each of you surrounding him. “Let’s go clubbing tonight. The drink’s on me.” He winked at Soojin, who excitedly shifted on her seat.

You gave Jaehyun a sideway glance, but you couldn’t make up his expression for he was drinking a glass of water. You nudged Soojin below the table. She only widened her eyes at you.

If there was one thing the both of you haven’t done together in a while, it is clubbing. You were absolutely sure that she was not going to bail on Yuta in this adventure.

“That sounds exciting!” Soojin cheered, clapping her hands together.

Yuta looked at you. “How about you, Y/N?”

“I don’t think—”

“We’re going,” Jaehyun declared.

And that is why you are wearing something out of your comfort zone tonight, with your sister straightening your hair.

“Tell me what happened after lunch,” Yuqi teased. You rolled your eyes but told her the story nevertheless.

Soojin couldn’t stop bowing in front of Jaehyun when the three of you returned to the building you thought she was going to cry. Jaehyun only waved her off without saying anything. Then she dashed to the front desk, throwing an apologetic look your way.

The ride inside the elevator was harrowing. Jaehyun’s arms were crossed against his chest, with you fidgeting beside him.

“I’m sorry,” you quietly voiced.

Avoiding both your reflections on the silvery façade of the elevator, you decided to look down at your shoes instead. He didn’t say anything, but you seriously need to make sure that he was not going to fire you.

“You don’t need to go tonight. I know you’re a busy person. And I’m really, really sorry for dragging you into this—”

“You talk too much.” He shifted to face you. Suddenly, you felt the atmosphere warming up inside the elevator.

A finger touched your chin. Then you felt your face as it slowly lifted to meet Jaehyun. You could swim into the depths of his eyes but you were afraid to drown. How could someone be as beautiful as him? You couldn’t believe someone’s face could be as flawless as his; with his perfect brows, to his nose, and to his lips. His skin bore no scar— only perfection.

“See you later,” he breathed. Only then you realized that your faces were utterly so close your lips could almost touch.

“You can stop drooling now,” he said, walking away from you. Your hand flew in your mouth, checking if you were indeed drooling. Shutting your eyes of frustration as you didn’t feel any liquid beside your lips.

But of course, you hide that information from Yuqi.

“Wow! You looked pretty!” She cheered while looking at your reflection in the mirror. Your frown never ceased. It only deepened when you heard the loud honk of a car outside.

“Oh! The CEO is here!” Yuqi singsonged, tickling your sides. You slapped her hands away before walking outside to meet Jaehyun.

Your breath caught in your throat as you see him leaning on his car wearing a casual outfit; white shirt paired with black pants. To be honest, you’d thought he was going to the club with his usual suit and black shoes. He looked much younger in his clothes now, fresher even. The tight atmosphere surrounding him seems to vanish.

You pinched your skin, diving back into reality.

“Yuqi, please take care. Call me if you need anything!” you told your sister, a silent warning exuding from your mouth. She nodded like a puppy while hugging the door frame, trying to get a glimpse of Jaehyun amidst the thick bushes of plants covering the gates.

“I’ll go now.” You shook your head. Yuqi waved you off with a flying kiss.

Jaehyun took a last sip of his blunt before tossing it into the nearest trashcan and walking around his car, not even bothering to open the door for you. You rolled your eyes and pulled the car door open for yourself.

Cigarettes After Sex is blasting through the speakers as you slump into the bullet seat. You have never imagined Jaehyun listening to music, but you guess you really can’t judge a book by its cover. And you enjoy a good music once you heard one, so the ride to the bar weren’t as horrible as you’d expected it would be.

No words were spoken the whole ride, not even when you entered the establishment. Booming electro-pop sounds filled the whole place, making your heart jump together with the speakers. You adjusted your eyes against the LED lights, trying to search the crowd for Soojin and Yuta. Jaehyun is on his way to the counter, leaving you to search alone.

A girl waved at you from the mezzanine floor of the bar. You squinted your eyes to see her face. It was Soojin. You waved back and motioned your hands to where Jaehyun was sitting, taking a shot of tequila.

“Sir—uhm— Jae, found them.”

You bit your tongue of the informality that rolled from it. That is one of the things you were not sure of tonight— formalities. And you have no idea how Jaehyun would have reacted to you calling him by his name, maybe he would really terminate you after this night. He threw you a sideway glance, one brow rising with a shot glass kissing his mouth. You quickly turned your back on him and started walking to where Soojin was.

Oh, what dread greeted you once you have reached their location. Both Yuta and Soojin were sitting on the red sofa— and because they preferred the furthermost seats, all that was left was a one-seater plush sofa. You felt Jaehyun’s presence behind you. He, himself, halted on his tracks as he noticed the only remaining seat. Both of your friends scanned the surroundings, with Soojin ploddingly covering her mouth— slowly realizing the predicament you were into.

Despite the nervousness already coating your body, you tried your best to stay calm. But Jaehyun doesn’t seem to share the same calming technique as you, for he walked to the one-seater, sat on it, looked at you, then tapped his lap.

“Here, babe.”

Babe? What on earth? You widened your eyes at him, hoping that he could see the warning against the pulsing lights around you. His lips turned into a coy smile, showing you that he was enjoying himself right now. Of course, Jaehyun would take every chance to settle your hash. You should have known better.

“There’s no more seat left but here on my lap,” he added.

You saw in your peripheral how Soojin choked on her own saliva. You swear you’d kill Jaehyun once this is all over. You really would, and probably he would do the same to you. Tightening your hands on your purse, you whispered a silent prayer  to the saints who might be watching and listening to you now, then trudged the distance between you and Jaehyun with a heavy heart.

“You can sit here, Y/N. I’ll fetch my own,” Yuta interrupted before you could sit on Jaehyun’s lap. He was smiling while tapping his seat between Jaehyun and Soojin. You glanced at Jaehyun. He had that impish look on him as he stared at Yuta; like he was a toy he wanted to play.

“Y/N, what are you still doing standing there?” Soojin waved her hands, encouraging you to snap out of your reverie and finally sit beside her.

You sat uncomfortably in the plush sofa, glancing at Jaehyun every now and then. There was boredom in his eyes as he looked at the surroundings— of dancing bodies and couples making out in the corner.

“Is he okay?” Soojin whispered. You looked at her and shrugged. Since you have never seen Jaehyun inside a bar before, you really couldn’t tell whether he was fascinated or stultified by the happenings around him. Either way, you ignored him and started drinking when Yuta came back, with a waiter carrying a seat for him.

Soojin leaned onto you again. “Let’s have some fun and leave the boys to have their manly talk.”

You answered her with a stupefied look. But she already got her arms linked to yours, pulling you up from your seat.

“It’s time for us to have some girls’ night, so I hope you both won’t mind!” Soojin flashed the two men her white and perfect teeth.

Yuta glanced at Jaehyun, and then back to Soojin. “Enjoy yourselves while the night is still young.” He smiled.

Soojin suddenly slapped his arms. “You sound like an old man!”

Then she pulled you down the stairs and into the throng of dancing bodies. Soojin screamed before diving into the crowd, pulling you with her. The both of you started to dance, leaving both Yuta and Jaehyun behind.

—

Jaehyun stared at the crowd, his eyes fixated on you. He regretted going to this awful place the moment he stepped in and heard the blasting music, but maybe his night wouldn’t be a waste if he kept on watching you losing your shit into the music.

He took another shot of the liquor, wincing for it didn’t even make his throat tighten. The boy in front of him making everything worth wincing for.

Yuta took a swig from his own bottle, gulping down almost half of its content before looking at you again. The way that he tried to worship you with only his eyes made something inside Jaehyun ticked. Nothing would happen if he won’t break the ice. Taking another shot from his glass, he decided to worsen the tensed atmosphere coaxing their surroundings.

“You’re not human.”

Yuta gave him a sideway glance. “Yeah?”

“Yeah? I can smell your fae shit from a mile so you better cut the bullshit and reveal yourself to me now.”

Yuta seemed taken aback by his words. And that was when Jaehyun knew he already caught the bird. “Are you on drugs? Listen man, I don’t know what’re you talking about,” Yuta said, looking for you in the crowd.

Jaehyun leaned closer— eyes as cold as a dead corpse as he pinned down Yuta with a stare. “You do know what I’m talking about. And I know what you are. But you, you don’t know what I am.”

Jaehyun does not miss anything. Not even the slightest twitch of Yuta’s jaw by his last sentence. He doesn’t know how this fae in front of him hides his pointed ears and he does not give a fuck. But he couldn’t let Yuta sit there and not know that he was in the presence of The Fallen, and that someone more powerful than him could sense behind his glamour.

Yuta have him a calculating look then, the fae senses of him piercing through Jaehyun’s soul. Yet he couldn’t seem to figure out what creature Jaehyun truly is. He was devoid of anything human and monstrous— not a vampire nor a lycanthrope, certainly not a warlock— that much was for sure. In the depths of Yuta’s sleuthing, he found something immaculate, hateful, and eternal. And those feelings only belonged to someone who is older than the world itself— of a creature once descended into heaven, standing beside the Almighty Himself.

“Lucifer?” Yuta whispered incredulously.

Jaehyun continued staring at Yuta until the latter shifted uncomfortably in his seat. “I see that you’re not as dumb as I’ve expected.”

The fae accepted Jaehyun’s taunting— not that he could do anything other than that in the presence of Lucifer. He should have sensed it earlier, when they ate together. But he was so enraptured by meeting you again he did not had any time to sense that something was amiss.

Giggling, both you and Soojin made your way back to Jaehyun and Yuta. Soojin was the first one to sit back on her place beside the latter. While you slowed your steps, drinking in the intense atmosphere between the two men. What happened?

Soojin was laughing merrily as she told Yuta stories about your little adventure in the dance floor. You giggled with her but before you could take another step, Soojin’s feet suddenly blocked the way, making you trip on your toes. A loud gasp escaped your lips before you closed your eyes and waited for the drop to happen. But a pair of strong hands caught your arms— balancing you. Your nose bumped against hard muscles. When you looked up, you saw Jaehyun gazing down at you.

The world suddenly stopped along with your body. You stared at his eyes, heart beating loudly against your chest. His face, mere inches away from you that you could feel his breath fanning your cheeks. Just like in your dreams— when he guided you towards the center of the hall to dance with him.

To hell with the rules, to hell with the barriers separating you and Jaehyun— for the first time in your whole life, you have never wanted to kiss someone as you do right now. It wouldn’t hurt to let those lips touch yours, right? You closed your eyes, slowly tipping your toes to reach those invitingly red lips when a pair of strong arms grabbed you away from Jaehyun.

It happened so fast. You slammed into someone’s chest yet again. You opened your eyes to see Yuta looking at Jaehyun with enough fire to burn the whole building, arms wrapped protectively around your shoulders.

“What the hell, Yuta?!” you screamed and tried to wiggle yourself free. But he only tightened his hands on your shoulders, causing you to wince. Soojin was stoned in her seat, with her fingers wrapped around the glass of vodka. The people around you started to watch the scene unfolding before their eyes with excitement which annoyed you.

“Enough of this game, Y/N.” His tone was serious, and his eyes never left Jaehyun.

Jaehyun worked his jaw. “Let her go.”

Yuta tensed but he didn’t stir. Which you think amused Jaehyun even more.

“I don’t take orders from you,” Yuta spat.

Jaehyun raised his brow, a smirk playing on his lips. His eyes bearing a darkness you have never seen before. A darkness that could summon lightning and storm or break the ground open. It sent chills down your spine. He does not look human at all.

He walked languidly towards Yuta, and only when they stood face to face did Jaehyun let himself talk.

“You dare defy me?”

Every words was slow— like he was tasting the dominance dripping from his mouth. Yuta’s grip on you slackened. Before you knew it, his fist already collided against Jaehyun’s jaw. You gasped along with the people watching on the sidelines. Bouncers ran to where you were located and tried to get a hold of the two men. Jaehyun jerked away from their hold before wiping the blood off the side of his lips.

Soojin was quick to wrapped her arms around you, but Jaehyun grabbed your arms again. The both of you walked towards the exit with you barely catching up on his long strides. He pushed the button on his keys, and his car made a sound.

Jaehyun opened the door for the bullet seat. “Get in,” he commanded.

“No.”

By your answer, he stood there, staring at you. The intensity in his eyes made your heart skip a beat, but you stood your ground. What the hell happened inside the bar? To him and Yuta? And where would he bring you? You have enough questions in your mind not to go with him now.

“Get. In.” He insisted, every word laced with authority.

“Make m—”

“Trust me, chérie. You wouldn’t want to finish that sentence,” he interrupted.

You shut your mouth, blinking. Jaehyun raised his brow, motioning you to get in his car. Sighing, you lazily sat on the bullet seat. Complete silence enveloped you as there was no music playing to carry the uneasiness away. You glanced at Jaehyun every now and then, and every time you do, he was checking on the split on his lips.

Albeit not knowing the true reasons of Yuta’s rage, guilt still rests in the pit of your stomach. You have also known Yuta as a troublemaker when you were still in college. Trouble has its way to cling onto him, and you always find him brawling with another student in the fields of the school every now and then. It is a surprised that he graduated on time despite his records. And now that you think of it, you guess old habits really die hard.

Jaehyun stopped in front of your small apartment. Both of you never said anything as you opened the door and made your way out of his car. But you held on to the door, not letting it close behind you.

You bit your lips, turning to face him, “Let me at least tend to your wound.”

“There’s no need.” Jaehyun tightened his grip on the steering wheel.

“Please.”

You were surprised to see him open the door beside him and depart his car. Maybe you have never expected him to oblige that easily. He followed you inside the apartment and into the living room. At first, he was reluctant to sit on the sofa.

“You can sit, Sir. We clean the house every day.” You rolled your eyes. Rich people are annoying.

Quickly, you knocked onto Yuqi’s door. When she didn’t answer, you gathered the first aid kit at the drawers located in the kitchen, then poured some water to the glass and served it to him.

You sat beside your boss, then you started pouring alcohol to the cotton balls and started dabbing it on his split lips.

His eyes bore into your face, making you uncomfortable. The redolence of tequila mixed with mint wafted your nose as he spoke, “You should be careful around that boy.”

“You can’t give me orders outside work, Sir.” You exerted a bit force in dabbing the cotton ball, but he didn’t even wince.

“I absolutely could, chérie.”

You snapped, “Stop calling me ‘chérie’.”

“Why? Because it makes you nervous?” He held your wrist, pinning you with his gaze. He was right. It does makes you nervous, but you would never let him see that.

“Ha! Of course not!” You scoffed.

You tried to free yourself from his grasp, but he only tightened his grip. It feels like déjà vu. But unlike the other time, there was no buzzing of phones and dreadful news to stop what was bound to happen.

Before you could even blink, Jaehyun’s lips crashed into yours. Shocking waves of electricity traveled your body. Tickles ran down your head to your toes. His lips moved, and you melted with the feeling that you moved your lips too. It felt like a spark, a slight push to drive Jaehyun mad— for he deepened the kiss, hunger and intensity mixing with it. The cotton ball fell into the ground, along with all your senses. Every ravenous kiss you answered with the same fierceness. You bit each other’s lips, tongues colliding inside your mouths—

Jaehyun immediately pulled away, with a curse escaping his mouth. You blinked at him. The kiss you shared leaving a blackhole into your system.

“Fuck.” He stood up, pacing back and forth. Then he picked up his keys and walked away.

The wheels of his car screeched against the asphalt road. You let him go, because what else could you possibly do?

—

The sound of heels colliding with the floor filled the whole of Jaehyun’s penthouse. He never needed to turn to see who had arrived.

“My prince.” The woman said mockingly.

Jaehyun scoffed, “Chaelin.”

The woman poured liquor to the spare glass lying on the table, then she joined Jaehyun in watching the cars and streetlights below the silence of the city.

“The newborns has been taken care of,” she started.

“Good.”

“Good? You didn’t even bother to visit, knowing that Taeyong is out of the country doing God-knows-what.”

Jaehyun chuckled and gave Chaelin a glance. “What did he say?”

The woman lifted her middle finger. “This.”

He ignored the vulgar gesture and walked straight to where the liquor was located, turning his back again to the woman. “Taeyong isn’t a vampire Primus for nothing. And those newborns are the result of their wanting to spread out their dying legacy,” Jaehyun stated.

“And they are doing an absolute great job on it,” Chaelin added.

Taeyong has been recruiting humans to join his clan of vampires for hundreds of years now. His newborns are usually those who became too tired to be normal. And no, he does not force and bend their necks to sip their blood. Taeyong has a peculiar sense of doing everything in order, so he made a document to be signed by the humans who wanted to be vampire before they go through the process. It’s not a secret that newborn vampires are the wildest breed of netherworlders, so Taeyong made bars that would keep them until it’s safe enough to let them roam around.

His vampires does not harm humans. No one would dare. For he vowed to chop their heads off himself if they dare lay a hand on a person. So they mostly feed from animals. But a dent was made by his newborns when Taeyong flew out of the country to attend whatever bullshit that needed his presence. His newborns almost killed a man, sending Chaelin to fix the mess until their Primus arrived to kill them.

That was the same argument Chaelin and Jaehyun talked about two months ago, the one he suspected you heard.

“By the way, did you give the ointment to the girl?” Chaelin asked, crossing her legs into the futon.

“Doyoung gave me too much shit when I asked him for that. He even forced me to pay five aurum for it. Five. Aurum.” Chaelin emphasized.

Aurum is the money netherworlders used as their currency— the Latin term for gold. And netherworlders refers to vampires, warlocks, lycanthropes and such.

The aurum has the same color as gold and it’s similar to coins, with a circle embossed on it. One aurum is enough to buy (not rent) a small apartment if used in the human world. It’s not a surprised Chaelin has gone a little bonkers to the payment Doyoung insisted her to pay.

Doyoung is a warlock, residing in the forest. He actually owned a mansion in the middle of the forest, and that is where he often does magic. And Chaelin deserved an applause for traveling there alone.

“You went alone?” Jaehyun asked.

Chaelin checked her long nails. “Of course not. I brought Jeno with me. I know it would please Doyoung to see his favorite pup.”

“But Jeno won’t be pleased if he heard you calling him pup. He could be the next alpha.”

“Jeno isn’t as easily insulted as you, Jaehyun. And you can’t talk about that while Johnny is still alive and leading the pack.” The woman rolled her eyes.

“Whatever, Lilith.”

“It’s Chaelin now.”

“Why? Does it hurt to remember how the Almighty banished you from Eden and literally replaced you with a girl named Eve?”

“Watch it, Lucifer.” Chaelin’s warning earned a chuckle from Jaehyun. “As far as I know, we were both banished.” There was enough venom in her tone that made Jaehyun halt, suddenly remembering the glory he once had.

“And you must know that I don’t bow to the wants of a patriarch,” she added.

“It’s what the Almighty wished you to do, promising to forgive and make a place in heaven for you if you oblige.”

That was true. The Almighty will forgive Chaelin and lift her punishment once she agreed to be loyal and faithful to Adam. But she refused, over and over again. She was lucky, Jaehyun thought, for the Almighty still wanted her in heaven. Unlike him, who He banished beyond redemption.

Chaelin stood up and made her way to the door. She veered the door open before saying, “I don’t want to redeem myself. He could punish me all over again. But I, I won’t falter. For my pride is higher than the heaven, itself.”

Jaehyun shook his head. But he completely understands the woman. He sat on one of the stools in the kitchen counter, breathing in the silence once again.

“Chaelin,” he called out. The woman turned on her heels to hear what he was about to say.

“There’s a fae bastard roaming around. Make sure he’s taken care of.”

He doesn’t need to turn sideways to see the silent nod the woman made. Then the door clicked close.

Chaelin and him— two creatures molded from the same clay. She was casted out of Eden, and him out of heaven. But unlike when Jaehyun was exiled from heaven— all bloodied and bruised— Chaelin had a triumphant smile in her when she walked out of the paradise and into freedom. Chaelin wasn’t even as powerful as Jaehyun, but she was way more happier.

Into the dead of the night, with only the moonlight slipping into the floor-to-ceiling glass of Jaehyun’s penthouse, he thought about you. About the kiss you shared.

It was foolish of him to let the wanting overcome his senses. But the curve and plumpness of your lips made it hard to hang on to his principles. And before he knew what he was doing, he’s already cupping your cheeks, kissing you with a hunger he didn’t know lay quiet inside him. Yes, he’s kissed and bedded women after all those years of loneliness because of Aurora’s death, but he never once felt something as he did when your lips collided with his. He kissed and kissed you, and for the first time, Aurora’s face flashed in his mind. It should bother him, but no matter what he tells himself, kissing you didn’t feel like cheating. Despite all of it, he still wanted to get rid of your taste in his mouth. So he grabbed his phone inside his pocket and dialed a number.

“Get that pretty ass on here, Mina.”

—

[detectiveinchicago]

Sparks Fly: Chapter 9

“This is my third night, and this guy hasn’t shown up” Caitlyn asked getting out of her undercover car and walking into the club, “What makes you think he is coming this time?”

“There have been three days with no victims, the last two weeks he killed almost every day” Jess answered in her ear “He is out of control and he can’t stop himself”

“We still don’t have nothing on him,” Caitlyn said tiring of waiting

“There haven’t been reports of people being killed that match the descriptions, so I don’t think we have to wait much longer”

Perfect. Couldn’t he keep quiet? Why did he have to speak? The first night Sheryll and Jess had come as a backup, yesterday it was O.A and today it was Kenny. At least if he was going to torture her with his existence, let him do it in silence. While Jess and Sheryll were outside in the surveillance van.

And like the other days, the hours passed, and nothing happened. And just like the other days, Caitlyn was more than disappointed that the murderer hadn’t shown up once again. Maybe he had discovered them or lowed the profile for a while.

“Guys, I’m going to the dressing room, I’m finishing my shift” Caitlyn informed them softly as she walked towards the locker room.

“See you later at HQ” Jess informed in her ear.

“Copy that” Kenny answered by turning off his microphone.

When I entered the locker room, it was almost empty. There were five girls left out of a staff of fifteen, Caitlyn always tried to go last to check the place out. She turned off her microphone and greeted her companions before going out the back door, as usual, lit a cigarette and placed it in her mouth, leaning against the wall in front of the club while she watched the last customers leave. Smoking reminded him of his old habits when he was a teenager he had a rebellious period before graduating.

“Do you still smoke?” Kenny’s voice spoke behind her back.

Caitlyn rolled her eyes and offered him a cigarette, “Character only” she said.

Kenny placed it in his mouth, taking the lighter she offered him and lighting the cigarette.

“So ... did you see something suspicious?” Caitlyn asked, taking a drag on her cigarette.

“Nothing, maybe this guy doesn’t attack inside the club, maybe he follows them home and drugs them on the street” Kenny suggested pulling the cigarette out of his mouth “I hate this thing, how can you stand it?”

Caitlyn smiled slightly “At least pretend you smoke and that we are having a casual conversation”

Kenny took a drag on his cigar and lightly touched “Seriously, this is poison Caitlyn”

“Yeah, I know” Caitlyn replied rolling her eyes.

“Kenny, you said the other day that this guy was six feet tall and had blonde hair, right?” Caitlyn asked Kenny.

“Yes, at least I could see that’s what I could see on the cameras that the detectives recovered” Kenny responded by looking at her “Why?”

“See that couple over there?” Caitlyn responded by pointing to two people crossing the street “Something is wrong”

“They are just drunk” Kenny said, looking at the wobbly couple.

“Except she is my partner Robin” Caitlyn informed him, throwing the cigarette on the floor and stubbing it out with the toe of her shoe.

“If you want me to understand you need to be more specific” Kenny said imitating her and putting out his cigarette

“She’s gay, her girlfriend Tessa works at the bar and she always has to stay to sort the bottles so Robin stops here to smoke exactly like we’re doing now” Caitlyn explained “She told me this the first night that I was here”

“It’s worth trying” Kenny told her starting to cross the street “The girl is high” he said walking behind them

“My car is on the other side” Caitlyn informed him

“I have mine on the next block” Kenny replied taking a photo of the couple “It could be him, but how do you know that she is not going with him voluntarily?”

“Trust me, my instinct tells me that something is wrong” Caitlyn replied

“Maybe they’re just going to have sex in a more private place” Kenny argued

“Kenny stop,” Caitlyn said stopping the march “Why are you doubting me?”

“We can’t stop them just for being drunk” Kenny replied before seeing how the girl fell and the boy lifted her like a rag doll “Ok, I’ll take that back”

“You see?” Caitlyn replied “Kiss me”

“What?” Kenny asked turning to see her surprised. However, Caitlyn did not give him time to answer and pounced on him placing her hands around his cheeks. Kenny was sure it was the 4th of July or that he was playing the Super Bowl because he could feel the adrenaline rushing through his veins. God, he had forgotten how good a kisser Caitlyn was and how good her perfume smelled.

“He’s still looking at us” she whispered, pulling away from him briefly and running her nose down his neck.

“The car is on the corner” Kenny replied.

“He’s already getting her into his car” she replied walking across the street while Kenny put an arm around her shoulders

“Do you think he discovered us?” He asked, giving her kisses on the neck

“I don’t think so, he’s starting the car” Caitlyn giggled at the tickle “I can’t see the license plate” she added, climbing up next to the passenger of the car.

Kenny kissed her again as the other car passed them.

“Ok, too many kisses for today” Caitlyn answered rolling her eyes.

“Nothing you wouldn’t have done before” Kenny said wryly, parodying her answer from the other day in the locker room.

“Hilarious” she replied rolling her eyes “I’m sending Jess and Sheryll our location”

“If this is him we need to confirm” Kenny said without looking at her

“Jess and Sheryll say they are coming here but they were already at the hotel with the rest of the team” Caitlyn informed him “It will take them a while to get here”

Being in a car with her husband was not exactly how she intended to end her night. She took the time to look at him carefully now that he was concentrating on driving. He was tense, his jaw was clenched, he had his eyebrows furrowed, and still, in profile, Caitlyn could see his dark circles. “Was he sleeping well?” She wondered briefly before realizing that she was being ridiculous, wondering about something that more than likely did not correspond to her. She remembered the kiss from a few minutes ago and instinctively touched her lips, it had been unexpected but it made her remember how good Kenny’s lips tasted and the smell of his fresh mint breath.

The suspicious car took them to the docks and away from where Jess and Sheryll were, the docks were even darker and abandoned at night, the other car stopped in a warehouse while Kenny and Caitlyn watched from the entrance of the dock. The suspect dragged the girl out of the car like a corpse, and Caitlyn took a picture.

“Now we don’t need an excuse to come in, I’m sure dragging a girl doesn’t count as having sex voluntarily” Kenny said turning to look at her. Caitlyn stared at him. God, his eyes made her feel at home.

“Now we don’t need an excuse to come in, I’m sure he doesn’t have permission to come in here and that dragging a girl doesn’t count as having sex voluntarily,” Kenny said turning to look at her. Caitlyn stared at him, god, his eyes made her feel at home, wherever he was she was at home “What?”

“Nothing” Caitlyn said “The team is still 10 minutes out”

“Then we go in alone” Kenny answered getting out of the car, opening the trunk where the bulletproof vests and the big guns were.

“We definitely can’t wait,” Caitlyn added taking the vest and checking one weapon, adjusted her jacket, and pulled the vest over it.

“Ok, let me help you with that” Kenny offered and Caitlyn couldn’t help but smile sideways when they were still sharing equipment he always had a habit of checking that her bulletproof vest was adjusted correctly. Kenny took Caitlyn’s necklace in her hands, “Are you still carrying this thing?” he asked looking at the wedding ring on the necklace.

“Of course, it is my lucky charm” she replied with a small smile.

“Of course” He replied, shaking his head and catching her smile.

Caitlyn warned the team they were entering while they turned on their body cameras and advanced, the door was closed but it only needed a hair clip for Caitlyn to open it, Kenny would never finish understanding how she could do that so quickly. The warehouse entrance was empty; they had turned off the lights on their guns so as not to alert the suspect so they had to settle for the dim light of the warehouse “Right side clear” Caitlyn whispered.

“Left side clear” Kenny answered

They moved forward down the hall, there were no more rooms but there was light at the end of the hall, there was a stairwell that led to a lower level. They both moved down, there was Robin, Caitlyn’s companion at the club, she was bound by her hands and legs and had tape over her mouth.

“Calm down, let’s untie you,” Caitlyn said, finishing clearing the room.

Kenny untied the girl, but he wasn’t fast enough to prevent what happened next. Robin moved trying to scream, Kenny turned around and before she could warn Caitlyn he saw the killer rise behind her and stab her.

Kenny raised his gun and shot the killer who fell to the ground next to Caitlyn “Agent down. We need an ambulance on our location. Now” he said on the radio as he approached her “Stay still” Kenny advised her while he touched her shoulder.

“It hurts like hell” Caitlyn cried feeling the blood run down her shoulder, Kenny pressed on the wound and Caitlyn let out a groan

“Yes, I know” Kenny replied “But it’s the only way to stop the bleeding”

“It hurts” Caitlyn moaned.

“I know” Kenny replied again as Caitlyn’s eyes rolled with exhaustion.

She threw her head back, looked Kenny in the eye, and smiled slightly. He could still get her breath out. Even after so many years and no matter how much time passed, Kenny would always be her first great love. They could be grandparents and he would still make her feel like a schoolgirl. Sadly, too much water had passed under the bridge.

The apology was on the tip of her tongue. She wanted to tell him she was sorry, but she didn’t think he cared either. Hell, the way her shoulder ached, and she was feeling sleepy, Caitlyn was sure it was a product of the loss of blood, but at that moment her brain wanted to take a nap. Maybe she should close her eyes for a while until the ambulance arrived.

“This is no time for a nap Caitlyn” she heard Kenny say. Damn, how badly she wanted to close her eyes.

“Just a catnap, I promise” Caitlyn mumbled with her eyes closed. Hell, how his head hurt and it was suddenly cold. She knew that the tiredness, the cold, and the bleeding caused the headache, but she couldn’t help it. A cat nap couldn’t hurt anyone.