When you first walked into the kitchen, your mind was set on making up, maybe apologizing again for not being able to communicate the previous day, and then worry about who would take the last bagel. But it was immediately clear that Dean had other intentions.

A bagel laid on his plate, already half-eaten.

“Morning,” you said quietly, trying to keep your voice neutral as you moved toward the coffee pot.

“Morning,” Dean replied evenly, not looking away from his newspaper.

You pretended to take your time picking out a coffee mug from the collection sitting on the open metal shelf, trying to slow down your quickening heartbeat. The air, the room, everything about the moment just felt wrong. Finally, out of time you could realistically spend feigning interest in ceramics, you settled on a faded, red Christmas mug and took an extra minute to make your coffee.

Dean flipped a page as you sat down in front of him, only looking away for a second to take another bite of his bagel. However, as you sipped coffee and looked from his newspaper to the rest of the kitchen, to him, to the newspaper again, and once more to him, you noticed that his eyes did not appear to have moved at all. In that moment, he looked up.

“What’s up?” he asked. How he was able to keep his voice so devoid of emotion was a mystery to you.

“Oh, nothing,” you said, quickly glancing down again. “You know, just looking at your newspaper… wondering what to eat for breakfast, the usual.”

If he knew that was a dig at him, he didn’t show it. But you knew different – the Last Bagel Fight was a common occurrence between you and Dean in the bunker. Usually, it was avoided by Sam keeping a close inventory on all bagels within the kitchen, but when he slipped, all mayhem would ensue. In the past, Dean would have waited for you with a full, uneaten bagel, wished you luck, and then play-wrestled you all around the bunker for it. In the past, Dean had always let you win, and you would mockingly take a bite before splitting it with him.

This was him being petty.

“There’s some cereal still, and I think Sam mentioned there was fruit in the fridge,” Dean replied with a tight smile.

“Hmm,” you hummed. Knowing the answer, you asked, “any more bagels?”

“Oh, I think this was the last one, sorry,” Dean shrugged. An awkward pause followed his words, as if he were waiting for your reaction.

Then you understood – this was Dean. He was not going to bring up the issues from last night because that would be admitting that either he was wrong, or that he still doubted your cover story. Of course, he would have been correct if he called you out on it, and you weren’t sure that you’d be able to outright lie two days in a row, not to the same green eyes you had confessed your love to months ago in that hospital room.

If you reacted first, you would crumble before you got too far.

“No worries, actually,” you registered the tiny upwards motion of Dean’s eyebrows as you smiled brightly, “I think I might go out for breakfast.”

The conversation stalled then, with Dean’s eyes still focused on you as you pulled your phone out of your pocket and started typing. You hoped the offer from last night was still on the table.

Neal’s last text message read: Breakfast tomorrow?

In the simmering aftermath of the argument, between tossing off your jacket back in your closet, brushing your teeth angrily, and thinking, why does he care? and who is he to judge my drinking?, you had slowly been replying to Neal. He made sure you got back home okay – you did. He sent a picture of Creek – he was adorable and so well-behaved. He sent flirty texts about how much he enjoyed meeting with you… you replied in tandem, flirting back despite the ache in your chest.

The last text had not gone unanswered because you were asleep, but because once you saw it come through, it felt too real. One date was good. You could even write off the kiss; you had certainly done more with different guys when you first started hunting with the Winchesters, but a second date? A second date meant some sort of commitment, even if it was casual. You’d once lain in bed thinking that maybe that kind of commitment between you and Dean could be possible. Before the witch, before the injury, before the confession – that spot had been reserved for Dean. For some reason, it felt wrong to just let go of your old daydreams.

You shook your head the night before, scoffing at the idiocy in your thoughts when Dean had made his intentions clear. But even then, you left the text technically unseen and unanswered as you rolled over, away from the phone, and eventually fell asleep.

Now, with Dean’s challenging attitude in the air, you gave in.

I’d love to see you again and have breakfast if you’re still available! So sorry, I fell asleep pretty quickly last night.

Almost immediately, three little bubbles popped up on your screen. Neal’s reply was concise: Great! Meet up at Maggie’s Diner at 10?

A small blush crept over your cheeks as you considered the possibility that Neal had been waiting for your answer all morning. You didn’t notice. Dean did.

“Well, I actually wouldn’t mind sharing,” he mumbled gruffly, “I don’t want to make you go all the way to town just to get some grub.”

“That’s quite alright,” you said, glancing up at him but then going straight back to typing. “I’ve been wanting to try out a place anyways, and I can grab more bagels on the way back. Do you mind if I borrow the car?”

“You’re not usually one to eat alone.”

He was right.

“I’m a big girl, I can handle a menu. Plus, Soo-jin might meet me there.”

Technically not a lie, there was a slight chance she could be there at the same time as you. You stood up and left the now-empty coffee mug in the sink, a problem for later. As you came back around the table, hand outstretched for the keys, Dean folded his newspaper and motioned to stand up.

“Okay, okay, you don’t have to beg, I’ll go with you,” he joked, giving you the first smile of the day. “I could always use a second breakfast.”

You hoped he missed the momentary panic in your eyes as you racked your brain for an excuse. Thankfully, the calendar on the bulletin board caught your eye. It was a firefighter calendar gifted to Sam, courtesy of Dean, and hung up by you when you realized nobody else had one. Way under the chiseled abs of a shirtless firefighter, a note had been written on April 27th – “Dean doc. appt 10:30 online”.

“Sorry, handsome,” you sighed, hand quickly moving under his chin and turning his head toward the calendar. Dean, frozen halfway through standing up, squinted at the writing. “Doctor Turner is booked out for months, and he’s supposed to give you the last of your meds.”

You let go of his chin, ignoring the slight tremble of your hand as you realized it had been weeks since you had been that close to him. The warmth of his face and the prickly texture of his facial hair echoed on your fingertips.

“Fine,” Dean replied quietly, turning back to his paper and handing out the keys from his back pocket to you.

His willingness was surprising – you had expected he would put more of a fight to come with, even if it meant doing his appointment at a crowded diner, one headphone on as he rattled an order to a server and then apologized to the doctor on his phone’s screen. But it was better to take your escape before it was too late, so you grabbed the keys, uttered a quiet, “thank you,” and left the kitchen.

By the time Dean came out to the library, you were gone.

——

“You ate the fucking bagel?” Sam asked incredulously as he stared at Dean, mouth hanging open.

He had come out from his room later than usual and happily ate some cereal and strawberries before he noticed the empty bagel bag in the trash can. He'd frowned, wondering if he slept through the Last Bagel Fight that had obviously occurred, and then remembered the argument from the night before. That’s when he found Dean sulking in the library.

“So what? And I offered to share with her anyways!”

“Yeah, after you acted like a petty child and ate three quarters of the thing! I told you to apologize last night, not slap her,” Sam huffed, bringing two fingers to the middle-ground between his eyebrows, massaging.

“Oh, come on,” Dean scoffed, “you’re making a way bigger deal of it than it is.”

Dean knew that he was wrong, and petty, and had metaphorically slapped the tradition you two set, but he wasn’t going to admit that. Not when he had bigger issues, like trying to ignore the fact that he couldn’t stop thinking of your touch on his face earlier, a flowery scent still lingering in his memory.

“And I was not going to apologize when you know I’m right, she should have been more responsible when she went out!” he continued. “Plus, I still don’t think she went out with Soo-jin! If she’s lying about that, what else could she be doing?”

“I don’t know, Dean,” Sam said, rolling his eyes. “Maybe if you knew how to sit down and have a conversation like an adult, you’d figure it out.”

Before Dean could snap at him, he added, “What’s going on with you lately? You never made a stink when Y/N went out before.”

“That was different,” Dean said, irritated, looking away. I was different.

“How?”

“It just was.”

“No, it wasn’t,” Sam said. “You know it wasn’t, so why? What’s changed?”

Dean wasn’t sure what Sam saw when he looked at him; maybe it was the redness itching up from his neck to his cheeks, the strain around his eyes as he stared back up at his younger brother, or a tension in his shoulders unlike that of his injury.  Maybe it was not about seeing anything at all, not after all they had been through. He just knew him.

“Oh… oh, shit. You like her.” It wasn’t a question.

Sam’s anger instantly vanished, replaced by a quiet shock. Dean knew you would have laughed at the way Sam’s eyebrows sat higher than ever on his forehead, but he couldn’t find it funny now.

“Yeah,” Dean replied dryly. “That’s what’s changed.”

After a brief reset period, Sam smiled.

“But…that’s good, isn’t it? She likes you, you like her, what’s not to, well, like about that?”

“Correction: she liked me. You remember the club night as much as I do, she was practically throwing herself at that asshole,” Dean said.

He had felt hope the previous night as he realized that you might still be in love with him. He’d woken up determined to confront the argument, his doubts about your night out, and his feelings for you in a calm, rational manner. But, with one cup of coffee already downed and waiting for you to wake up, Dean remembered that night from weeks ago. The way you hung off the arms of that stranger as he walked you back over to the brothers, a strap of your top almost falling off your shoulder and down your arm, lipstick slightly smeared… the memory made his heart drop.

“He was nice enough to find us at least,” Sam shrugged. “He could have taken her home, given how drunk she was. Anyways, I’m sure it didn’t mean anything, she was out of it.”

“It’s one thing to be drunk, it's another to be so – so touchy,” Dean spat with a pang to his chest. “Thank god he didn’t get her number.”

“Well, he wrote his number on her hand,” Sam chuckled. “She must have been so confused the next morning.”

“He did what?” Dean thought the world turned upside down for a second. Suddenly, the shiftiness of the previous day, the way you started texting this morning, and that blush he saw – it all made sense.

“He wrote his number on her hand,” Sam repeated. “Pretty sloppily, I’d say.”

Dean’s next words were interrupted by the screeching of a door. You bounced down the steps of the front stairs, noticeably happier than how he remembered you leaving. Your smile, however, wavered as Sam and Dean looked up at you.

“Hey guys,” you were cautious as you spoke, “what’s going on?”

“Just talking about the last meds I got.” Dean’s cover was smooth. He smiled as you walked over and handed him back the keys to the Impala. “Nice breakfast?”

“Yeah, oh, and look,” you said, lifting up the bag of bagels in your hand. “For tomorrow morning.”

The tension was gone, for now.

Dean gave you one last smile as you made your way to the kitchen, but when he turned back to Sam, he sank into a chair and ran a hand over his face.

Sam didn’t need to say anything else. He simply gave his brother a sympathetic slap on the (good) shoulder as he also walked out the library.

Both of them could smell the fading cologne that followed your steps.

——

. ˚◞꒰appearance꒱

𖹭. oftentimes seen wearing his deceptively kind smile, fooling even the most skeptical of people when they catch a glimpse of the red painted lips stretched out on his face.

𖹭. deep amber snake eyes are often hidden by a pair of maroon contacts, hiding away the truth like the rest of his general body language and confident posture.

𖹭. long, silky black hair that falls past his shoulders, usually put into a half-ponytail or let loose.

𖹭. is able to unhinge his jaw, putting on display, his forked elongated tongue, rows of sharp teeth and his two snake fangs protruding whenever he yawns

𖹭. wears a wide range of jewellery, thin gold necklaces and chokers covering his neck and shoulders. while his ears are covered in a pair of standard lobe piercings, along with a helix — right ear covered in a conch and tragus piercing. rings covering his fair toned fingers.

𖹭. stands at the towering height of 6’7 ft ( 201cm ), with a lean and well toned figure.

𖹭. androgynous, sharp and soft facial features.

𖹭. very fluid and elegant in the way he moves and overall looks.

𖹭. primarily dons the red makeup styles.

𖹭. extremely vintage styled aesthetic in fashion choice, loves wearing poet shirts and suits.

𖹭. he has a frenum piercing ( peepee piercing )

. ˚◞꒰personality꒱

𖹭. deceivingly kind and serene demeanor hiding the sadism and manipulative intentions and ulterior motives.

𖹭. he is deceptive in every way and form, his sharp intelligence silencing those who speak against him or try to prevent him from succeeding his goals.

𖹭. has a silver-tongue riddled with false kindness and care the fools that decide to affiliate themselves with him, bringing them into a sense of comfort and security that never was there to begin with — using their confidence as an advantage

𖹭. on the inside, you see the sinister, sarcastic and malicious sociopath that is the true part of the so-called “goodhearted” poet.

𖹭. charming and charismatic words and actions concealing the greedy and sadistic side of him.

𖹭. prefers silence over loud talk, and maintains his anonymity and mystery due to this factor — getting him to talk is not a possibility, even if you tried by forcing it out of him.

𖹭. can be sassy and give blunt replies to people he finds himself irritated with.

𖹭. moodiness is a result of both his snake dna and his traumatic past — or because his husband is not around.

𖹭. calculative and witty — has a great memory and uses it often to note down the speech patterns, movements and body-languages of the people around him.

𖹭. his perceptiveness is the next in line to his intelligence, you cannot outlie the master liar and manipulator, he knows your tricks.

𖹭. hard to anger and irritate, and will applaud you for your audacity and stupidity for trying so.

𖹭. should this man find himself infatuated with someone, he will put his possessiveness and obsessiveness on display. showing you his yandere tendencies and greedy behaviour around them.

. ˚◞꒰with a lover꒱

𖹭. very sweet. very verbally and physically affectionate. you see the more humane side of him that others do not

𖹭. he is exceptionally patient with you. always assuring you when you need and comforting you

𖹭. he loves spoiling you. especially taking you out clothes shopping and letting you try out whatever it is that you may wish. loves seeing you flustered whenever he pulls you into a clothing shop. flustering you whenever he snatches your waist in front of a mirror

𖹭. always worshipping your skin with kisses. he can barely keep his hands off of you

𖹭. possessive, but hides it well with his poetic and loving words. he is most definitely a yandere type. willing to do whatever it takes to keep you at his side.

𖹭. very verbal about how much he obsesses over you, as much as he is clear in his actions that he wants you for himself and no-one else. should anyone look or talk to you in a way he does not like? he will gouge their eyes out, or use them as his newest “patients”

𖹭. loves teasing you and flirting with you until you have lost your breath from giggling or whining for him to shut up

𖹭. a very passionate lover and has no problem in showing his passion for you neither. even when it’s in public

𖹭. pda? what’s that? he’ll pull you into his lap even in a cafe. or kiss you in booths. have his hands on you. anything to show that you are his

𖹭. if anyone lays a finger on you. . . they are dead.

. ˚◞꒰strengths꒱

𖹭. increased bodily function: advanced strength, speed, agility and durability.

𖹭. heightened senses: advanced sight, smell, hearing, taste and awareness of surroundings.

𖹭. healing factor: an average healing factor that heals his injuries far quicker than most

𖹭. fangs and bite: has a set of snake fangs that can secrete two venoms: a paralytic, which he uses for sedation, and a fatal. he can switch between them. and especially powerful bite

𖹭. talons & venomous touch: he has talons that secrete high levels of venom. this venom is extracted by thin wired implanted on his wrists that carry his venom to his nails, resulting in venom-induced touches should he use them on someone.

𖹭. snake physiology: has the flexibility of a snake, therefore his body is able to move in the fluid motion that a serpent would. he is able to dislocate his joints with ease and twist his body in whichever way he prefers. his jaw can unhinge as well.

𖹭. poison immunity: immune to poisons.

𖹭. elastic jaw: the ability to unhinge his jaw to drastic measures

𖹭. hyper climbing and clawing: able to slither up surfaces

𖹭. seismic sense: able to feel vibrations in a seismic way whenever his limbs touch surfaces. he can feel these from quite awhile ago

𖹭. enhanced lung capacity: able to hold his breath for longer

𖹭. stealth: can move around swiftly and quietly

. ˚◞꒰weaknesses꒱

𖹭. poison addiction: due to building up a poison resistance by intaking the substances, he is now immune to poison but in turn has grown addicted to the intake of them. he now does it for the fun of it and as a coping mechanism.

𖹭. abandonment issues: if he is away from the people he loves. this can result in erratic episodes and even have a negative affect on his physical well-being

𖹭. fainting: should he grow overwhelmed, he is prone to fainting.

𖹭. apples: has a mild allergy to apples and takes medication for it.

𖹭. reapers: not much is known of this condition. . . come back later and perhaps you might find out?

𖹭. apples: has a mild allergy to apples and takes medication for it.

𖹭. oranges: has a bad allergy to oranges.

𖹭. daylight: as a nocturnal reaper, daylight and other bright sources of light can weaken his senses of sight as he is used to the darkness of the night.

𖹭. d’akar: an anti-magic material that can greatly weaken him if he comes into contact with it. he, especially is affected by this.

𖹭. extreme emotional attachment: while reapers may remind one of humans, they are not. they are beings with very empathetic instincts and have souls bigger than the average mortal being — a thing that has been with them since their creation. they become extremely attached to things they love and it may cause them to become erratic if enough they love is taken away from them.

. ˚◞꒰relationships꒱

𖹭. rishen herrera: husband, business partner, best friend

𖹭. yuè mèng yáo: mother, deceased

𖹭. zhào mùchén: father, deceased

𖹭. zhào hàoyú: younger brother, deceased

𖹭. zhào haitāo: younger brother, enemy

𖹭. zhào xīyáng: younger brother, deceased

𖹭. wèi lìxuě: enemy

𖹭. liú tàishī: enemy

𖹭. alessio agresta arias: “rival”, deceased

𖹭. lorenzo agresta arias: enemy

𖹭. park tae-hyun: enemy

. ˚◞꒰story꒱

sly grins and skilled yet devilish hands. hidden by kind eyes and serene smiles. how could a gaze like that watch with glee the suffering of experiments?

a mad doctor to match his mad scientist for a husband, experimenting and tormenting enigma and inhumans with the excuse of making a better world. jingyi herrera designs medicines that no other verse has even seen. so what if it's at the cost of a few souls? it's for the greater good. 

so he'll indulge in his insanity. in his horrid morals and his lust for knowledge, for his twisted sense of justice. all if it means succeeding in all of his ambitions and staying at the side of his beloved.

. ˚◞꒰extra꒱

𖹭. he is a doctor and has a clinic on the second floor of valence. he specialises in most areas of anatomy and is a skilled doctor and surgeon.

𖹭. he is also the co-chairman of valence

𖹭. he is fluent in asl and csl

𖹭. he speaks chinese ( mandarin ) and spanish ( latin american )

𖹭. has a cat named Beatrice Herrera Reina the 2nd queen of the abyssal dread

𖹭. loves old-timey romance movies

𖹭. as much as he is mature, he does love giving his assistants a good scare every now and then when he thinks they are being lazy. . . and by scare we don’t mean by lighthearted pranks.

𖹭. likes collecting tea sets.

𖹭. he sometimes smokes

“How long?” Jake asked, wandering from the kitchen and into the hallway, scarfing down half a sandwich.

You looked at your watch as you began to turn and head back to your office. “Um, an hour and a half?”

“I’ll be gone to work by then, I’m working the night shift at the base,” he said petulantly, shoulders slumping slightly. “I won’t see you until tomorrow morning.”

“I know, honey,” you said with a pout, turning back around and closing the distance between you. “I’m sorry. I tried to get it rescheduled, but the Dean was the one calling the shots on this one.”

Jake rolled his eyes, stuffing more of the sandwich in his mouth. “Well, I’ll pop in before I leave to say goodbye.”

“If you don’t I’ll be cross,” you said, wrapping your arms around Jake’s shoulders. You stood on your tiptoes to give him a kiss, not caring that he’d gotten mustard on you somehow.

—

“Mrs. Seresin, did you have any updates from your meetings?”

You’d been trying to pay attention, but your mind kept drifting. Any meeting over an hour seemed cruel, and in the afternoon you were less likely to be at your best. You were also well aware that Jake would be leaving any moment, listening to the sounds of him gathering up gear and packing his bag for the night.

The Dean of the department and you were on a first name basis, but everyone had been calling you Mrs. Seresin since the wedding, because you couldn’t stop giggling and blushing over it, this time it was no exception.

“I do,” you replied, reaching for your notebook and opening a document containing some agendas and meeting notes that lived on your computer. You filled the void by saying “um” a few times while you searched through your materials. “The Equity, Diversity, Inclusion and Accessibility Committee met earlier this week to provide some feedback on the proposal of launching the Employment Equity Plan. Everyone was in favour but they did have some questions about how comprehensive the plan was.”

There was a light rapping on the door, and you turned to look back at it before turning back the camera. “Just a moment. Jake’s off to work.”

“Take your time!” one of your colleagues said, as you turned off your camera and microphone.

“Come in!” you said to Jake, standing up at the same time to greet him at the door. 

Jake stepped in wearing his service khakis, and smiled at you. “Off to work I go, darlin’,” he said in a sing-song voice, wrapping his arms around you.

You hugged him tightly, turning your head to give him a kiss on the cheek. “You’ll call before I go to bed?” you asked.

“Of course!” Jake replied, ducking his head down and kissing you sweetly. He pulled back, saying nothing, looking toward your desk. “That leg is gonna give out at any moment,” he declared.

“Oh, it’s nothing,” you said, waving your hand. “I’ll fix it up later.”

“It’ll take me two seconds,” Jake said, relinquishing his hold on you and moving toward your desk before crawling under it. The space beneath your desk was certainly big enough to fit him, but you weren’t going to deny that he looked a little goofy crowded under there.

You smiled to yourself before getting situated back in your chair, turning on the camera and microphone on your laptop back on. Your colleagues were talking amongst themselves about the equity plan you had spoke of.

“Sorry about that,” you said, trying to get comfortable in your chair despite Jake futzing about with the leg of your desk. “Won’t see him until morning.”

“Oh, don’t worry about it,” the Dean said, dismissively waving his hand. “Shall we get back into it?”

“Of course,” you replied, looking down to check your notes, catching a glimpse of Jake using a small screwdriver to tighten up one of the screws. Seriously, did he just carry that around in his pocket? “I wondered if we could bring forth a couple of goals to help us promote a representative workforce? I think that would grab peoples’ attention right off the bat.”

“That’s actually a really good idea,” one of your colleagues said, just as Jake appeared to be finishing up.

You idly wondered how he planned to get out from under there, but figured you could just turn your camera off for a moment when he gave you the okay.

He did no such thing.

Clearing your throat, you looked through your notes once more and tried not to pay Jake any mind, who had situated himself between your legs. You had no idea what he was playing at, but did your best to ignore him.

“The first goal we drafted up was ‘to increase the recruitment of employees from equity-deserving groups,’” you continued, feeling one of Jake’s hands on your knee. “And the second was ‘To enhance the experience of current employees from equity-deserving groups.’”

“That committee of yours does some good work,” one of your colleagues chuckled. “Those are great!”

“Thank you,” you said, reminding yourself to breathe as if everything were normal as Jake’s other hand settled on your other knee. “I’ll be sure to pass that along to them.”

You turned your microphone off, and while still looking at the camera muttered, “Jacob Seresin, what on earth are you doing down there?”

“Don’t worry about it,” he murmured, the palms of his strong and calloused hands moving up your thighs. You pursed your lips tightly, trying to bring your legs close together on instinct, but Jake just pushed them further apart. “Keep your legs open, sweetheart.”

The conversation had moved on, and your colleagues were talking amongst themselves about the plan. Where you were the most junior staff person in the meeting, it was unlikely you would be contributing much to the bigger conversation, and for that you were thankful, because you certainly did not want to send your husband on his merry way.

“Jake,” you murmured, briefly closing your eyes and letting out a contented sigh. Though you knew it was gauche, you kept your eyes focused on the small image of yourself on your laptop screen. You knew how responsive you were, what sorts of things Jake did to you. The last thing that you wanted was for it to be extremely noticeable to your colleagues that there was something happening.

So, even though you wanted to be looking down under your desk, between your legs, you looked at yourself.

“God, I can smell you, darlin’,” Jake purred, pressing his face to the inside of one of your thighs. He inhaled sharply, and you made a small sound behind your mouth. “How wet are you?”

What a dick. He knew you couldn’t respond. You shifted a little in your chair, nodding along to the discussion in the meeting, even though you had no fuckin’ clue what they were discussing.

Suddenly, Jake’s face was pressed against your core. Your lips parted in a small gasp, but on screen it just looked like an ordinary sigh. “Soaked,” Jake murmured, and you could feel the vibrations of his voice against you through the layers of fabric that separated the two of you. “Oh my god, baby girl. I could taste you just like this.”

“Any thoughts?”

Fuck.

You turned your microphone back on. “Um,” you stuttered, shifting your hips slightly when you felt Jake’s fingers hook into the waistband of your leggings. “I thought we agreed on seven priorities instead of six. I believe it was Don who alluded to ‘lucky number seven.’”

“You know what? You’re right! Do you remember what the seventh priority was?”

“Recognition.”

When there were no follow up questions, you turned your microphone back off.

Jake’s fingertips brushed along your skin as he pulled your leggings down your legs. You raised your eyebrows at the screen, pretending to be engaged, meanwhile you were suddenly pantsless in front of the team you reported to.

“Oh my god, baby girl,” Jake murmured reverently, and you swallowed hard as Jake’s fingers traced over the edges of your labia through your underwear. As he had observed before, you were already wet, and the sensation of him touching you had you briefly closing your eyes. The drag of the wet fabric against your clit, Jake’s thick fingers pressing against you, had you rolling your hips toward his touch.

The Dean said your name. “Does the Office of Equity and Inclusion being the lead to ensure clarity, confidentiality and transparency make sense to you?”

You begrudgingly turned your microphone back on. “Oh … yes. That, um, seems like an appropriate office to take the lead on that.”

God, you wished the Dean and the rest of your colleagues would just stop asking you for input. Compared to everyone else in the meeting you made significantly less money and had significantly less say in the operations of the university. Then again, they were likely trying to make a point about the whole equity plan by including you.

“You sound so wrecked,” Jake murmured, rubbing your clit through your wet underwear. You whined and lifted your hips toward your touch. “They probably can’t tell, but I can.”

Panicked, you checked to make sure you’d turned your microphone off - you hadn’t. You hoped to any deity that would listen that no one had heard that as you turned your mic back off.

“Jake,” you whispered, trying not to move your lips, “please.”

“Please what?” he asked, pressing a kiss to the inside of your thigh, as his fingers pressed your entrance, digits wrapped in your wet underwear plunging gently into you. “Stop? Keep going?”

“You asshole,” you murmured good naturedly. “Keep - keep going.”

“Mrs. Seresin, you had something to contribute?”

Fuck.

You began to speak, only to have three different people let you know that your mic was turned off. “I, uh, just wanted to double check by what percentage we wanted to reduce our overall workforce analysis gap by?”

“Eighty percent.”

“Thank you!”

While you had been speaking, Jake had pulled your underwear off, grabbing your legs and pulling them over his shoulders. On camera, it looked like you had shifted and sat back a little in your chair. It wasn’t … inaccurate. This time you triple checked that your microphone was off.

“God, look at that sweet little pussy, darlin’,” Jake groaned. You could feel his warm breath against your clit, and swallowed hard. “I can’t wait to put my mouth on it, to taste you.”

You bit at your lip, and keeping your eyes on yourself, attempted to deduce what it would look like if you fisted Jake’s hair in your hand. Unfortunately, it would definitely look like your hand moved between your legs, so you opted to keep your hands above your desk, much to your dismay. You wanted to feel Jake’s soft blond hair through your fingers, pull on it gently, command him closer to your cunt.

Despite Jake’s declarations of wanting to put his mouth on you, you felt his fingers once more. You gasped, hoping it looked like a yawn on camera, rolling your hips into Jake’s touch.

“Jake,” you whined - carefully - hoping that you wouldn’t be asked to speak, or what your thoughts were, again. “Please. Put your mouth on me.”

“Darlin’, you sound so pretty when you’re begging,” Jake hummed, pressing his mouth where your thigh met your loins. “Maybe I want to hear it some more?”

He was not being fair and it drove you mad, but you wouldn’t want him to change.

On your laptop screen, the Dean and your colleagues were in a deep discussion about the second pillar of the plan, inclusive excellence actions,. And while you had been looking forward to this discussion, it paled in comparison to giving your full, undivided attention to your husband, on his knees between your legs, mouth so close to your pussy, strong and calloused palms alternating between moving over your thighs and calves.

“You’re - you’re going to be late,” you attempted to rationalize. God, you wanted him to draw this out, but you also didn’t want him to get in trouble.

“Beg.”

A shiver ran down along your spine; you knew that was his lieutenant voice. You might have come right then and there if you hadn’t been looking forward to his mouth on you so much.

You made sure to watch yourself on screen, you couldn’t let others know how absolutely wrecked you were.

“Honey, please,” you purred, in a voice that you knew slid over Jake like silk. “I need your mouth on me baby. Fuck, you make me feel so good. Put your tongue in my pussy. Please. I need to feel you, and I know you want to taste it.”

“Mrs. Seresin?”

You really wished you could just leave the meeting and that the Dean would stop jokingly calling you that. You could feel Jake’s wide smile, full of teeth, against your skin, everytime he was reminded that you were his.

“Your microphone is off.”

Your hand was trembling as you reached for your mouse, moving the cursor to turn the mic back on. “Sorry,” you apologized, and holy fuck did your voice ever sound strangled. “Talking to myself mostly.”

The Dean laughed. “Quite all right!”

You turned your microphone off, and that was when Jake’s tongue began to move along your lips. Inhaling sharply, you balled your fingers into a fist, dragging them against your desk.

“Jake,” you whined, letting your eyelids slip closed.

“I think you’ve earned this,” he murmured, the audible sound of his swallowing down your juices far too much to bear. Your hips undulated toward him, and he chuckled softly. “Such a good girl.”

He was sucking your clit gently into his mouth, hauling you closer to his face. You gasped, reaching down and gripping the bottom of your desk chair. It was difficult when your focus was drifting between Jake’s mouth on you, and watching yourself on screen to ensure that it didn’t look like what was happening, was in fact, happening.

You bit down on your lip repeatedly, as Jake’s tongue rolled over your clit before descending lower. Slowly, wetly, he licked his way into you. Moaning against your tightly pursed lips, you arched off your chair, wanting more of him inside of you. The tip of his tongue licked against your walls, and he groaned like it was the sweetest thing he had ever tasted.

If you asked him, he would say that it was.

You could feel him shift, and without even looking you could tell that he was rubbing himself through his trousers. There wouldn’t be enough time for him to get changed, and you were certain his other tans were in a laundry basket somewhere.

Jake pulled his tongue from you, and you mourned the loss pathetically, whining and trying to chase his mouth. He placated you by slowly pressing one finger inside of you, as his tongue laved over your clit.

“You want it so bad, don’t you?” he hummed against you. You risked a look down, and holy fuck, you’d never seen a sight so gorgeous. Jake’s mouth on your pussy, his bright green eyes looking up at you. “My mouth, my fingers, my cock. So hungry for it all.”

Tightly closing your eyes, you reached for your phone, and thumbed at it to make it look like you were checking your messages, when really you were snapping a quick photo of Jake - eyes bright, tongue licking along your folds, open palm rubbing at his crotch.

“They’re gonna want to talk to me soon,” you murmured, setting your phone down, fingers flexing against your desk. “Please … make me come. Let me come.”

“God, darlin’.”

Jake wrapped his arms around your thighs, hauled you closer, mouth on a mission. You gasped as he sucked your clit gently into his mouth, and then pressed two of his long, thick fingers inside of you. You chanced a glance down at him again, and god, even he looked like he was beginning to come apart at the seams.

Your eyes quickly lifted back to your screen. You didn’t look too fucked out, but you didn’t look like you probably should have in a meeting. You hoped that it was subtle enough that no one else could notice.

As if on cue, your supervisor asked for your input.

“Um,” you choked out, fingers reaching for the edge of the desk. Oh god, Jake’s tongue was flat against your clit, and his fingers were pumping in and out of you just like he fucked. His fingers weren’t as thick as his cock, but they were still his, and he still knew how to stretch you open slowly, perfectly. “Can you, uh, remind me where - jeez - where we are?”

“The third priority, recruitment.”

Briefly, you hung your head, trying to compose yourself. You could feel the pressure beginning to build at the base of your spine. Jake’s tongue moved inside of you, along his fingers. Oh my god, you were going to come. He was going to make you come on camera. You could see the mischievous twinkle in Jake’s eyes even if you couldn’t see it.

“Right, recruitment,” you repeated, unable to keep yourself from rolling your hips. You wanted to fuck Jake’s face so badly as he brought you to the edge, but there was no way. As if sensing your dilemma, Jake’s free hand gripped your hip and pinned you to the chair. 

You chose to ignore the concerned look on one of your colleague’s faces. “You had some really great wording for the fifth action in a call that we had, but I’m afraid I didn’t capture it. Would you mind repeating it?”

Yes, I fucking mind!

Jake was relentless. You couldn’t move, all eyes were on you. Trembling, you reached for your notebook to flip to the page with relevant notes. Nails scraped against the edge of the desk, as Jake whispered below, “C’mon, darlin’. Be a good girl. Come - come on me. I want to taste you. Baby, let me taste you.”

He was begging you now.

“Tha - thank you,” you stuttered, knuckles turning white as you continued to grip the edge of your desk. “What I had suggested was ‘Develop and - ha - facilitate a specialized candidate caaaaare program aimed at - ohgod - empowering and supporting equity-deserving job seekers naaaaavigating the employment process.”

“Are you okay?”

“Fine!” you replied quickly, as Jake crooked his fingers inside of you. “I think I have to sneeze. Be right back!”

You turned both your microphone and your camera off, ignoring the concerned looks from your coworkers.

“Jake!” you cried, head thrown back as you moved your hips, fucking yourself on his fingers, chasing his tongue. “Honey please. Please!”

You tangled your hands in his hair, pulling hard, and he lifted his gaze to yours. You came with a shout, pressing down against Jake’s fingers and face so hard that his knuckles brushed your entrance, that you were positive he wouldn’t be able to get the scent of you out of his nostrils all day. Jake groaned against you, lapping up every bit of your slick. When he eventually pulled away, he licked his fingers before slowly standing up. You grabbed at his wrist, pulling his hand toward your face. He slipped his fingers into your mouth, and fucked your face slowly.

“Baby,” you hummed, leaning into his touch against your face. His thumb brushed along your bottom lip, and you looked up at him. “Baby, what about you?”

“I get home at six am tomorrow,” he purred.

Your eyes lit up, knowing what kind of mood he would be in after enduring the desperation of needing release all night. “I’ll be waiting.”

In theory, there are many positives to a second Daycare Attendant in any given pizzaplex, especially one so big and busy as here. They could act as a second in command at the daycare, or provide extra security, or even draw more people in to using the daycare while the primary Attendant continued their duties. In theory, the world was their oyster. 

Reality hit a bit different. 

Sunny has always been protective of his role as Attendant, which is understandable, given the virus and all that he and Moon had gone through. So the mere idea of sharing his space and duties was something that sent him into a bit of a tailspin. You’d barely suggested it before realizing how stupid of an idea it was, but it still took the better part of a day between you, Moon, and Gemma convincing Sunny that he was both allowed to be upset by the idea and to express that without feeling like he was going to be shut down or replaced. A second Attendant existing within fifty square miles of himself was putting him on edge enough. There was no way your Sun and Moon would be allowed to help in the daycare without someone suffering. 

Moon is more amenable to sharing his nightly duties, but given Sunny’s distress more is not much of a stretch when applied to “lukewarm lack of enthusiasm.” You’ve… had trouble reading this Moon. When you talk to him, you often catch him staring at your face or arm. He doesn’t mean to, but it makes you self-conscious, knowing that he’s all too aware that his own claws could fit neatly into the scarring left behind. Sunny had been eager to talk about it, to share the experience, you suppose, but Moon? 

Moon kept his thoughts of everything to himself. 

Of course, none of this mattered at all because ultimately the new Attendant couldn’t be caught by the higher ups. You and Gemma and Anika are taking a big risk rescuing and bringing back a decommissioned bot, let alone a duplicate, let alone the very bot that had you nearly fired after nearly dying. All the ways you tried to spin this into a positive paled at the fact that you and your friends would very much be fired and imprisoned, your Attendant shut down and probably scrapped, and Sunny reprogrammed if you were caught. 

They spent most of their time around the bakery. 

That’s because you spent most of your time at the bakery. You don’t like it as much as the overnight janitor gig, and sometimes you’re asked to man the till and have to put up with parents and guardians poorly disguising their horror at your mangled face, but it’s where the powers that be decided you belonged now. You make cakes and cookies and avoid the front of the little building with the creepy cupcake statues and staring adults as much as possible. 

I’m coming up.

There is one benefit to your Attendant’s new body: wifi accessibility. You can text them now. And you do, constantly, backfilling the years with memes and stories and pictures and videos you’d saved just for them. It also meant that when you decided to do something vaguely fool-hardy, like climb into the rafters to find Moon, you could warn them and know that they’d be above the bakery within minutes. 

You’ve barely made it to the top of the ladder when oversized hands wrap around your torso, helping lift you into the rafters with your weight roughly held about your armpits. Record timing. You give a wiggle, giggling at the gravelly tut it elicits. “You are going to hurt yourself climbing up here.” 

“But I wanted to see you and Sun.” You do wait until Moon’s set you solidly on one beam, turning in its hands and pushing into it for a hug. You can hear it mechanicals ticking away inside its chest, solid and comforting and real. And you can feel when it leans down, its teeth pressing gently into your hairline in a pantomime of a kiss. “You can’t come down when the plex is open, and I’ve got a lunch break anyway.” 

“No lunch,” Moon says, and you lift your head to glare at him. The glare is ruined by your inability not to smile. 

“Tell Sun if she wants to critique me, she has to come out herself and not send our boyfriend to do the pestering.” You push up on tiptoes, and Moon immediately moves to support you, keeping you centered on the wide beam and safe in the loop of its arms. You lean against it, fingers catching at the edge of Moon’s faceplate to tug down (it’s not fair, even with this shorter unit you still barely make it to their shoulders). You kiss Moon’s teeth and nose, peppering your lips over unyielding silicone while a laugh bubbles up in Moon’s speakers. It’s Sun’s laugh, almost, just pitched down and made a mess. But it’s a relief too, knowing Sun is still there. 

“Gemma is trying to source parts for a new exoskeleton.” You’re sitting with a sandwich Moon had fetched from the bakery fridge, eating one handed. The other is too busy holding Moon’s. “It’s just been difficult with the faceplate. Your old one was pretty unique for the attendant lines I guess.” 

“We appreciate the costumer replicating our old outfit.” Moon shifts, running its free hand down the blue striped pants covered in soft silver stars. “As much as we appreciate our twins’ looks, it was rather jarring to awaken like that.” 

“I know. I’m sorry. It’s my fault. We probably should’ve waited for you to look more like yourself but I was selfish.” The prickle of self-doubt isn’t helped any by the soft bonk from Moon against the side of your head. “You can’t deny it Moony. If I had been more patient, maybe Sun would be willing to come out.” 

“The Sun will rise soon. They just need time.” It’s an ill comfort, and your sandwich feels dry in your mouth. You chew hard to swallow. “She loves you.” 

“I know.” You squeeze its hand tightly, pulling it into your lap. You’d lean—but you are a good forty feet off the ground and terrified of heights. Even having your legs dangling off the edge like this is vaguely terrifying. “I still miss her. I wish we could talk directly because I’m still worried about everything t-that… everything that happened.” Ugh, you’re crying around your fake eye. It’s the weirdest feeling, still being able to cry out that socket, not having any control over it. You have to let go of Moon’s hand to scrub at it, the eye rolling uncomfortably under your palm. 

“The other Sun talked to us a little about the virus.” Moon’s hand joins yours, pulling your hand away so it can lift your chin and fix the eye for you. You try to hold still, face growing warm as you find yourself staring at Moon’s hat. “About the conversations you’ve had with him.” 

“No wonder my ears have been burning,” you mumble, closing your eyes once Moon’s fingers were clear. His hand didn’t leave, and you lean into it, kissing his palm. 

Moon laughs his normal laugh, thumb stroking over the uneven texture of your face. “If that were the case, you would be burning all the time. Sun and I have had much to talk about.” 

There’s another moment of fear and self-doubt, did I do the right thing, what if they hate each other, what if they’ve hurt each other, but Moon’s voice cuts through the fog. “—blame me.”

“Huh?” 

Moon laughs again, more softly this time. “Cotton in your ears Starlight? I said, Sunny explained how you’ve never, not once, blamed me.” 

“Why on earth would I blame you for anything?” you ask, and Moon’s fans pick up, the LED lights of his eyes flickering. Oh, have you upset it? It’s harder to tell with this faceplate, but the fans are usually a decent indicator of some major emotional change.

“Because of this.” Moon’s grip tightens on your cheek, just briefly, dropping down to the scarring on your throat next. “This. And here.” Its fingers are invasive, pulling the sleeve of your shirt up, pulling at the straps of your elbow brace. “You’re scarred, mutilated, by my hands.” It pauses as it pushes up onto your shoulder, under your shirt. Just Moon’s fingers are big enough to cover the entire joint, its palm pressing lightly against your upper arm. It’s not even that you’re small. “You would be dead if it weren’t for Sun.” 

“I would’ve been dead if it weren’t for both of you.” You take Moon’s hand, pulling it free of your sleeve. You can’t quite look Moon in the eye, knowing that your broken socket is already leaking (you can hardly call it crying). You push on the tip of Moon’s fingers, watching the claw flip up like a switchblade, testing the tip of it. It’s blunter than before, but the thin metal still hurts as it presses against your finger. Moon pulls away. leading you to chase after its hand and hold it tight once more. 

“I don’t remember much of that night,” you admit, your voice going soft to keep from cracking. “I don’t remember most of the year after either. The doctors say I got thrown really hard and cracked the back of my skull. Like reverse whiplash from a car accident.” Moon tries to pull away again, but when you hold on, it has to stop or risk unbalancing you. “Don’t. I don’t blame you Moon; I never have. Because you could’ve killed me from the very start and you didn’t. We both know you’re faster than me, even without the wire.” 

There’s a click from its voice box, but you shake your head hard, sniffling. “No, shut up, I’m not done. You’re faster than me. You’re stronger than me, but it’s my right side that’s all messed up, not my left.” Not your dominant hand, your artist hand, as Sun had taken to calling it. “You were holding back.” 

“You can’t know that.” Moon’s voice clicks audibly, erroring out into static as his fans pick up. He can’t pull his hand away; you’ve got it with both of yours now. “Sun held me back.” 

“You could’ve shut him out,” you retort, and you do look at Moon then, the dimness of his eyes a dead giveaway for how little he’s enjoying the conversation. You don’t like it either, but this is important, and you’ve been holding it in since your first conversation with Sunny. “The other Attendant told me. His Moon blocked him out entirely. They couldn’t communicate, and he couldn’t see anything when he wasn’t in control. He never had a chance to Eclipse. But I remember that. I remember seeing Clips. I-I remember being held by you both.” 

Moon’s hand has curled up in yours like some dead thing, so you take the time to smooth out its fingers, pressing its palm over your sternum, roughly over your heart. Its fingers brush heavily over the bottom of your jawline. “This right here is because of you. That virus, whatever it was, would’ve killed me if you hadn’t held it back, if Sun hadn’t eclipsed you. Moon, you would never hurt me.” 

The words are an echo, a promise given, a promise kept in your mind. Moon is looking away again, hand pressed limply against your chest. You can feel the slow brush of its thumb against the scar tissue on your throat. You swallow, and its hand goes very still. 

“I hated it,” Moon finally says, lowering its hand until it sits in your lap. You take it with both of yours again, watching Moon as it stares down at the sparse crowd. Humans, parents and children and siblings milling about, eating and laughing and talking, the music just loud enough to drown them out. “The way Sun has described her anxiety, you your intrusive thoughts, it was like that. A constant, cloying need to give in. If I didn’t, if I refused, it dug in deeper, circling around, waiting for me to slip up and let the prompt through. And the games…” Moon stops itself, wiping at its faceplate. tugging at its hat until the bell jangled. “We stopped boogeyman, then chase, then Sun suggested we stop naptime until things were better. It wasn’t until I actually. Hurt.” 

When Moon stops again, you scoot a little closer, leaning into its space. “That’s when Sun banned me from the daycare,” you prompted softly, but Moon shook its head. 

“That was later. Sun caught me digging through our memory files, trying to sort where that thing had come from. And I’d been deleting other things without realizing. Or… it had been I suppose. Safety protocols. Mobility limiters on things like our claws. Files about you.” It holds there a moment, its hand on your lap turning to hold tight to your thigh. “That’s when Sun banned you and banned naptime. She tried to keep us safe in the daycare, and it, it worked mostly. I couldn’t hurt anyone if I wasn’t the primary program. Except for you.” 

It looks to you again, leaning close until it can gently bonk its faceplate against your temple. You smile weakly, pulling it down for a kiss, soft and short and once again a little awkward given the stiff, unexpressive material. You have to let go of Moon’s hand so you don’t feel off-balance, and you can feel it move up from your lap to your belly and side, holding you in place. “It hurt to be shut out but… I can’t say I did much better,” you mumble against Moon’s teeth. You are reluctant to pull away, face growing hot. “I just left. After I was released from the hospital, FazCo said that I could finish college and have my medical bills and tuition covered, or I could go to jail for interfering with their property. And I left.” Traitor tears are building into a great flood that can’t be sniffed away. “I left you and Sun to rot in the basement and I thought about that every day, not knowing if you’d been wiped clean or discarded entirely. Because I’m a coward Moon! If I had been braver, I could’ve saved you! We could’ve been together longer!” 

“Oh Starlight.” There’s a trip in Moon’s voice again, less gravel, more Sun, but it’s still Moon’s pet nickname, and Moon’s gentle hold that’s pulling you (still so high!) into its lap, tucking you against its chest so you can hear the thrum of its mechanicals through its exoskeleton. “You are no coward. You could’ve waited ten, a hundred, a thousand years, to find us again, and we never would’ve thought you a coward.”

You can’t help but let out a shaky giggle. “There’s no way I’d have been around in a thousand years.” 

“You never know,” Moon says, its voice catching into the tail end of a song. “And we would’ve loved seeing you again as much as we love seeing you now.” You’re safe in Moon’s arms, hugged tightly against its chest as it tilts its face down into your hair. “Seeing you, holding you, hearing you. We love you.” 

“I love you too.” You say the words into their neck ruffle, check pressed against the oversized bell that hides the clasp. You snuggle in deeper, ignoring the stiff wire holding the silk in place. “I missed you so much. I love you.” 

It takes a minute and for your phone to go off, your manager wondering where you’d disappeared to, for you to compose yourself. Moon helps you to the ground and you’re about to leave to finish your shift when you remember a question that’s been bothering you for a long time. 

“Moon?”

“Mm?” It’s busy fixing your shirt sleeve, fighting where the cuff is trying to curl up on itself. 

“When they shut you off, were you and Sun… separated?” 

Moon’s fingers pause, rubbing over the fabric instead. “Separated?” 

“You were Clips when we were found. Did they force you to restart before d-decommissioning you?” Were you and Sun alone when you were killed?

Moon must’ve picked up on the unasked question because its hand moves to cup your cheek, the unmarred side of your face soft and warm against its metal. “No,” Moon says softly. “We were still Eclipse when they shut us down. And you were still in our arms.” 

“Oh.” Your ribcage is suddenly too small for your heart, and you fling yourself into one last, bitterly tight hug. “I’ll see you after work.” 

“Don’t climb into the rafters,” Moon warns, and you can’t help but snort. 

“Why not? I know you’ll be there to keep me safe.”