#light spice

The first thing you noticed when you woke up was the weight of an arm slung across your waist. The next thing was the mop of blue hair splayed across the pillow next to you, messy and wild, and impossibly vibrant in the dim morning light filtering through the cracked blinds.

Jinx was still asleep, her face relaxed and peaceful, a stark contrast to the manic energy she usually carried around like a storm cloud. Her lips were slightly parted, a faint snore escaping every few breaths. You let yourself take her in, from the freckles scattered across her nose to the way her lashes cast soft shadows on her cheeks.

God, she was beautiful.

Last night had been a lot, but the best way. You weren’t sure whether you should be more surprised by how utterly chaotic she was or how gentle she could be when she wanted to. That duality was Jinx in a nutshell—always unpredictable, always keeping you on your toes.

Your movement must have disturbed her, because she let out a low groan, her pink eyes fluttering open. A lazy grin spread across her face when she saw you staring.

“Well, well, well,” she drawled, her voice raspy with sleep. “If it isn’t my favorite little snuggle buddy. Morning, sugarbomb.”

You couldn’t help but laugh at her ridiculous nickname. “Morning, baby.”

She stretched like a cat, her body pressing against yours as she yawned dramatically. “So, was it everything you dreamed of?” she teased, waggling her eyebrows. “And more?”

You rolled your eyes, even as your cheeks burned. “You’re incorrigible.”

“That’s a big word for someone who was screaming my name a few hours ago.”

“Jinx!”

Her laughter was loud and unabashed as she flopped onto her back, one hand resting behind her head while the other reached for yours. She laced her fingers with yours, squeezing gently. Despite her teasing, there was a softness in her gaze that made your heart ache in the best way.

“I’m serious, though,” she said after a moment, her tone quieter. “You good? I didn’t, you know, go too far or anything?”

You squeezed her hand in return, touched by her concern. “I’m more than good, Jinx. Last night was amazing.”

Her grin returned, this time a little smug. “Damn right it was.”

You rolled your eyes again, but there was no hiding your smile.

She sat up suddenly, the sheets pooling around her waist, and turned to look at you with that familiar mischievous glint in her eyes. “You hungry? I’m starving. I could totally make us some breakfast.”

You raised an eyebrow. “Can you even cook?”

She gasped, clutching her chest like you’d mortally wounded her. “Excuse you, I’ll have you know I make a mean pancake. Probably. How hard can it be?”

“Oh no,” you groaned, but you couldn’t stop the laughter bubbling up. “We’re going to burn the apartment down, aren’t we?”

“Only one way to find out!”

Before you could protest, Jinx was out of bed, stark naked and completely unbothered as she darted toward the kitchen. You buried your face in your hands, half-exasperated and half in awe of her sheer audacity.

A few minutes later, you followed her, wrapping yourself in one of the oversized shirts she’d stolen from some poor shopkeeper in the Undercity’s market. You found her rummaging through the cabinets, her hair somehow even messier than before, muttering to herself about flour and syrup.

“What’s the plan, Chef Jinx?” you asked, leaning against the counter with a smirk.

She turned to you with a proud smile, holding up a box of pancake mix like it was some kind of trophy. “We’re making breakfast! You handle the boring stuff like measuring, and I’ll do the fun part, aka flipping!”

“Uh-huh. And who’s cleaning up the mess?”

She winked at you. “That’s future Jinx’s problem.”

You couldn’t argue with that logic.

The next half hour was pure chaos, as expected. Jinx got flour everywhere, from the counters, to in her hair, and somehow even on the ceiling. She insisted on using way too much food coloring, so the pancakes ended up an alarming shade of neon pink. But they were edible, surprisingly, and the two of you ate on the floor of the kitchen, laughing and stealing bites from each other’s plates.

After breakfast, Jinx pulled you into her lap, wrapping her arms around you as she nuzzled into your neck. “You know,” she murmured, her voice soft and almost shy, “I like this whole thing, being able to wake up with you. Feels nice.”

You leaned back against her, your fingers tracing absent patterns on her arm. “I like it too.”

She was quiet for a moment, her grip on you tightening just slightly. Then, in true Jinx fashion, she broke the silence with a cheeky grin. “So, round two in the shower?”

You groaned, laughing despite yourself. “You’re impossible.”

“And you love it.”

She wasn’t wrong. She never really could be when it comes to you loving her.

He mistook you for a scavenger until you recited—word-perfect—the names of the twelve warriors who had fallen under his banner. His gaze softened instantly, as if you’d spoken a prayer.

Despite his battle-worn image, Mydei keeps his armor polished and his golden necklace meticulously clean—partly out of habit, partly because you once said “Memories cling to beautiful things longer.”

You’ll find his cape draped over your shoulders more often than his own. He says it’s because “it’s warmer on you”, but you’ve caught him watching you in it like he’s committing the sight to memory.

Mydei’s idea of “quiet evenings” involves sitting on the balcony of your home in Okhema, him mending a strap on his gauntlet while you tell him the stories you’ve gathered from other worlds.

Mydei has no fear of death, but he fears being forgotten. You are the only person who can promise him, truthfully, that he never will be. Sometimes, in the dead of night, he wakes you to whisper the names of his comrades—just to hear you repeat them back.

In return, he demands to know your memories. Not just the grand adventures, but the small things: the taste of the first fruit you ever ate, the exact sound of rain in the Garden of Recollection, the first time you realized you were not entirely mortal anymore.

When the two of you are intimate, it’s as much about sensation as it is about recording the moment—he murmurs descriptions into your ear, as if ensuring the memory is etched perfectly in both your minds.

Mydei’s undying nature means he often walks away from battles drenched in blood—sometimes his own, often not. You’ve seen him arrive at the door without a word, collapsing against you. You hold him until his breathing steadies, then let him speak if he chooses.

Once, during a fevered recovery, he thought you were one of his fallen warriors. You didn’t correct him until he was lucid again, because you knew the comfort that recognition gave him.

In moments of grief, he’ll ask you to “keep this one safe” when a comrade falls—trusting you to preserve even the smallest details of their lives.

He teases you for “stealing” his memories when you bring up something he forgot—though you know he rarely forgets anything, he just enjoys hearing you recount it.

You have a shared tradition: after a victory, you mix his favorite drink—pomegranate juice with goat’s milk and cheese—while he tells you the most absurd, exaggerated version of the battle. You never write those versions down, but you remember them perfectly.

Sometimes you catch him smiling faintly when you’re working. When you ask why, he says, “I like seeing the one who carries my life in their hands.”

Mydei’s touch is deliberate—almost reverent—like every brush of his fingers is an inscription. When you’re together in bed, he often traces the same patterns over your skin that mark his chest and arms, quietly naming each line as if binding you to his own story.

He has a habit of biting your shoulder—not out of aggression, but because he once told you “the body remembers pain just as well as pleasure.” You suspect it’s his way of leaving something he knows you’ll never erase.

After, he always asks what you’ll remember most about that night. Sometimes it’s his laugh, sometimes it’s the way his hair fell over your face, sometimes it’s simply him.

Mydei’s immortality means he’s learned patience beyond mortal reckoning—but when he’s with you, it’s like time shrinks and every moment stretches and deepens. His kisses are both fierce and tender, knowing he could hold you forever, yet desperate to capture the fleeting thrill of your living warmth.

After passionate encounters, he often pauses, forehead pressed to yours, eyes searching for traces of memories still shimmering between you. Sometimes, he’ll mark you with a slow, lingering bite or scratch—not to hurt, but as a physical imprint, a sign that you belong to his endless story.

You tiptoed back down the hallway, exhaling slowly as you rubbed your shoulder from the hours of swaying, bouncing, and lullaby-humming. Giyu stood at the end of the hallway leaning against the doorframe, dressed in soft black sweatpants and a plain gray tee, hair loosely tied back.

“She asleep?” he asked, voice hushed and low.

“She better be,” you said, pressing your index finger to your lips. “I just aged five years trying to get her to nap.”

Giyu chuckled—quietly, of course—and reached for you as you approached. His hand slid around your waist, fingers splayed and familiar, guiding you gently into him.

“Good,” he murmured, tilting his head to brush his lips against yours, “because I’ve been waiting all day.”

Before you could respond, his mouth was on yours—warm, slow, and just a little needy. The kind of kiss that reminded you you weren’t just a mom, but his partner. His love. His wife.

You melted into him, sighing softly as your hands curled into his shirt. His grip tightened on your waist as he nudged you backward, walking you gently into the bedroom until the back of your knees hit the bed. He didn’t push—he didn’t need to. The heat of his lips against yours, the subtle growl in his throat when your nails scraped lightly up the back of his neck… it was more than enough.

You pulled him down with you as you laid back, your legs curling instinctively around his waist. He smiled against your lips, his hand slipping beneath your shirt to trace the soft skin just above your hip. Goosebumps followed in his wake.

“I missed you today,” he murmured, brushing kisses along your jaw. “You’ve been a little preoccupied.”

“You mean keeping your child alive?” you teased breathlessly.

“Our child,” he corrected, dipping his head to your throat, where he kissed a sensitive spot that made you squirm. “But I’d still like some time with you too.”

You laughed softly until he nipped gently at your neck, dragging another sound from you entirely. His body pressed flush against yours, his hand cradling your thigh while his other kept you anchored close.

The kiss deepened—slower but more intense. You sighed into his mouth, letting your body respond, your hands trailing along the lines of his back. The kind of moment you hadn’t had in weeks. The kind that made your heart ache with love and your body ache with longing.

Just as his hand slipped beneath the waistband of your sleep shorts—

“WAAAAHHHH!!”

The shrill cry from the monitor sliced through the tension like a knife. You both groaned in perfect sync.

Giyu dropped his forehead to your collarbone. “She has a sixth sense.”

“She really does,” you whispered with a weak laugh. “Sorry.”

He lifted his head just enough to kiss your lips once more, slow and sweet, despite the infant siren call blaring in the background.

“Don’t apologize,” he said softly. “You’re doing everything, and you’re still so beautiful it makes me insane.”

You blinked, flushed.

Then, with a final kiss to your cheek, he pushed up off the bed. “I’ll get her.”

“Wait,” you said, grabbing his wrist. “Let me go with you.”

He smiled, eyes full of something that almost made your breath catch—like love was a tangible thing in that moment.

“Okay,” he murmured.

Together, you padded back down the hallway, your fingers brushing together between your bodies. The monitor still buzzed as your daughter cried, demanding attention.

But even through the exhaustion and interruptions, Giyu’s hand found yours and gave it a gentle squeeze.

You weren’t alone.

…Was he equally as shitty for feeling frustrated, even if he never said anything about it? Sure felt that way sometimes.

But even then, he wasn't ready for the question, wasn't ready for the trial it would bring.

Already, there were too many questions of his own to throw back at Ander. Is this what you really want? Aren't you scared? What if you get a panic attack? What if you shut down? Those all sounded shitty too, in his head. Like he was trying to baby Ander, like he didn't trust him to know himself. Instead, he went with,

“We can give it a go. What… what do you want to do?”

He tried to make it come out normal, to not turn this into a situation where Ander had to think about anything in the before era, but he was afraid it was still tinged with a little too much concern. Is there anything out there we can do that he never used against you? Ugh. 

Ander did meet his eyes then, just for a flicker. “What do you want to do?” he echoed back.

Benji resisted the urge to nervously shift his weight back and forth or clasp his hands or tug on his hair. Don't turn this into a thing.

…Wasn't it a thing? What he wanted. Was this just about him? Did Ander feel guilty? Had Benji been too openly pouty? Shit, had he said something that made Ander feel obligated to offer?

“I… I'm fine with whatever. Even nothing at all.”

“Rue…”

“I'm completely neutral on it all. You don't need to—”

“I want to.” He sighed, shoulders sagging like gravity was suddenly taking issue with his body. Benji sat on the bed beside him, gingerly offering his hand, giving Ander's a small squeeze when he laid his own in it.

“I want to,” he repeated. “I never… I want to move past it. I want to be more normal about it all.”

“Okay.”

“Just don't know how. Been thinking about it for a while. Think I should try.”

His sentences were getting more clipped. Was it nerves? The burden of having to explain himself? Either way, Benji knew his tone usually signalled a retreat. That alone made him want to call time-out on this whole thing, but… Would that solve anything? If Ander wanted to confront this, they had to start somewhere.

“Did you talk to Dr. Kang about this?”

Ander nodded, silent for a moment. That was good at least. 

“He… there's… exposure.”

Unlike Benji, Ander didn't fidget when he got anxious. If anything, he got more rigid, almost like he was trying to turn into stone. Benji didn't say anything, just gave him space to continue.

“Doing…” He exhaled slowly. “Do it in a controlled setting. Show my… my body. That it can be safe.”

Benji let the silence hang for a while. Ander still had trouble getting the words out when they related back to his own vulnerabilities. Old habits, he'd say. He was getting better at it though, better at talking through it.

“Okay,” he replied when nothing else came. “We can do that.”

But do what, exactly? Jumping right into sex seemed… not great, as far as ideas went. Was it better to have Ander pick? Or would it be more beneficial if Benji picked something?

“Sorry,” Ander said after another minute of silence in the room. “Didn't mean to spring this on you.”

“No, it's… it was just unexpected. It's fine. I mean, I'd love to help you with this.”

Those warm brown eyes fixed on him, looking almost puppyish as Ander tilted his head. “You… is it something you want too?”

It was about him, wasn't it? At least partially. Benji’s brain rushed to psychoanalyze those words. Maybe it feels wrong to live with someone and not have sex be part of the equation after his time with Vic, maybe it's you, maybe you've been unknowingly pressuring him—

Maybe he should try believing what he said first. Take it at face value, take everything else as it came. 

“Yes,” Benji replied, planting a kiss on Ander’s knuckles. “Because I love you, and I secretly think you're really hot.”

The hint of a smile pulled on Ander's lips. “Secretly?”

“Okay, very openly, but who's counting?” Benji bit his lip. What to do? “Now I think… can I start by just touching you?”

“Touching me?” Ander quirked an eyebrow. “You touch me all the time.”

“A different kind of touch.” He tasted lipstick, scraping off on his teeth. “Do you think you could take your shirt off?” He'd seen him naked before, a couple of times, but those were extenuating circumstances. Things that had to happen. Even in the dead of summer, Ander slept in a shirt and sweatpants, and when they went out, it seemed he covered as much skin as he could. It was a control thing, probably. A way to hide the story on his skin from strangers. Sometimes he wore a tank top at home, and sometimes he hung out shirtless for a minute or two before or after a shower, but the clothes always went back on fast.

“Only if you want to,” he amended when Ander gave him a look, but the other man shook his head.

“Should be able to do that much, right?” He tugged the collar of his shirt, but Benji cut in.

“Wait, wait, let's get a safeword first.”

Ander's mouth tightened at the corners. “Alright.” The face he made almost made Benji wonder…

He knew what that was, right? It felt ridiculous to even consider. It wasn't like Ander was super sheltered or ignorant, and he didn't want to assume, but…

“So,” he said, shifting on the bed and smoothing his skirt. Tactful way to explain it without being patronizing or making a big deal… “We can decide on a word together, and if either of us says it during sex, or, whatever it is we decided to do, everything stops.”

“Yeah.”

“Sort of a check-in word, yeah? Like if I say… I dunno, bubbles, that just means stop whatever we're currently doing and make sure we're both okay. Maybe talk through it before we start again, or maybe call it a day altogether.”

Tiny smile. “Bubbles?”

“Yeah, it's the first thing that came to my head.” Benji smiled back. “Did you wanna pick the word, or..?”

“I like bubbles. Works just fine.”

“Pfft, alright. Bubbles it is.” He laid a hand on Ander's “Just say the word and everything will stop, okay? Promise I won't mind.”

He waited for the nod, giving his hand a little squeeze. “Okay. Do you… want to leave your pants on for the first time?”

Ander shrugged. Did that mean… well, they could just leave it for now.

“Okay. You can close your eyes if you wanna. Or leave them open, I don't really care.”

Another shrug. Ander didn’t look at him, but Benji could tell he had something to say. He waited.

“I…” He was getting rigid again. Anxious. “Can you pick? What I do? I… don't know.”

Oh, this must be overwhelming for him. Benji gave a quick nod. “Yeah! Sure. Uh. Go ahead and lie down on the bed, on your stomach. Um.” What would be more comfortable? “Close your eyes?”

Ander tugged off his shirt, then did as Benji said, picking up his legs and falling onto his stomach with his eyes closed and his arms at his sides. 

“Alright.” Why did he feel so nervous about this? It was literally just… touch. Just gentle touch, and was that really so crazy when Benji had already cradled a naked and barely conscious Ander? Well. Yeah, because that was a fast moment, full of fear and adrenaline. There hadn't been time to think. This was intentional, an agreement between them, something Ander wanted.

Something they wanted.

“Okay, uh. I'm gonna start now. Hands incoming.” Man he sounded awkward. This felt awkward, but he didn't want to jump in headfirst. He laid a hand on Ander’s back, feeling the skin jump a little under his palm.

“Aaand cool, now the rest of me is incoming,” Benj announced as he climbed onto the mattress. “Are you comfortable with me straddling you?”

“Just do it.”

Well that tone didn't exactly spark joy. “Are you sure? If you're not—”

“Just… touch me. Do what you want to. You don't… don't need to tell me what you're doing, or ask. Just do it.”

Was that what he meant? Benji was trying to go as slow as possible, but maybe it was taking Ander out of the moment. “Okay. I'm—” He stopped himself. Just do it.

It felt wrong, climbing onto Ander without a word, touching him without asking, but that was what he wanted, right? Was it about the feeling of normalcy? Of not being treated like a spooked horse who needed to be guided through everything? That was all… he could think about it later. They could talk about it later. Right now, Benji was rigid too, too rigid to really be in the moment, to really see Ander, to enjoy this. 

He wanted to enjoy this.

Benji took a deep breath, then another, letting the air out slowly and willing the knots in his chest to untie themselves. They could enjoy this. It didn't have to be all bad.

He settled over Ander, readjusting himself into a more relaxed position, laying his palms on the warm brown of his back. So many scars there, obvious even when he closed his eyes; gouges and ridges and raised lines, intersecting like a city map, like lightning bolts. Something he felt conflicted about calling pretty, in their own way. The things and the people that had put them there weren't pretty, but they didn't have to be tied to that every time he looked at him. They were just… Ander. Just another part of him.

Benji exhaled softly, rubbing gentle circles along Ander's shoulder blades, feeling the slight jump of muscle under the skin. He spread his fingers, curling them around the sides of his ribcage and sliding down towards his hips, slow and steady, taking in the warmth and shape of him.

Beautiful.

“Bubbles,” Ander whispered.

Shit. Benji jerked his hands back, scrambling off him as quick as he could and dropping to a kneel beside the bed. Ander's eyes were on him when he looked up, sharp, brow furrowed.

“You okay?”

“I'm sorry,” Ander glanced away. “Just… wanted to test it.”

His knee-jerk reaction was a feeling like rejection. Didn't he trust him? Did he really think Benji would hurt him like that?

He forced himself to breathe, to hold the thoughts back and not speak until they faded. It wasn’t that. He knew it wasn't that. He wanted Ander to feel safe, and if testing the emergency stop made him feel safe, that was okay.

Benji found his hand, giving it a small squeeze. “It's alright. But that does mean it's time for me to check on you. How are you doing? How does that feel?”

“Feels…” he shrugged, and Benji could swear his face flushed the tiniest bit. “Good. I like it. Just… jumpy, I guess.”

“That's okay.” Benji leaned in until their foreheads were touching. “You want me to keep going?”

“Um,” Ander swallowed, lashes fluttering against Benji's cheek. “Could… could you kiss me?”

Suddenly Benji's heart was fluttering too, raw energy, nervous but not unpleasant, coursing through him in a way that made him feel jittery.

“I— yes, yeah, I could— can.”

They'd had forehead kisses. Cheeks and hands and even goofy things like Benji's bruised up knee or the collar of Ander's shirt. But even with all those, even with the time they'd spent together, they'd never…

They moved together; Ander sitting up on the bed, Benji rising from his knees and leaning in. Their faces were already so close, but the shift in context made Benji's face hot. He felt like a kid again, all of a sudden, nervous and shy and afraid of fumbling even though he'd done this a million times. Their lips brushed, a brief heat, but it was enough to make Benji's head spin.

“Rue?” Ander whispered, his breath a puff on his cheek. Benji was going to fucking melt.

He went for it, soft and slow, no pushing, no pressure. His hands settled on Ander's shoulders without much thought, but the tension under his skin seemed lesser now. Benji ran a hand down his arm, finding his hand once more and lacing his fingers through Ander's. He didn't pull back until he needed to breathe, their noses bumping as he angled away.

“Is that good too?” he murmured. Ander looked at him past thick lashes, his eyes brighter somehow.

“Yeah,” he said, squeezing Benji's hand gently. “Yeah. It's good.”

She untied the ribbon and lifted the lid. Inside lay some light green satin trimmed with white lace. It looked dainty and incredibly expensive. There was no card or anything inside, just the folded fabric. Her hand twitched toward it, drawn by the desire to see if it was as soft as it looked.

It was.

Buttery soft and light as angel feathers. She lifted it and the folds fell away, revealing the item to be a delicate chemise that looked to be exactly her size. Not that she could imagine wearing such a thing! The satin was so thin that she was sure every curve and line would show. Even if it didn’t, the position of the lace inset would brace her chest in a dangerously revealing way. And it was scandalously short. 

She blushed, thinking about what she would look like wearing it. Her face went even hotter as her thoughts flashed to Harrison. The negligee reminded her of him. So similar to the color of his eyes, a minty green-blue. Cool and sweet. Would he like the way she looked wearing something like this? 

The chemise was nothing like her usual clothing, even her nightgown was demure. She glanced at the white linen hanging on a peg beside her wardrobe. It was cute, ladylike, and appropriate. Words that couldn’t apply to this seductive little slip of satin and lace. She felt an urge to try it on. Just so she could see what it felt like to wear such a thing. 

If the mysterious gift was dangerous, well, she’d already touched it. What more could happen if she wore it for just a moment? Just long enough to see how she looked. She’d put it on, look at herself in the mirror, and then take it off before anyone knew. Fold it back up, tie the ribbon around the box, and report the mystery to Victor. No harm done.

She slipped out of her day clothes and laid them on the back of her vanity chair. She even set aside her corselet and bloomers. Then she lifted the satin and lace, and slid it on, pulling it down over her breasts, belly, and hips. The chemise hugged her curves scandalously. The fabric was so thin it might be confused for paint. And the lace inset between her breasts was exactly as revealing as she’d feared. It drew the eye to the inner curves of her breast and the slight shadows of her areolas. 

There was no way she could ever let anyone see her dressed like this. It was positively indecent. But lovely too. The negligee made her feel powerful, seductive. 

“Whoa.” The breathy sound of surprise made her spin toward the door, now open. Harrison stood there, lips parted, eyes wide. 

“H-harrison! I - I -” She covered her chest with her arms and scooted back until she bumped up against the hanging mirror.

He stepped into the room and closed the door behind him. His eyes were bright and hot. “You look,” he swallowed, “terrible.” The lie was so obvious, so blatant, in opposition to his entire demeanor, that she knew what he meant by it the moment the words left his mouth. 

“So . . . you wouldn’t like me wearing something like this again? I should just take it off?” 

Harrison smiled. “Yeah.” He closed the distance between them, stopping close enough that the fabric of his pants brushed her thighs. His hands landed on her shoulders, dragging slowly down her arms, then her sides, and came to rest at her hip. 

She could feel the touch through the thin satin. His caress sent a cool, sweet shiver through her. The barrier between his hand and her skin made the almost-touch more electrifying. She pressed herself even closer, feeling bold and sexy and full of desire. “If you want it off, then take it off.”

A soft groan escaped his lips and he leaned forward to kiss her. His mouth was hot and hungry. His tongue teased her lips apart, invading with peppermint sweetness. Harrison’s hands slid further down, his fingers found the hem of the negligee and slid up beneath it. “I will,” he almost purred as he broke the kiss, “when I’m ready to.” 

Hours later, the chemise was sweat soaked and lying in a mound of shed clothing on the floor. The lace inset was torn, victim to Harry’s questing lips and teeth. “I’ll get you a new one,” he’d promised before his mouth was occupied by her nipple. 

The hem was frayed as well, victim to the friction of his pants against the more delicate cloth when he’d pulled her up onto him. Too impatient to be inside her. She hadn’t even noticed the threads pop and the fabric tear. Her attention had been . . . elsewhere. On the aching fullness as he pulled her hips down and thrust deep. On the feel of his clever fingers, playing her like an instrument of pleasure.