#first sign of danger or warmth. who holes himself into his room and forgets to eat.

[lanternlightss]

the more i write nameless bard the more i’m just. this is just my oc. i don’t think canon nameless bard hated restrictive clothing or thought of everything in debts and paybacks. i don’t think he was majorly touch averse too 😭

[icyteaa]

So … I just read the recent manhwa. I don't know why, but I don't find anyone who talks about this, so I will speak up.

This picture:

I don't know why, but this picture makes me very sad. I imagine the hardships Alberu had gone through since he was just a kid after his mom died, until he finally found a new family and friends (Cale and Co.).

My heart shattered as I thought about it. And I can't help but want to write something for him. So this is it. Headcanon that I dedicated to our beloved Crown Prince.

TCF Headcanon

[Found A Family]

Alberu dreamed last night. He didn't know he should say it was a good dream or a nightmare. He sure, finally met his mother again even if it's in a dream is a very good thing that rarely happens, but he too can't avoid the sorrow he felt after he wakes up from that dream. It makes him remember short but precious moments—the best memories he has in the twenty-four years he lives, mourning about it and wanting it to come back; to feel it again.

Alberu sighed without he can even resist. His morning felt rather gloomy because of that, but his responsibility as a Crown Prince in the middle of war never waited for him to get ready; so he took a bath and let the maid help him with the clothes. Push aside his feelings to the corner of his heart and wrap his prince-like behaviour that should never disappear in front of his people just like any other day.

He found a particular message in his communication device while he sorted all messages from his vassal and subordinate there. It's from his Aunt, Tasha. It's not something related to his duty, he thought, as he saw there were no formalities in the first greeting. So he just read it after he went through another meeting with noble about preparation for war and had a moment to rest for himself. Because responsibility always comes first than his own interest.

—If you want it, I can take charge of your task for today so you can visit your mother's grave. Don't push yourself too much. At least you can do that today.

Alberu chuckled. But there is no smile in his void eyes. Finally, someone brought it up. After all the silence his subordinate reluctantly acted in front of him, or even just normal behavior because they didn't know what date is today as they didn't have much care for the deceased person; someone finally showed care to him in the way most sincere than any bullshit talk all noble threw. And just like any year he passed, it's always and only his aunt.

Maybe that is why he has a rare dream today. Today is a special and gloomy day. He will never forget it. Nintheen years had passed, but he couldn't erase the grief in his heart. His most beloved person. The only one who is on his side in this cold palace. The only one who looked after him when everyone turned their eyes. The one who affectionately caressed him. It's just five years and still, Alberu can't get away from the sensation; or the fact he wants to feel it once more.

But remember the mountain stack in front of his eyes and duties that he should do today, he shook his head before answering his aunt's massage shortly. Rejected her offer softly before continuing with the paperwork he should read and sign. It's not the time for it. And he knew, he couldn't do it because it meant there would be people who see his weak side. And in this critical moment, that kind of weakness will be very dangerous if the enemies (any other princes or princesses) hold it.

Just like that, there is nothing different in Alberu's schedule. He read and signed paperwork—mountains of it, before he went to another meeting. And without even he realized, the time passed to the night as he found the moon shining brightly and illuminated his study.

It's tiring, of course. But it's not like he can complain much as this is the path he chooses himself. Alberu frequently questions his own decision. Why did he still stand when the favor of King had fallen from him? Why did he still choose to fight his step siblings to get the throne? Is it really just because of the power he will hold as the new King? Or is it because that is his right to have it? Is this continual tiring activity worthy enough for that?

Alberu can't help but let out another sigh. As time passed and he had let his subordinate get a rest while he finished a few more paperwork, he let himself not act as a strong prince without weakness to be pointed out. His too much absent-mindedly thought made him not realise someone had already transported into his study and observed him with absolute silence.

"You look more tired than normal, hyung." Alberu jolted when he heard the man's voice. His face narrowed with a big frown and his body all tensed up, before he realised his body again after he saw whose voice that he heard. He scoffed when he found the man so-called his sworn brother, stoicly staring at him while sitting on the couch opposite him. He huffed under his breath, "Can you step into my room with more proper attitude just like any other noble do?"

Unfortunately, the man is a few people that he can't really scold or punish even with any improper behavior he did in front of the Crown Prince. So even after receiving just a shrugged shoulder from the man as an answer to his sarcasm question, he just let out another sigh. Really, he didn't know why this man could be very unafraidly approach him. And then again, he didn't know too why he himself was never really angry because of his behaviour. He shook his head and reached another paperwork, "So, what business did our busy young master do in my study this late at night?"

At least Cale, the name of a young master that weirdly came to his life just a year ago, didn't come with an empty hand. They have yet another small meeting, discussing things they should prepare for war while Alberu finishes his paperwork left. It may be close to midnight when they finally end their discussion and Alberu finished his work. He stretched his stiff body before letting out another sigh. As time passed, it seemed he was too comfortable enough to let this young man see his un-prince behaviour somehow, so he didn't care and did it while Cale still observed him silently.

"Aren't you push yourself too much, hyung?" The reddish brown eyes observed him thoroughly. Cale rose his eyebrows with disbelief, as if Alberu's appearance right now made the young man pitited him. Alberu eyebrows rose too, "And whose mess do I take care of the most?" He said jokingly. Yeah, joking because even if he looks quite not like what the man did as he roamed and spread mess, it's too for the greater good of Roan Kingdom. They two know well about that. But still, found Cale scoffed when he heard Alberu complain, sure amusing to be watched.

"Seriously, your highness. I just state the fact, but it looks like our sun is too tired and wronged his subordinate without him even realizing." Cale stood from his couch and bowed in proper manner this time. Alberu could see unpleasant glints in the young man's eyes as they stared at each other, "Then I will take my leave so our sun can rest."

Alberu chuckled. This type of sulky face Cale has made him a bit better. It looks like teasing this young master can make his stressed out body more relaxed. "It's hyung." Alberu rose one side of his lips, "If our beloved hero can help this tired human, how about accompanying me with a few glasses of wine?"

They have a quiet night with just the voice of glasses collided with each other. He let his sober fly away as the wine passed his throat. His memories of his mother filled his mind. He didn't even realize that he talked about his memories with the young master. He didn't remember much, but he knew Cale heard his stories patiently until his body flopped into the table and his consciousness faded.

"I miss my mother." Alberu heard himself mourning as his body was lifted and Cale carried him in the shoulder. This can happen just because his consciousness disappeared bit by bit, and he wasn't in the state to care about pride. He is sad. And he really misses his mom. Cale, who is still by his side, is the only place he can mourn as he pleases.

He could see his way to the bed not smooth as the weak young man staggered to support him. Nevertheless, Alberu succeeded in plopping on the bed surface before Cale dragged his body again so he could lie down properly. He saw Cale's face that sat on the edge of bed. The young man still shut himself even if Alberu wanted to hear his response. It makes him a bit upset, so he scoffed, "You don't even react. Are you don't care about that either?"

Cale sighed softly. Alberu felt a warm hand in his forehead pat him stiffly after that. "If I didn't care, I would have left you alone a long time ago." Alberu shut himself as he felt the warmth caressed his head. It is surely not as soft as his mom did; but he can feel the same warmth. The one he really likes, and the one he really misses. His body relaxed more as the hand adjusted the hand move and running in his head more gently. "If you care … don't die. Don't leave me alone."

The hand stopped for a moment before doing his task again while another one moved the blanket to Alberu's neck to keep him warm. "I'm not planning on dying." He can hear Cale's voice. That voice calmed him down; like a lullaby his mothers always sang to make Alberu sleep. And finally, Alberu shut his eyes slowly and his consciousness faded fully as he heard the last sentence from the young man, "Rest, hyung. You deserve to have it."

In his dream, he met his mother again. But unlike today, he can feel this is going to be a good dream he has tomorrow as he finally comes to the realization that, he isn't alone. His mom couldn't support him again nor caress him, but someone had filled the hole in his sorrowful heart. Someone had reached his hand toward Alberu. Someone who can he call his younger brother—dongsaeng. Maybe he will not admit it openly, but he knew his heart had already accepted the man's existence.

If tomorrow he felt embarrassed because of his mourn in front of the young man, let it be the story for tomorrow. Just for today, he felt content. Because finally he realized; he had found a family.

Note:

I labelled this as TCF Headcanon, not AlbeCale because I want to write this not as AlbeCale stan, but as a fan of Alberu Crossman. I love him and I want him to be happy after all he has gone through up until now.

Please shower Alberu more love. Not just because of his looks or his relationship with Cale, but because of his entire existence. He deserves it🥺

[janekfan]

Dismiss

https://archiveofourown.org/works/28016568

This was all Jon’s fault.

He should have known; he’d just brought about an apocalypse for christ’s sake! Of course it was too soon! Of course Martin would be upset at finding him rifling in the dark like an addict. What if there was something worse hiding away in another one and there he was, walking in on Jon pawing through the box for a goddamn snack?

But after the panic and questions and shouting at a sky that only looked on silent and steady, the shakiness was back. The ache. The draw that came from knowing they were here and whispering to him, beckoning to him, promising to ease the hurt building up in his bones as the Eye continued to take and take and take when the well had long since run dry.

And now Martin was alone. Holed up in the bedroom, their(?) bedroom, and it was Jon’s fault. He was alone again and it was because he was too selfish to think beyond feeding the monster he’d become. All because he couldn’t wait, couldn’t give him even a moment to try and forget about Jon’s dietary needs and the pain they caused. There was no way it was easy on Martin, knowing that Jon required.

This.

Worse still was the disappointment, the devastation rolling over him like the rain laden clouds of a storm as he backed away, anguished betrayal pooling in his eyes, even as Jon reached for him, excuses pouring over his lips like ink from a pen.

The mug in his hand seemed like such a paltry offering. Martin deserved infinitely more than this and Jon would never be up for the task if he kept relying on his more monstrous half. Like his resolve, his hold on the ceramic tightened. If Martin wanted him to hold off, or, or prove that he was better than his thirst for fear, then he would give that to him.

Anything for him.

“M’Martin?” He called through the door rather than knock, holding his breath while the decision to let him in or not was made. He couldn’t help but count the seconds, forty seven, a small eternity. Jon fought the impulse to apologize again, Martin said he did that far too much, likely thought he didn’t truly mean it because he never seemed to fix his mistakes. Patience. Wait.

It was not his forte.

“Come in.” Good lord, Martin sounded so tired and when Jon stepped into the room he could see him curled up on the bed facing away from him, the slope of his shoulders defeated. The desire to express remorse all but choked him and he swallowed it down with difficulty. It wouldn’t be for Martin anyway, not really, just another selfish attempt to assuage his own guilt.

“I’m. I brought tea?” Another step closer, watching Martin sit up slowly, elbow rising up as he swiped at his eyes. “O’of course it, it could never hope to m’measure up to yours. I’m afraid I’I’ve never been a deft hand.” He was babbling, rounding the frame so fast that liquid splashed over his fingers. “Mm. B’but here? It’s warm?”

“Thank you, Jon.” It shouldn’t have mattered but the lack of an endearment he’d become so used to was like a blow. Still, he accepted the tea, taking a measured sip before setting it aside and glancing up with red rimmed eyes.

“I. I wasn’t thinking.” To prevent himself reaching for more, Jon plucked at the bottom hem of his, of Martin’s jumper, picking and pulling at the stray threads.

“I was. Surprised, I guess? That you could even look at--” He shook his head, “it’s not important.” And while Jon didn’t agree considering how insensitive he’d been, he welcomed Martin’s arms around him.

“Can’t it wait, Jon?”

Caught.

As he tried to steal away up the stairs with his prize, all too aware of the inherent chicanery.

All too aware of the exasperation in Martin’s voice as he pinched the bridge of his nose.

Exasperation with him.

“I can’t exactly...avoid you in here.” He gestured absently to the small space of the cabin made smaller by fear of leaving and they both knew well there was no way Martin wouldn’t be able to hear him. It physically hurt to replace the yellowed paper back into its watermarked manila folder.

“S’sorry Martin. Of course it can wait.” But it was worse for having held it in his hands, for having been so close and the Eye was railing at him now, shouting in his mind for his denial and dizzying him with its volume. Instead Jon settled for stumbling over to the couch to burrow into Martin’s warmth, sighing when he draped a heavy arm across his aching shoulders and dropped a kiss into his messy hair. Beneath his ear Martin’s pulse beat loud, nearly drowning out the yammering want and sluggish and thick, Jon responded in a sleepy hum to Martin’s questions, sinking into a doze when he began to pet through his tangled curls.

Without a dose of second hand fear it only became worse, to the point where his scars screamed out whenever he moved, breathed, and Jon found himself losing large tracts of time even when he wasn’t sleeping. The inside of his skull was stuffed full of candy floss and digging through any of it for a spare thought was far beyond his ken.

Martin didn’t leave anymore.

For very good reason, but Jon couldn’t find a moment alone to, to, to.

Eat.

Even old and stale they would provide a reprieve.

“Martin.” His own voice sounded as though he were hearing it through the walls of a submarine, muffled and strained, and he wasn’t totally certain of his volume. “I. I need to read. To read a statement.”

Please.

The disbelief knitting Martin’s brow almost made him want to cry. It. He’d waited so long. Tried to sneak, be out of the way, to ask.

“The world just ended!” Martin avoided saying just who ended it but it was there in the set of his mouth and Jon winced irrationally at the volume; he wasn’t being yelled at, just about. “And you want to read a bloody statement now?” Incredulous, and at his tone, Jon folded himself into a small origami shape on his spot on the sofa, sharp at all his corners and hopefully harder to hit.

“No! I mean, I--”

“I don’t understand.” His voice was soft now, imploring. "Did you forget what caused this in the first place?" Oh, but he knew the answer to this question. It was good to know.

“M’me?” When Martin sighed, the disappointment captured in it stung.

“Yeah, I mean, no. It’s not your fault you were tricked into reading--look, I just think it’d be better if we waited. At least until we have a plan?” That made sense and he said so, words tripping up in a jumble on his tongue. “Jon, are you alright?”

No. He was hurting and upset and couldn't decide which was the greater ache.

“Yes. Just tired.”

“I’m ready for a kip after the staring contest I had with the sky earlier.” That would be nice. Martin was warm and soft and it didn’t all hurt so much when he was asleep.

His scars pulsed with a feverish ache, twisting, burning, smoldering embers in a body crying out for relief, thoughts disconnected, disoriented, disjointed, knotted up past, present.

He hated this. Hated himself, hated how nothing made sense anymore, all a vast landscape of, boiling, melted wax running together in a kaleidoscope of color.

Martin must hate what he is, hate that he ruined the world and want him to know it. Maybe once he’d learned to be more careful, more thoughtful Martin would let him have one. That's all, he just had to be patient. He still held him, kissed him, loved him, this was just a, a lesson. That's all. When he told him the right answers, when he figured them out, he’d be allowed to read and fill the emptiness eating him away from inside out.

He’d rather Martin than a statement any day.

Just a bit longer.

“Jon.” Martin left him in bed this equivalent to morning in hopes it would stave off whatever he’d come down with but enough was enough. “You can’t spend all day sleeping, love. We need to figure this out.” You can’t ignore what you’ve done and leave me to clean up your mess. Uncharitable, the thought came out of nowhere and Martin was thankful he’d kept his frustration to himself. He knew it wasn’t his fault. Breaking it down to blame wouldn’t help anybody, least of all the entire world. Magnus was old and he’d taken the time to plan this, manipulating them all into place, and asking Jon to carry the whole weight of that wasn’t fair. Fading in and out, thick and syrupy, Jon’s unsteady voice rose from the mountain of quilts.

“Nnn...n’feeling...very well.” He looked dreadful, flushed and fevered, and not for the first time Martin wondered if this was a leftover side effect of the ritual. “S’so cold…” Taking pity, Martin curled around his too thin and shivering frame where Jon panted harshly into his neck, the brush of overheated air humid at his throat.

“What’s wrong, darling?”

“Hur’s.” Worry flooded Martin’s chest, constricting and tight. There were no doctors here, no ambulance he could call on.

“Where?”

“Ss…” With difficulty he flexed his burned hand.

“Scars?”

“Ah.”

“Alright, I’m here.” Gently Martin ran a light hand along the seam of his spine in the hope it brought Jon some measure of comfort if nothing else.

Idiot.

It took him too long to put the pieces together. How big did a neon sign have to be before he could read it?

Selfish. Foolish. Stupid. And the one paying dearly for it was Jon.

“You need to come awake for me, love.” He’d already heaved him up once only for him to swoon and this time he bullied him to his feet where he stood swaying dangerously but Martin needed him to be awake, to get his blood moving and stay that way.

“Mma’tin…” agonized, breathless, what had he said earlier? About hurting, his scars? God, Martin, you just watched him fall apart in front of you and did nothing. Worse than nothing. “Sstop…”

“I’m sorry, sweetheart.” For so much, for not listening, for thinking ever that Jon would keep seeking out statements for anything other than necessity. “You’re doing so well, so, so well.” To think he nigh accused him of wanting to Know and nothing else; childish and angry. “But you need to wake up, you need to be able to listen.”

“Am...am.” Marble mouthed, dark lashes like strokes of ink fluttered, obscured the unnatural green glow always seeking. “Lis…” he broke off into a low, shaky moan, curling into himself, trying to sink to the floor, and Martin wanted to cry, worried that if he left him alone for even a moment he wouldn’t be able to wake him again. So he swept him into his arms instead, heart shattering when Jon bit off a sharp sob as his palm ghosted over the gap in his ribs, sore and sensitive and even so, he turned his face into Martin’s chest, twisted trembling fingers into wash-worn wool with a keening whine. He'd hurt him, accused him, berated him.

And Jon still turned to him as though he were the sun.

“Shh, soon now.” Shallow and short, Jon’s chest hitched as he pressed his fever hot forehead hard into his shoulder and swallowed with a wet click.

“Mmah…” around another convulsive swallow and it was barely warning enough to get him over the sink where he coughed up the tea Martin forced into him earlier. Strung tight and painfully wound, Jon exhaled in relief when Martin let him slide boneless down the cabinetry to the floor, cheek pillowed on the cool painted wood. Lifting his chin, Martin brushed back sweat soaked curls, pressed a promise into fiery skin.

“I’m going to fix this.” As quick as he could Martin ran to the closet and grabbed the whole box, returning to find Jon sprawled out on his back, limbs twisted and loose where he fell. “Oh, Jon.” There was no time to make him comfortable, not when for all Martin knew he was dying because he’d refused to see what was right in front of him, what Jon had been trying to tell him. Because it meant that Jon truly wasn’t human and clearly part of Martin wanted to ignore that.

And now.

“Jon, darling, please.” In his lap, listless deadweight, face turned unconsciously toward the statements. “Open your eyes, Jon, which ones haven’t you read?” Martin clawed through the folders, skimming titles, trying to remember if he’d heard any snippets, but no. He didn’t like listening to them, didn’t want to hear the horrors of others. If he’d stayed with him would he have been able to stop Magnus’ plan? “Jon!” Listing numbers, names, until the floor around them was tiled in paper. Hitching him higher, Martin kissed his pulsepoint when his head lolled, slow and sluggish. “Jon.” Which one?

“Mmm...”

“This one?” He read the first sentence, shuddering already at the chill running up his spine. “Jon?” Another paragraph and uncoordinated, his arm struck out, reaching blindly. “Okay, alright. Are you listening?” The tiniest nod, Martin wasn’t sure if he imagined it or not, but began to read, steady as he could, sick with himself when the tremors eased and tight, spasming muscles unspooled under his worried hand. When the tears came he had to force himself to keep on, beside himself that he couldn’t comfort him. With the great gasping breaths of a man half drowned, Jon swung his arms around Martin’s neck when the strength came back to his arms as it all drew to a close.

“Th’thank you.” Damp spread over his skin, his words tinged with desperate relief. “M’sorry, m’s’sorry.”

“For what?” He clutched him back, the sound of paper crumpling in his fist sharp in his ears and punctuated by Jon’s frantic apologies, his uneasy gratefulness.

“Th’thank you, Martin, thank y’you. Won’ a’a’ask again.”

“Jon.”

“Can wait.” The quake in his voice was shivery and small and devastation pooled in Martin’ stomach.

It sounded too much as though--

“Oh darling, oh no, no. I.” He had to pause, to swallow the tangle of emotion clotting up his throat and gathered him closer. “I didn’t understand. That’s all. I would. Jon.” Gently he shifted him to get a look at his tear streaked and exhausted face, swiping at his own eyes before cupping his cheek and drawing his thumb over the too-prominent bone there. “Never, I would never h’hurt, or punish--I didn’t know. I didn’t listen.” The first statement’s reprieve was wearing thin and Martin settled Jon against his chest where he laid still, head resting on his shoulder as he reached for another envelope.

The light never changed, no matter the time, but it was softer now. Here.

Pastel behind his eyelids as if swimming through a twilight consciousness into the soft sensations of waking. The knit strands of Martin’s cardigan threaded between his tangled fingers and he shifted closer, so warm, the fever chills he’d suffered for days a thing of the not too distant past. Jon wanted to collect this feeling, this safety, bottle it up for when Martin finally figured out that the only thing he knew how to do was take. Holding his breath, he tried to stay in this moment and absorb the feeling of Martin’s body pressed against his own, slotted perfectly together like a pair of puzzle pieces, the heat generated beneath the quilt comforting, intoxicating.

Even though Jon could tell you more than most that stealing scraps of affection never amounted to enough.

Soft kisses rained over his skin, over every scar, because he’d been unable to cry quietly enough to leave Martin undisturbed. He pulled away, scrubbed his face with the heel of his scarred hands.

“Sorry.”

“Please, don’t be.” And he wanted to believe him, that he could have this even with what he was. That he wouldn’t ruin Martin like he’d already ruined so much. “Come here, love.” Patient. Martin was so patient with him even when the uncertainty had to show in his face. “It’s alright.” And Jon dove back in, hands not so much brushing against each other as colliding when he reached for more, more, more, taking, taking, taking. Hiccuping with sobs, burrowing close, closer, the closest he could be, where Martin’s kiss was a soft promise pressed between them, told to his mouth rather than his ear but a message of love and protection and tenderness all the same. Tears he forgot he’d been crying were thumbed gently away, so carefully it was as though Martin worried he would break under the weight of his touch.

Sated, the Beholding a murmur lost in the rhythm of Martin’s heart, Jon allowed himself to be lost, to let someone else, someone he loved and who loved him in return, carry it all just for a little while.

“How’re you feeling?” He approached with a cup of tea, inadequate though it was for an apology, passing it off to Jon’s eager, steady hands. His color was better, the flush faded, and he’d stopped moving like there were needles wedged in every joint.

“Much better, thank you, Martin.” Whyever would he thank him? But here he was, eyes closed in appreciation of the first sip, patting the cushion next to him in open invitation.

“Why didn’t you say anything?” After a beat of silence Jon set aside the mug and folded his hands in his lap.

“I thought you knew.” His fingers flexed and Jon forced himself to look Martin in the eye. “I thought it was what you, what you wanted.” And the confusion in his expression, that he had possibly miscalculated, was painful. But isn’t that what he’d learned time and time again? Tim, Basira, Melanie, Daisy, even Martin himself! That when he made mistakes, made wrong choices, when he’d done something they didn’t approve of he’d been yelled at, ridiculed, threatened, terrified, hurt, abandoned. He laughed, a bitter, deprecating huff. "I did end the world after all. You've a right to be upset."

“Wha--no! Jon, no! If I’d--” speechless, that Jon just accepted so easily being hurt this way, accepted that Martin, even accidentally, wanted to see him punished for his part in bringing about Magnus’ plan.

“When I, I asked. I. It made you so angry.”

"Jon. No matter how angry I am, I never want to hurt you or punish you. That’s not okay."

"But--"

“I should have never made you feel--” He grit his teeth, calmed his voice. There was no part of him that wanted Jon to interpret his anger at himself as anger pointed towards him. “Please, if I do this again. Please, love.” For a moment Jon looked like he wanted to argue and Martin tugged him into an embrace, overjoyed when it was returned, his response muffled in his jumper.

“Alright.”

[plumoh]

[Yuumori] tethering touch

Rating: G

Word count: 1846

Summary: “Sherlock's soft and long fingers don't shake in the slightest when he touches William's hair, brushing aside uneven bangs that were covering the scar of his eye.” A touch, no words, and trust. / pre-chapter 57.

Note: AO3 link. The fic is set right before chapter 57, during the timeskip, and was written before the release of chapter 62.

The window is open.

A carriage drives at a brisk pace and causes someone to hurl half-shouted insults at it, probably due to its close proximity to the sidewalk. A dog barks, terrified, while its owner murmurs reassurances. The cries of children running around and playing games travel from one street to another, clear and innocent.

The wind blows gently against the thin curtains; the weather is nice, a good day to take a walk and enjoy tea outside to relax.

The second chair at the table scrapes on the wooden floor, and Sherlock winces as he lets himself drop into it without grace. He at least had the forethought to put his mug of coffee on the table beforehand; William wouldn’t have cleaned the stains for the third time in as many days.

“It’s too early for chairs to make that much noise,” Sherlock mutters.

“Perhaps yanking on a chair without lifting it from the floor isn’t the right way to sit,” William says, the corner of his lips curling upwards.

Sherlock shrugs, his face giving no hint of a change in behavior in the foreseeable future. William thinks he can manage watching chairs being poorly treated for a while longer, since a month or two are meaningless compared to three years of cohabitation.

“Did you leave the window open all night?” William asks, glancing at the slightly damp ledge that got rained on during the night.

“I smoked too much last night, I figured it wouldn’t be pleasant to walk into the living room with that stench in the morning.”

It tugs at William’s heart, a gentle grip that can turn forceful any time. No matter how long he spends observing Sherlock, no matter what truths and secrets they’ve told each other, one way or another William finds himself always, always surprised at small gestures and reasonings that make up Sherlock’s strange character. He’s grown over these past three years—they both have, though not everyone would be satisfied with whom they’ve become, most likely. But they are the only judges of themselves, uncaring of the opinion of others.

But it is unlike Sherlock to forget something as basic as opening the window when he smokes. William stares at him, searching for a sign of discomfort or doubt that wasn’t apparent the night before. There is a small crease between Sherlock’s brows, pinching his face into an expression of both focus and concern that hardly belongs on these cocky features allowing nobody to think he’s hesitant.

William brings his cup of tea to his lips, carefully, biding his time.

“I was under the impression your habits have improved, and that you have been smoking less in the last few months,” William says. “Did you get enough sleep this week? We could re-institute our nightly games of chess, if it helps you relax.”

Sherlock, mirroring William in a deliberate and casual gesture, sips his coffee and stays silent. His gaze never leaves William’s, assessing and critical, like he’s expecting to be teared open from the inside out if he lets too many emotions slip through his fake calmness. William smiles at the thought behind his cup.

"Of course, I don't believe that losing to me every night would give you the desired effect. Your brilliant mind needs rest, too."

"You have a way with words that makes me wonder if I should be amazed or frustrated, Liam."

Sherlock puts down his mug and sighs deeply, throwing his head back and staring at the ceiling. William places his cup on its saucer, and gets up. He pushes back his chair like he's handling something precious, his gaze focused on where his feet are and what his hands are gripping to avoid stumbling, then he makes his way around the table to stand next to Sherlock. Sherlock cuts a glance at him, half-sprawled on his chair and half-stiff with unnecessary worry.

"I'm not saying this lightly, when I suggest you should let your mind rest," William says in a low voice. "You are filling your head with cumbersome thoughts that have no reason to exist in the first place."

William doesn’t understand why the air is so heavy with doubt this morning, so stifling when they’ve agreed on the plan a long time ago already. Being overwhelmed with the panicked need to back down at the last second before the act is not an option permitted in the life they’ve chosen to live; they go through with their decisions and succeed. Failure is rarely brought onto the table, because they can’t afford to fail.

Sherlock’s body relaxes ever the slightest upon hearing William’s words.

“You’re right,” Sherlock whispers. “I just have to act like I always do.”

William smiles. “I’m sure three years aren’t long enough for you to forget how to act around your brother and the MI6. You’re still the same.”

Wild, unpredictable and straightforward Sherlock Holmes—a person that slips through people’s fingers when they think they have him in their palms, someone that uses flamboyant methods to get out of unpleasant situations. His words are sharp and awkward in their honesty, grazing at skins without the intention of hurting, but he’s too earnest. William is nothing like Sherlock at all, from their opposite dressing styles to their obvious different way of thinking, and yet.

And yet, William shares half of his mind with Sherlock, and Sherlock listens to him.

William slides a hand on Sherlock’s shoulder, feathery-like touch leaving behind trails of phantom strokes. He smoothes a wrinkle here, dusts off a spot there, then pulls lightly on the shirt’s collar, prying it open easily without a tie holding it together. The underlying message doesn't go unnoticed, judging by Sherlock's soft laugh. When he looks at Sherlock’s face, William finds hawk eyes watching him with rapt attention, scrutinizing him like he’s harboring all the unresolved wonders of the world.

“Well, mostly the same,” Sherlock points out with a grin. “My tie’s in the bedroom. I’ll get it later.”

“You will make a lasting impression, I’m sure.”

“Yes, reappearing three years later with a tie strangling me will do that.”

A laugh escapes William’s throat, and Sherlock keeps looking at him like he will never tire of watching the blooming of roses. Sherlock shouldn't make this kind of expression; he should know better than to let such naked feelings dance on his face and in his eyes, hiding none of the bizarre, fiery affection he's nurtured over the years for William. It's a dangerous train of thought that William lets fester in a corner of his mind without doing much about it—maybe when it fully takes root and can't be plucked off anymore, then William will acknowledge it and will no longer run away.

Sherlock wrenches his gaze away and glances at the table. William follows his movements and watches him pick up the abandoned black eyepatch next to the tea pot, pinching it gently by the thin strap.

There are no words exchanged. William withdraws his hand from Sherlock's collar, and Sherlock rises on his feet with a smile. His soft and long fingers don't shake in the slightest when he touches William's hair, brushing aside uneven bangs that were covering the scar of his eye. The scar is an ugly thing, a mess of tissue and discolored skin surrounding the hole where his eye should be, but they've never been one to flinch at the physical manifestations of the cruel trials of life. There is warmth oozing from this gesture, as quick as it is intense. The two of them are not people who are used to the touch of others, preferring the cold and grounding sensation of a weapon held in their hands. In spite of it, William closes his good eye.

It's permission as much as it is curiosity. How long will they keep doing this, allowing small acts of service and reveling in the peace they bring, without ever addressing the meaning behind them? William isn't one to let anyone stand so close to him, at a distance where any threat is invisible and any counter-attack is ill-timed. Sherlock could grab him by the sides of his head and hurt him, and William wouldn't be able to stop him. In another world, where their shared future is written in stone, it could have happened. They could have been facing each other like this, silent as a tomb, following the script of a justice punishing all criminals equally, one of them delivering it and the other accepting it.

But it isn't that harsh and implacable reality. In the world they live in, William feels the eyepatch placed over his eye, the two ends of the strap traveling behind his head to be tied together. Never once does he stop sensing the warmth of Sherlock and his hands. They are close enough they can hear each other's heartbeat; one second passes, then two, and then three, and Sherlock's fingers are still in William's hair. A careful and tender pressure, a steady touch he savors.

"I could do this with my eyes closed," Sherlock says quietly.

He slowly, slowly extracts his fingers from William's hair and lets one hand linger on his cheek. William opens his eye, already knowing what he'd find staring back at him. Sherlock has always been unable to hide his emotions, even in his touch.

"That's good to know," William replies just as calmly. "You can be my two eyes, as well."

"I'm anything you want me to be, anyway."

Sometimes, Sherlock's words are so honest they are hard to parse. Abrasive, frank and sincere—how did such a man end up with someone like William? He caught him, and he's not letting go.

"You are too trusting," William settles on saying.

Sherlock grins. "I trust you as much as you trust me, Liam. Don't forget that."

"That is assuming you know how far my trust in you extends."

"That's because I do know. You haven't left yet."

William chuckles. Bold words coming from a shameless person.

"I suppose I haven't, no," William agrees.

William lifts a hand, and in turn, he cards his fingers through Sherlock's hair, much longer than it was when they first met. He makes it more presentable, less wild, smoothly. Sherlock's eyes are locked on his, like he has nowhere else to look.

Small acts of service that punctuate their shared life, charged with significance they cherish without uttering a word.

"Finish breakfast and go retrieve your tie, Sherly. It's almost time for you to go," William tells him.

"Yeah, yeah, I'll do that. You should get ready too."

They came back to England and are continuing their fight. It leaves no room for hesitation.

William drops his hand. Sherlock does too and smiles at him, and if it were yet another universe, where he isn't a coward, William would have kissed him.

But not yet—this isn't the right time yet. The way they look after each other is enough, for now, and William will protect it, until they are ready.

[beauodie]

Falling For You || Beaumee

pairing - beau odie & @aimeeblake

time - the beginning of july 2021 (like the 11th-ish, give or take)

setting - aimee and dj’s apartment

summary - beau worries that telling aimee he loves her via text ruined a milestone moment for them as a couple, so he goes to see her in person with gifts in tow to make it up to her; suffice to say it backfires and crashes and burns, almost literally.

Beau didn't know exactly how he'd upset his girlfriend, or even if she actually was upset or just confused, but what he did know was that, as a boyfriend, he needed to do better. Deciding that her issue had been with the word 'love', he had to take some action. After all, maybe using the word 'love' so casually in a text had been the problem. Beau had been essentially saying that he loved Aimee in different words ever since they got together, but it was the first time he'd used the actual L-word and in a text definitely wasn't special enough. Aimee was a romantic who swooned over vampires who had eternal love, and he'd messed up a milestone moment. He had to try and fix it.

That's why he was headed over to her room with a bouquet of her favorite flowers in one hand and a box of chocolates that spelled out "I LOVE YOU" inside with different small treats in the other, to make the moment up to her. He got to the door and knocked with his elbow, smiling excitedly. He'd had some nerves on the way over but now that he was here, it was just pure adrenaline that he was running on. He was about to make this a day they'd tell their grandkids about -- this was about to be a day that Aimee would never forget.

Aimee hadn’t been really sure what to expect when she heard knocking at the door to her and DJ’s apartment, as far as she was aware neither of them had ordered anything and she’d personally seen to it that DJ had taken his keys with him when he’d left earlier, so she was incredibly shocked to look into the peep hole and see the smiling face of her boyfriend bearing gifts. Even though she’d kind of had a fit about the whole love/care mix up over their texts, she didn’t remember saying anything that implied that he should come anywhere near her, let alone with her favorite kind of flowers like he’d done something wrong other than accidentally making her crazier than usual.

Shooing off her dog Benji, who’d she’d brought with her in case of danger, Aimee opened the door to let Beau in with a confused smile. “Hi, what’s up? Did we have plans today that I’m completely forgetting about or something? What’s with the flowers?”

The sight of his beautiful girlfriend's face was a welcome one, and it made his heart flutter and warm up like butter sliding down toast. It was like a sign that Beau’d done the right thing by coming here, and she'd see so in a moment too. "Hey," he greeted, pressing a small kiss to her cheek as he made himself comfortable walking in. "And no, no plans, unless I forgot too. I just felt like I should clear some things up and that starts with these!" He handed her the flowers, not wanting to get too carried away that he didn't say what he needed to say.

He took his a seat on her bed as if it was his too and waggled the heart box in her direction too. "And these. Come here, sit with me," he asked, waiting till they were more settled to keep talking. "I feel like I really dropped the ball when we were texting, and maybe some of that was because it's easy to get things lost in translation over the phone. So I wanted to come over here and make myself crystal clear." He handed over the chocolates, practically bouncing with excitement, and nodded. "Open it up, baby."

Aimee’s expression crumpled into further confusion as Beau tried explain himself as they made their way through the apartment and into her bedroom. But Aimee had already done enough questioning for one lifetime during their previous conversation, so she just wordlessly followed his lead all the way to the bed, certain that his meaning would reveal itself at some point.

A belief that proved itself very correct when she opened the heart shaped box and read the words spelled out across eight candy pieces. “Oh…uh..” Aimee started, struggling to manage a suitable response even as her chest felt like it was starting to close in on itself as it pushed her rapidly beating heart up into her throat. Aimee knew she was definitely on the edge of a full on panic attack, but one look up at her sweet and entirely too kind boyfriend had her scrambling in her already too loud brain to think of something to say that wouldn’t make her reaction come off as hurtful when that was the absolute last thing she ever wanted to do to anyone as thoughtful as he was. “C-chocolate. That’s sweet. Thank you.”

Beau was on the edge of his seat, waiting to see Aimee's face once she saw his love declaration. The lady at the chocolate shop had swooned at the "I LOVE YOU" candies, and he couldn't wait to see Aimee react similarly, but the more he looked at her, the more obvious that wasn't the reaction he would get. She didn't look like she was about to turn to him and say she loved him too as they rode off into the sunset together. Mainly, she just looked overwhelmed.

And then she thanked him for the chocolate, not for anything else, and it occurred to him that maybe the chocolates weren't enough. Maybe the whole point was that he needed to say it out-loud. He reached out one hand to rest on hers and he looked into her eyes. "It's not half as sweet as you. Aimee, I love you," he said confidently. "And I should've told you that way sooner because it's been so true for so long now, but I do. I love you. And I promise never to mess up one of our milestones by texting it ever again. You deserve this and so much more."

If Aimee hadn’t been struggling enough with trying to keep the rising lack of air and it’s accompanying sense of light headedness and greying vision, Beau doubling down on his gesture by resting his hand on her suddenly very cold clammy one and saying it out loud with a speech was really the final nail on the coffin of Aimee’s consciousness as the roaring sound in her ears reached a crescendo coinciding with the end of his statement and her eyes rolled backwards into her head before she promptly dropped like a sack of bricks off the side of her bed, taking the I LOVE YOU chocolates along with her to the ground.

It happened in the blink of an eye and bam, Aimee was on the ground. This definitely hadn't been the kind of swooning he was hoping for. Beau had been feeling so chipper up until that moment but all at once the warmth inside of him turned icy cold, and that cold brought focus along with it. He'd known going into their relationship that Aimee was prone to fainting spells but he hadn't seen it himself up until now; as a future nurse, and more importantly as her boyfriend, it was his job to fix it, especially since right now it definitely looked like her head had hit the floor. He got off the bed and onto the floor, laying Aimee flat on her back since she wasn't throwing up and getting her legs up onto the bed to elevate them. With a quick examination to see if she had any tight clothing that could be considered restrictive to blood flow, he turned towards the next stage of his training -- waking her up.

"Aimee, baby, come on," he yelled, shaking her by the shoulders. First-aid training was so much easier on a dummy than on a real life person, especially when that person was someone he cared about. He didn't like yelling at people, or jostling them, or anything else like that, but like the classes always said, it was better to have an annoyed patient than a dead one. He knew this happened to her often but any head injury or loss of consciousness should earn a one way ticket to the doctor, just in case. It was hard to plan ahead though when he had a sinking feeling that this reaction on her part wasn't a happy one. There were more important things happening than whether or not she loved him back, but the feeling that his gesture had gone wildly wrong was harder to shake than an unconscious Aimee was.

Being no stranger to waking up on the ground, Aimee wasn’t too shocked when she got shaken back into consciousness. Mostly just embarrassed and still a little dizzy from the fainting, the shaking and the cause of the whole shebang. “At least I wore cute underwear with this skirt.” She weakly attempted to joke, in reference to way she found herself positioned on the floor before trying to sit herself up slowly. Since this was Beau’s first time seeing her eat shit way that was much worse than her just never being able to walk in a straight line without finding something to trip on, Aimee wanted to lighten the mood with her best attempts at humor.

Beau let out a huge breathe of relief when Aimee started waking up and he reached under her beautiful head gently to support it. He gave her joke a little smile, but it wasn't a fully convincing one, on account of still being kind of scared that his girl had crashed to the ground -- and that maybe he'd been the reason why. "Yeah, at least there's that." He cocked his head to the side, examining her eyes. "And you're able to talk and joke so that's a good sign too. It's probably going to be a little annoying but I've got a few questions for you. Do you know what year it is? What seven times seven is? And uh, what's the last thing you remember?" He could feel his face heating up at that last question but it was a standard one when making sure someone hadn't hit their head too hard and he had to follow protocol.

Aimee usually didn’t like being touched and watched too hard after fainting, since she didn’t like being fussed over in general. But Beau had always been the exception to that disdain anyway and she could tell he was seriously freaked out after he fall, so she didn’t push him away like her instinct was screaming for her too when he started examining her eyes or make up bitchy little joke answers when he started questioning her.

 “It’s twenty twenty one, you know I’m bad at math so this question is unfair, and…you were telling me that you love me.” Aimee recited dutifully, only coming to a awkward pause when she had to repeat what they both had to know was the cause of her panic attack and subsequent faint, but she answered it anyway since she’d already been a freak enough for one day and faking amnesia about the entire event was her only other viable option.

He grinned a little bit at the math bit but then she mentioned the love part and his smile cracked a bit; in all fairness, Beau knew that that's what she would have to say, but it hurt more than he expected being reminded that she fainted because of what was supposed to be a sweet gesture. "Okay, yeah, I'd say you don't have a concussion," he assessed, giving her some space finally so she could sit up if she wanted to. "Which is good because that means you don't have to see a doctor unless you really, really want to. Ummm..."

Beau paused for a moment, not sure how to proceed. "I'm sorry. I didn't think that would happen if I...yeah." It was so hard to choke out an apology, because he hated the idea of being sorry for loving her, but if it wasn't for that, she wouldn't have been in danger in the first place. "Can I ask though like... what did I do wrong?" That last part escaped before he could help himself but he was almost glad he did. Open communication was important for relationships, after all.

“To be fair. I didn’t know that would happen either. You didn’t do anything wrong.” Aimee sighed, taking a second to assess how she felt physically before sitting up fully to assess how she felt emotionally. She’d spent so long freaking out about his feelings that she hadn’t devoted much time to think about her own.

“Everything was perfect. Exactly the way I’d want to be told something like that. Well mostly…” she muttered, scrapping some chocolate out from underneath herself so that it wouldn’t completely ruin her outfit. “Have I ever mentioned that I’m like the pickiest eater in the world and not really the biggest fan of chocolate? Not that it’s why I fainted but it is worth mentioning, I think? Although I guess pop rocks aren’t really a candy you can use to spell out I love you? Unless you want to use the packets but that seems more like something to do for high school homecoming invitation than for a real adult love declaration probably. Not that I ever actually got invited to—“ She cut herself off suddenly when she realized that she was starting to ramble about absolutely nothing of substance.

Aimee took a breath and took Beau’s hand in hers, kind of like he did before she went and ruined the whole thing, “I’m sorry let me start over? You did a very good job, Beau and I really like that you came here to make up texting it to me. I think…I mostly just freaked because.. I don’t know if I’m ready to say it back. YET.” Aimee nervously looked into Beau’s eyes to see if he would be mad or sad that she couldn’t return the sentiment before plowing on. “I’d like to say it to you someday, if you’re okay with waiting for it. But… quietly, without making it a whole thing .”

Beau had to stop himself from interrupting her, but it was hard; how could she claim he did nothing wrong when she'd ended up knocked out on the floor? That was textbook definition of something going wrong, but then she cut herself off and his breath halted in his throat as understanding struck him. If the way he'd done it was perfect and exactly the way she'd want to be told that, then the problem was... him. It was the Beau of it all. And he'd known going into their original agreement that Aimee had feelings for someone else, so it shouldn't be a surprise and yet it was, though it made sense the more he thought about it. Aimee was a lifelong hopeless romantic and had no doubt imagined being told someone loved her before, but it was DJ she'd been imagining all these years. Tall, handsome, princely DJ who would've known better than to nearly shock her into a concussion and would've used Pop Rocks instead of chocolate, and who he'd never be able to be or even live up to.

Thinking that way was defeatist though. Just because he'd never managed to become as important to Aspen as her lifelong childhood friends had been didn't mean he couldn't crack in there with Aimee. He cared about her so much and he was already making mental notes like never giving her chocolate ever again, or that she'd never been asked to homecoming so that maybe, this year, when Auradon Prep had their homecoming, he could ask her to go to a makeshift dance with him with Pop Rocks spelling out "You Pop Rock My World" or something corny that would hopefully make her smile. And maybe the fact that she said yet, that she wanted to say it to him someday, was good enough. It was absurdly sad to him that she couldn't say it back yet, but his rational brain told him that it was in fact pretty soon in a relationship to drop the L-bomb and if all it took was time...

"You're worth waiting for," he assured her, biting his lip as he contemplated what to say next. He wanted to swear to never make something 'a whole thing' ever again, but he was starting to think it was just part of his relationship-personality and he didn't want to lie to her, especially because the idea of someone actually loving him back someday filled him up with so much chaotic energy that it was like dropping a Mentos into the Coke bottle of his soul. "I can't promise to be super quiet when you say it back, because it'll feel like... it'll feel like everything. But I can promise not to pressure you to say it back, ever. I'm just happy to be with you, Aimee. I really, really am, and as long as you're happy to be with me too, then I think we're okay...right?"

Aimee let out a sigh of relief at Beau assuring her that he would wait for her to say it back. She figured that he probably wouldn’t be super lowkey when she did eventually say it back, but considering when he said it she responded by fainting it was probably fair. Everyone had their things and if her’s was a particularly hateful vasovagal syncope then who was she to deny him being over the top. Besides hadn’t she been waiting her entire life for a boy who could love her as loudly as Beau was more than willing to? Shaking off the tiny niggling thought that reminded her that she hadn’t wanted just any boy, Aimee leaned over and kissed Beau soundly on the lips for a few seconds before pulling back and smiling. “I am more than happy to be with you, Beau. So as far as I’m concerned, we’re better than okay. We’re perfect”

He was somewhat nervous waiting for a response, as if Aimee were about to tell him that she wasn't as happy as he was and that they should just end this now; he wasn't sure why he felt so insecure but if pressed, he'd chalk it up to his past relationship, where he didn't see the end coming at all and then suddenly, boom, he was thrown to the curb like he meant nothing the whole time.

\But Aimee wasn't like that. Beau knew in his heart she wasn't like that, and if he needed reassurance, her lips against his worked wonders. He kissed back enthusiastically, happily, and her words just took it to another level. "Perfect," he repeated before leaning back in and capturing her lips with his again.

[banshee-cheekbones]

i would love to request some more zagene!!! preferably some first kiss action? cause you’re super good at first kiss fics!!!!! uwu!!!!!!

this is only four months late and i’m so goddamn sorry! anyways, here’s some first kiss shenanigans, set during Keith and Becky’s wedding reception!

~1.7k, on ao3 here.

shut up and dance with me.

Zach can’t remember the last time he was this drunk.

Presumably, it was for one of their videos, but that’s all he can dredge up at this particular moment. The parts of his brain normally devoted to combing back through his memories are distracted at this particular moment by the champagne flowing through his body, by the warmth concentrated in his stomach and the lightness filling his head like so many helium balloons.

Based on a quick glance around the dimly lit, expansive room where Becky and Keith’s wedding reception is in full swing, he’s sure he’s not the only one feeling this good. Ned and Ariel are sitting at a table over in the corner, and while Zach is pretty sure that Ariel’s only been drinking water for the entirety of the night, the two of them still look tipsy, foreheads resting each other, giggling at some private joke. Various family members and friends are scattered around the room, heads thrown back with laughter as they move to the upbeat music flowing from the speakers set up in each corner of the room. The happy couple themselves are over in a corner, eating off the same plate with matching ridiculous grins.

(The sight of that makes Zach’s heart ache in a way that might border on painful, if he was anything approaching sober.

Thankfully, he’s not, so he barely registers the twinge in his chest.)

And then, of course, there’s Eugene.

Even though it’s been one hell of a long day, there’s no sign of his energy dissipating anytime soon; he keeps flitting from one end of the room to another. One moment, he’s crouching down to let one of Keith’s nieces push a handful of flower into his hair; only a few seconds later, he’s talking up Becky’s mom. Once he’s left her with a smile stretching across her face, he effortlessly spins around, impossibly graceful as always, grabs two flutes of champagne off a table, and crosses the dance floor to stand beside Zach.

“Your flowers are crooked,” Zach says, taking one of the flutes when Eugene offers it to him and waving his other hand at the daisies threaded into Eugene’s hair. Eugene shrugs and reaches up to prod one with his finger.

“Probably. Do they still look cute though?”

There’s only one real answer to that question, and Zach doesn’t hesitate to say it. “Fuck yeah.”

Eugene smirks and raises his flute in a toast. “Well, that’s all that matters then.”

“I’ll drink to that.” Tipping his head back, Zach dumps the contents of the flute into his mouth. The champagne burns a line of fire down his throat and adds another layer of warmth to the pit of his stomach. He lowers his head and wipes his mouth off on the back of his hand just in time for Eugene to take the empty flute from his hand and stash both of them on the nearest table.

“Maybe we should grab you some too,” Eugene says, gesturing from the flowers to Zach. “Could braid them into your chest hair or something.”

“Don’t say that too loud,” Zach says through a laugh that veers dangerously close to being a giggle. “If Keith hears you, you know he’s going to somehow work that into a video.”

“I see nothing wrong with that.” Overhead, the music changes from a shuffling pop beat to something with a slower tempo, a song Zach remembers hearing in a movie once upon a time, almost saccharine in tone. If he concentrates on it for too long, he’s bound to fall into a self-pitying hole, but before he can come up with some kind of creative reason to excuse himself from the room, Eugene’s fingers wrap around his wrist.

“What are you doing?” Zach asks, stumbling slightly as Eugene tugs him away from the tables.

“We are going to burn up this fucking dance floor,” Eugene says, moving backwards, practically bouncing with each step that he takes.

Zach laughs helplessly. This is a horrible idea; his coordination is suspect at the best of times, never mind when he’s this drunk, and if he doesn’t trip over himself, he’s going to trip over someone else, or maybe a table leg or chair. At the very least, he’s bound to stomp on Eugene’s feet.

But Eugene looks utterly delighted as he spins them around and maneuvers Zach’s arms up into a textbook waltz pose, and even if Eugene would forget it in seconds, go off and find some other form of amusement, Zach doesn’t want to be the reason that happiness flickers or fades. So, tightening his hand on Eugene’s waist and laughing all the while, he lets himself be pulled around the dance floor, lets himself be dragged into exaggerated motions and evermore dizzying spins.

Amazingly, he manages to keep up for most of the song. That’s not saying that he dances well; he’s sure that, if he ever happens to see footage of this moment, he’s going to be embarrassed for years to come. But, by some minor miracle, he doesn’t stumble over Eugene’s feet or kick him in the shins, doesn’t crash into anyone else or lose his balance when Eugene twirls him around.

But as Eugene tries to dip him, during the last moments of the song, he fucks up.

The movement catches him off guard, and as Eugene drops him low, Zach’s feet slip out from underneath him. In his frantic struggle to stay upright, he hooks his fingers into Eugene’s jacket, but rather than the grip serving as a way for him to haul himself upright, he ends up tugging Eugene down instead. They land on the floor in a sprawl of limbs and surprised laughter, and Zach can hear the people around them laughing as well. Someone even starts applauding, and without looking around to see who it is, Zach fires off a half-assed salute, since pulling a bow isn’t exactly possible at the moment.

The floor is warm and smooth and absolutely unforgiving underneath his back. He’s sure that, come morning, once the alcohol and the giddiness fighting for space in his body have worn off, he’s going to feel the throb of half a dozen bruises, not to mention an ache in every bone lining his spine, from the impact. But for the time being, that’s a distant thought, one that breezes into his brain just as quickly as it leaves.

For the time being, he has more important things to focus on. Namely, the fact that Eugene is half-sprawled on top of him, heavy on Zach’s thighs and hips and showing no sign of moving anytime soon. He’s propped up on his hands and laughing, so close that Zach can smell the champagne on his breath.

Or maybe it’s on his own breath. Either way, he can smell champagne.

“You were doing so well!” Eugene says, dark eyes sparkling. One of the flowers has come loose and is barely clinging to his hair, hanging over his forehead like a gargoyle clinging to the outside of an old church. “I’m proud of you.”

“Hey, the only reason I ended up down here is because of you,” Zach retorts, leaning up on his elbows in an attempt to lever himself away from the undoubtedly filthy floor. “You-”

What he plans on saying is you gotta warn a guy before you do that, but only the first word leaves his mouth. The rest disintegrate in the back of his throat, because as he leans up, Eugene leans down, and their mouths skim together in a kiss.

Immediately, Zach freezes, and his heart starts beating a tattoo of fear and anxiety and outright panic. He’s dreamed of this for years, came dangerously close to confessing it on camera a time or two, but he was never stupid enough to think that it would actually happen. But, while he’s sure they’ll be able to laugh it off tomorrow, for now, unless he immediately starts drinking more, he’s going to spend the rest of the night trying to stay away from his friends, and-

That thought process comes to a screaming halt, thanks to the sudden realization that Eugene is kissing him back.

One of his hands is pressed firmly against Zach’s face, warm and slightly sticky with sweat, and he’s kissing him back. His eyes are closed (which makes Zach realize he needs to close his own), his thumb is skating back and forth against Zach’s cheek, and Zach feels like, if it wasn’t for Eugene’s weight atop of him, he’d simply float up and out of the room.

He doesn’t know what to do with his hands, fumbles them through midair for a few moments before he settles one on Eugene’s shoulder and the other on his lapel, grasps the fabric tight between his fingers. In the back of his mind, he’s vaguely aware that they’re being whistled at, but that isn’t important. The only thing that’s important is that he kiss back.

He’s not stupid. He knows that this is absolutely a dumb move, a move with potentially earthshaking consequences. This could fuck up everything: his friendship with Eugene, the entire dynamic of the Try Guys, their very jobs. Not only that, but this could very well break his goddamn heart.

But he also knows that, even under the influence, Eugene is almost painfully logical. He excels at thinking things through, at following the correct path and making the right decision. If Eugene is doing this, it must mean that he’s thought about it before, that he’s weighed the pros and cons, the positives and the negatives, and decided to kiss Zach anyways.

Really, for now at least, that’s all the reassurance Zach needs.

By the time Eugene pulls away, face lit up with a grin that looks almost out of place, Zach’s lungs are aching with the need to breathe. Even as he inhales deeply, he finds himself mirroring Eugene’s smile, feels it creeping across his face wholly of its own accord.

“So,” Eugene says. Carefully, he rolls up onto his feet and extends a hand to help Zach up. “We’re gonna have to work on that.” Zach doesn’t know whether Eugene is referring to the dancing or kissing or both, but he nods rapidly all the same.

What he does know is that he isn’t ready for the night to end.

“Okay,” he says, nodding rapidly and grinning as Eugene pulls him back in close. “Let’s get to work then.”

[mini-pretzel]

friends

Genre: smut

Music: friends

Additional tags: profanity, dirty talk, drunk sex, teasing, reader has a dirty mouth

Word count: 3.5k

After your bad break up, Taehyung is determined to help you forget your ex.

Like a true friend.

You knocked the shot back so fast the movement almost gave you whiplash. The burning you felt in your throat from the alcohol felt too good for you to care though.

You hissed and licked your lips, motioning the bartender for another one. It’s only been less than an hour but you were already tipsy and determined to get completely plastered and pass out in your bed before the end of the night. It was just one those goddamn weekends. And you had your heart broken. So there was that.

Earlier today you had walked in on your boyfriend of three years balls deep in another girl, and well, you know. Let’s just say it wasn’t a great start to your weekend, especially after such a shitty week at your work. Very stressful work.

It didn’t help that she was prettier than you. That was a low blow to your self-esteem. Also the fact that Jaeho didn’t seem to care over being caught red-handed didn’t make you feel any better either. He didn’t even care about you being hurt over the predicament. Just flushed down your whole relationship down the drain right then and there. You were going to need a lot of shots to drown that bastard out of your system.

“Why do you look so fucked up?”

You turned your bleary eyes to the bar stool next to you. You could have sworn it was empty when you got there just twenty minutes ago. After blinking away the tears from your eyes you focused on a mole on the person’s long, angular nose. You were sure you’ve seen it before, but as the alcohol was starting to take effect your brain functions were gradually slowing down.

Then it hit you.

“Taehyung!” he jumped at your voice, as if it was too loud for the bar, but in your head it had sounded normal. “What are you doing here?”

“Why are you yelling?” he retorted back, stealing your vodka shot before it even made it to your hands and downing it in the same gesture. “Fuck, that burns.” he hissed and smacked his lips for effect.

“Why are you being a dick?” you mumbled, and waved the bartender over to replace your stolen alcohol. You tried not to look at his lips, cherry red from the alcohol and glistening in the faint light of the bar. He looked good. Like always. Damn punk. He had some nerve coming in here looking like he did and talking to you. With that black beanie and tight ripped jeans that made his ass look even better than normal. Fuck.

Not that you were looking anyways.

Taehyung snickered, leaning his elbows against the bar table, leather jacket pulling in protest. His eyes had a dangerous glint in them and it made your insides warm, but you blamed it on the alcohol.

“Answer mine, I’ll answer yours.”

You blinked at him tastelessly and downed the shot the bartender had provided you with. You had no time for his games, so you caught to the chase. You had a cold lonely bed to get to.

“I’m getting shitfaced and going home for a long nap.” You sounded bitter, so obviously bitter and you knew he would pick up on it. Taehyung always had a good knack for things like that.

“Why?”

“Jaeho dumped me.”

A moment of silence.

“Why?”

You could hear the disdain in his voice, but you were far too drunk to care.

“I caught him cheating.”

“With who?”

“Jiwoo.”

Another pause.

“The fuck?”

“I know right?” You eyed the outline of his leather sleeve and wondered if the fabric would feel cold to the touch. If it would feel good against your skin, against your-

Oh boy, your mind was going places. So many dirty places. It must be the alcohol sneaking up on you, you kept telling yourself that as you realized that Taehyung was saying something but you were completely canceling him out.

You eyes snapped back at him. “I’m sorry, what?” His eyes were filled with worry, and that fact had confused you.

You frowned. You didn’t need his concern. You were fine. Getting fucked up on straight shots of vodka at the bar was a totally reasonable reaction to your ex cheating on you. And crying over it into your pillow later on in the night like you have planned was too. But you weren’t going to let anyone know about that part. You had too much pride. You had liked the Jaeho guy, like actually like liked him. You thought you were going to be ‘together forever’, as repulsive as that idea had sounded now. What a fool you had been.

“As I was saying,” Taehyung drew out slowly, as if you were incapable of understanding basic human speech, “I was here to see Jeongguk perform live, but then I saw you inhaling shots like they had the nutritional value of a celery and I had to check up on you.” he pursed his lips.

“Gross, I can’t believe you’d think that.” you acted offended. “I hate celery.”

His face didn’t look amused, but you grinned at him nonetheless.

“It’s cute that you care so much to check up on me though.” You teased him and averted his gaze, much rather preferring to stare at your clasped hands, fingers toying with the silver rings.

“Seriously, though, you okay?”

There was that concern again.

“Would you be okay after finding your ex cheating on you?”

“Fuck, did you walk in on them?” his eyes widened as the realization hit him.

You swallowed something akin to a rock down your throat and couldn’t meet his gaze. “Yeah. I did, Tae.”

You could hear him mutter something under his breath. Something akin to ‘jesus’ or ‘fucking christ’. You couldn’t hear it properly. The room was starting to spin around you. Your eyes were getting blurry, you weren’t quite sure if it was because of tears or alcohol sensitivity. Perhaps both.

“You don’t look too good- hey!” he grabbed you as you were starting to fall off the bar stool.

“I’m fine.” you slurred, slapping his chest and enjoying the fabric of his tshirt underneath you palm a little too much. His pecks felt as hard as you imagined them to be.

“You’re not fine.” he sighed and provided a steady arm around your waist so you wouldn’t take him down with you, as much as you probably would’ve liked the view from below.

Just the whole premise of him staring down at you should you fall and have him land on top of you was enough to emit a giggle out of you. You really were too drunk, your thoughts kept insisting that you felt something more for him than your other friends.

Maybe that was the case. Or maybe you were just feeling the whole idea of a sexy rebound. That was also a totally normal reaction to getting dumped by a cheating ex. Totally.

It’s not like you thought Taehyung was hot as a skillet this whole time but kept it in your pants to keep things from getting weird between the two of you in your friend group. No. Not at all. That would be ludicrous.

“I’m taking you home, you’re so fucking drunk.” Taehyung looked annoyed with your whole inebriated repertoire.

“Take me anywhere you like, Taetae.” you slurred, feeling a little too comfortable with your arm snaking around his neck. You had to do that to stay upright. Otherwise down you would have went. With him. Maybe you should have not done that in the first place.

Your face felt too hot, you bet the floor would’ve felt nice and cool.

Taehyung helped you into a cab and told the driver your address. The whole cab ride felt like a blur to you, with you heaving fake throw up attempts just to piss him off. He was really cute when he got flustered over your sorry ass drunken state. You briefly wondered if that transferred into the bedroom.

Man, you were really thirsty for this. Damn you for getting so drunk and running into him. On any other night you would’ve held yourself together more.

Alas, the night was young, and you were blissfully inebriated and you decided that if anything happened between the two of you it wouldn’t be that bad in the morning. Especially considering how many times you’ve woken up clutching your bed sheets, panting and sweaty, after yet another Taehyung wet dream. There had been too many to count at this point.

“We’re almost there.” Taehyung reassured you and you looked at him and tried not to think how the beanie fit perfectly on his head. He looked so much like boyfriend material, it almost hurt.

You felt something tug in your chest as you leaned in closer to him, your knees swinging over his lap. You just wanted to be closer to someone, closer to him. You needed human contact.

“I really want to fuck you right now.” you blurred out without a second thought, and to your surprise, Taehyung just laughed.

“Wait till we get to your place first, you dirty girl.” he wrapped his palms around your knees. You could feel the warmth through your jeans.

Well damn. He just called you that. Yes, he did. Yessir.

You were totally fine. You were great. You totally did not want nothing more than to jump him right there in the cab and see how hard it would be to pull those jeans off his tight ass.

Taehyung looked absolutely nonchalant as his eyes were staring out the window, but his slender fingers slid further up your inner thigh and they told you that you had all of his attention. They were burning holes in your jeans and you wish there was nothing separating you from feeling the skin to skin contact.

Was your apartment in sight yet? Fuck, you were almost ready to combust from the tension between the two of you. You were practically in his lap. Just one more move and you would be… You would be able to feel his-

Then the taxi stopped and Taehyung had to disentangle himself from you, much to your displeasure, to pay the driver.

As soon as the two of you got to your door, and fumbled with the keys for way too fucking long before Taehyung took over for you to let you into your own damn place it all became a blur.

You remember Taehyung shutting the door, you remember being pushed against the nearest wall accessible, you remember the sting of the bite he left on your neck as the first sign of foreplay, you remember the way his lips felt against yours, hot and slick with saliva, how rough his jeans pressed against your hips, pinning you to the wall as if attempting to merge you into it.

Were you even sure you liked your ex as much as you originally thought you did? What was his name again?

“Fucking hell,” Taehyung breathed against your mouth, darting his tongue out to run in over your lowered lip. “You sure you’re not too drunk for this?”

You answered him with by trailing wet sloppy kisses up his jawline and biting on the edge where it met his earlobe. You felt him shudder against you. You were way too damn turned on for it to end now. No fucking way. You toyed with his plump lower lip between your teeth shamelessly. You wanted him.

Taehyung carried you to your bedroom, which was still a mess from when you left, but alas, that was the least of your worries right now. Not when you were about to get fucked by a friend you had the hots for way too long.

You felt your bed press against your back and looked up to find Taehyung straddling you, looking way too pleased with the position.

“Fuck, I knew you’d look good on top of me.” you mumbled, running your fingers to the hem of his shirt and lifting it. You got a little peak of his skin underneath and it made you smile.

“I gotta get the jacket off first, you drunk,” Taehyung snickered with a gruff as he discarded the piece of clothing and threw it somewhere across the room. You heard it land somewhere but didn’t bother to check where because in front of you Taehyung had just taken off his other shirt, and, fuck, man if that was not a sight to see.

“Fuck, you’re too hot, Tae.” you breathed, voice hoarse, drinking in the sight of his lean and slender torso, dark nipples, suggestive happy trail that lead into hiding in his pants. All of it was too much. You head was spinning. You wanted to touch, to feel everything. And you did.

Taehyung tasted salty like sweat and bitter like his cologne. His skin felt like fire under your fingertips and you were sure that if it was any hotter in the room you’d burn alive. You packed away that information to the depths of your mind, it was too good not to go back to later when you’d be alone in your room in need of a good get off.

The two of you kept pushing bodies against each other, rubbing roughly at the hips, earning grunts from both of you and soon, one by one, your clothes were starting to disappear somewhere to the dark depths of you room. And you could feel his skin against yours without any barriers finally. Fuck, it felt soft and hard at the same time. The perfect blend of muscle and supple skin. You could die right then and be happy.

“Fuck.” you rasped out, there was only underwear left between you. That’s all that was separating you from completely enjoying the man on top of you. “Take them off.” you pulled on the elastic band with a snap.

Taehyung growled in your ear and ground down his hips against yours, his clothed hard dick rubbing against the wet mess of your panties. “Tell me what you want and I will.”

“I want you to fuck me, Tae.” you groaned as he squeezed your breast through your bra, fingers digging into the skin, leaving marks. “Fuck me so hard I forget how walking works.”

Taehyung grinned and licked his way down your neck, sucking on your collarbone. “And? What else?”

He was still wearing his beanie, that jerk. This was supposed to be a no clothes zone.

You bucked your hips against his, earning a hiss from him and pulled the hat off, tossing it carelessly somewhere you couldn’t care about. “Bite me, suck on my tits, make me fucking come Tae. I want your dick in me so fucking bad. I want you to break me.” your breath hitched. “Please.”

As if you uttered a magic word, Taehyung slid the rest of his clothing off and proceeded to do the same with you. “Goddamn, you’re soaked.” he breathed as his fingers circled around your clit, not quite touching it, but enough for you to fidget under his touch.

Fuck, the man knew how to tease.

“Yeah, I’m all ready for your dick.” you said with a click of your tongue, for emphasis.

Taehyung proceeded to kiss you again, sloppily, hungrily, with teeth scraping against yours and tongue landing punches in your mouth like you were in an arena. The man knew how to tease, but he also knew how to be rough like you wanted. You moaned against his mouth and bucked into his hand.

Somewhere between your pants and grunts and lip locking his fingers found his way inside you, working your walls, stretching and rubbing the folds in search of your g-spot.

You released a high pitched mewl when he found it and he swallowed your sounds in his kiss. Fuck, you really needed him in you.

“Please, Tae.” you begged again. He rested his forehead against yours, adjusting his fingers and making you groan out once more, keen on being filled.

“Do you have condoms?” he asked, eyes dark as they tore into yours.

“I-I haven’t used them since-” he brushed against that spot again and you could swear you saw stars. “I’m on the pill.” you breathed out.

When he paused for a moment you groaned at him in need. “I’m clean, I swear. I got tested when I found out what’s-his-face was sleeping around.”

That apparently was good enough for him. “I’m-” he growled as you scraped the back of his neck, pulling on the hair there, “-clean too.”

“Good, fuck me now.”

And he did. He spread your legs further apart, lifting your thigh for more access and thrust into you in one go so hard that all breath and noise left your body. Suddenly everything was silent and blissful and your eyes rolled to the back of your head as the heat spread in your lower body. Your thighs shook. Fuck, his dick felt so good inside you. So thick and hard and throbbing, with no rubber to separate the sensation. And when he started moving and fucking you like you craved you were just right about to fall apart in his arms.

“Damn it, Tae.” you breathed into his ear, moving your hips with the rhythm he set. “More. Harder. Please.”

Taehyung grunted into your lips and pressed further, his dick penetrating you so deep your back arched at the sensation. Fuck, it’s been so long since you have been fucked like this. You’ve been wanting to do this with him for god knows how fucking long.

You squirmed under him and left trails of saliva on his shoulder, biting and sucking where you wanted, marking him and making him groan in response.

“You’re so beautiful,” he whispered, eyes genuine and breath hot against your face, and you felt yourself tearing up because no one’s ever said that to you during such an intimate moment before. Especially not your ex.

It was over far too quickly. You could feel the tension building up inside you, the wave rising, ready to drop and envelop you in orgasmic bliss and when Taehyung decided that then was the best time to hook your legs over his shoulders and change the angle of his dick in you, making it reach greater pleasure points, and you felt yourself come crashing down into the fiery shakes of your orgasm. Your skin tingled, sticky with sweat, your heart beat so fast it was bound to break through your sternum. Your head spun, your vision blurred. Fuck, you came hard.

Taehyung wasn’t far behind you, with a couple more forceful thrusts you could feel him lose his rhythm in his own eager pursuit of release. And then you felt him stiffen and press further into you, burying his face in your neck, to empty his hot cum inside your wet pussy.

You could hear his hoarse breathing echo in your ears as you stare at the ceiling and contemplated the greatest fuck you have ever had in your life. You’ve been fucked a lot before, but this time was different and you weren’t sure why.

Taehyung pulled himself out with a hiss of his tongue and plopped down beside you, wasting no time to bring your body close to his.

You felt your cheeks go wet and realized that you were crying. The man had made you cry from fucking you so good and being so sweet throughout it, too. That was fine. That was great. You moved closer to him to inhale his scent. That was a totally normal way to get over a cheating ex.

“Thanks, Tae.” you whimpered out, appreciation barely audible against his skin.

He nodded against the crook of your neck.

“What are friends for, hm?”

You heard the smirk in his voice and laughed, tears trickling down onto the sheets.

Indeed.

And Taehyung was the best kind of friend.

[goldenhour-goldenboy]

hi!! after watching TF i got a Supernatural Dean and Sam vibe from Will and Benny, Will is like Dean and Benny is sam. It mentioned their dad in the movie and icouldn't help imagine him being a military dad, which is how they both got into this job. and Wills line of "I've been supporting him since the day he was born” about benny just reminded me of dean taking care of sam. could u write a fic about Will and bennys childhood and how you think it could have gone with a military dad away a lot! x

Soooo a couple of things 1) i’ve never made it past the third season supernatural and that was years ago so I hope the vibe is still what you wanted :) and 2) I was mainly working from other people’s experience with having a parent or both parents in the army and being in the army in the US is probably a bit different from being in the army in Germany buuuut I still enjoyed this snippet and I hope you do too! :) 

Growing up with their dad in the military (Ben Miller and William Miller, hc)

Both of the Miller boys grow up on strength, physically and emotionally, their parents keen on teaching the boys values and morales that are important to them. 

Their mother, an endless source of love, would always patch up their knees, dry their tears and help them with their homework. She’s the heart of the household, both of the boys inheriting her warmth and care. This is what she taught them, that there is strength in forgiveness and kindness and that every creature on this earth is deserving of love. It is important for her that her sons learn respect and honesty with one another, fairness and to be stronger than what the world might throw at them. 

He’s cracking jokes on Sundays where they are meant to be on their way to church yet they’re late again so they end up at a pancake place because there really is no point in going now. He’s morning runs, the brothers chasing after him until they get tired halfway through and he has to carry them back to the house, getting his own little workout in like that. 

The boys see their parents being in love, dancing around the kitchen, stealing kisses while cooking and even though they are children and that stuff is gross for them the imagine on what a relationship should look like gets imprinted into their minds.

Both of the boys grow up with at least one daily task to fulfill. It is their fathers way of teaching them responsibility and patience and care.

 William and Ben being in charge of the chickens in the backyard seemed like an excellent choice for that. they are in charge of feeding them and taking them out of the gutter and making sure the way to the enclosure is free and available ben learned to take responsibility the hard way, when he forgot to lock the gates one night and the chicken ran away in the cold, never to be seen again. His father, showing little emotions for that other than disappointment just shrugs and tells him to be more careful next time if he wants to avoid that from happening again. 

To the outside world his way of raising the boys may seem a bit extreme, even cold at times but it couldn’t be further from the truth. Their dad is still caring and incredibly invested in the boys, so much that he wants to do everything that they grow up string minded and healthy and independent, thats all that he wants from life and if that’s the way to get them to learn than so be it. most of this comes from his own father, having the family having a long line of history of vets and soldiers. it is a sense of belonging that he walkways felt when talking to his dad and he wants to pass that down to his own sons. and though they are grateful for the many lessons they’ve learned as children, little kids really can’t comprehend the situation as they grow up and are still young, let alone understand the intentions that go with actions.

It gets harder every time their father has to leave again. The boys don’t understand. It’s confusion the first time and some tears, they are trying to be brave and grown up then. The next time there are a lot more tears, more confusion, yelling and clinging until they reach a point where it’s silent tears and not even wanting to hug their dad and say goodbye. This is even worse than the yelling. 

It’s after one too times his father tells him he has to leave the next week, again, that William runs into the office, where his dad stores his belongings and the medals of his dad and pictures taken while he was in service, and pushes everything off the shelves before storming out the house. He doesn’t necessarily smashes anything as much as he just wants it all to be gone, leading to nothing being broken in the end but the gesture defiantly getting across. His dad finds William out on the front porch, the little guy waiting for him to come and confront him about his actions. Part of Will wants to stand tall and take whatever his dad has to say to him with pride and part of him is just utterly scared of the reaction he’s about to receive, anxiously awaiting the yelling his dad must’ve prepared. It leaves him with his chin up but his eyes watering and his lower lip quivering. When his dad just sighs and sits down Will’s nerves start to get the best of him and he breaks down crying because that’s the reaction he had prepared and now that there’s no outburst from his dad he’s completely confused into what he’s supposed to feel. His father can’t even be mad, it is such a clear and big signal from William to act out like that, he has to force down a chuckle. „You’re a brave guy, William Miller.“ His son is still sobbing and while he stops to take in a shaky breath Papa Miller opens one of his arms, not being able to see his son hurt by something he caused. „You need a hug, tough guy?“

William, even though being the older one, has a hard time dealing with the absence of his dad and missing him a lot more than he can handle. There are endless nights spent crying and getting terribly homesick, even though he is home. He grew up knowing what it was like to have a dad around and whenever his dad is gone, he can feel him missing. 

His obsession with numbers started then, counting the days his dad was gone, how many times he has to sleep before he gets to see him. It’s a desperate attempt to make the situation more bearable for him and it barely works.

Benny at the same time grew up seeing his dad from time to time. He’s used to the stories instead of memories and saying goodbye constantly before seeing him again some weeks later. He doesn’t remember his first couple of years as much as Will does, when his dad used to be gone for months at times. His world was much simpler, his questions could be answered with wonders and his mother telling him about how brave his dad is, fighting to come home because he loves his family so much. For Benny, his dad is a hero. Until he is not.

Puberty is hitting him like a ton of bricks and while his brother grew up with a lot of feelings, Benny suddenly gets a lot more input than he can handle. He feels everything, all the time and he truly doesn’t know how to deal with that. His dad being absent only feeds into his confusion, leaving Benny unsatisfied if he is home and missing him when he’s gone. He’s picking fights then, with his mom, his brother and most often his dad when he is actually home. Doors slamming, yelling and heavy footsteps on the stairs are common in those years and Benny loses the connection to his father for quite some time.

With Benny trying to sort himself out, William feels like he’s going through puberty a second time. They’ve moved a couple times by now and while Will comforts himself with books (they wont leave him and he can take them anywhere with him) Ben has gotten in with the wrong kind of people just one too many times. He’s out at night more than he can count, his mother not getting through to him and his brother only finding the wrong words. They’re at each others throats more and more, underestimating their own strength and forgetting that if they hit each other now it can become real dangerous real quick. 

It’s one night where Ben is coming home late. He’s drunk and trying to sneak in, actually bumping into every corner on his way through the house. He doesn’t even make it up the stairs as his brother, woken up by the crashing, comes down to help him. Hushed words lead to snarls lead to yelling, feelings that have been pushed down for too long explode. „What do you think dad would say if he were here? He would beat your ass to next christmas!“ „I don’t care about fucking dad! He can fuck off and die whatever shithole he’s stuck in now!“ They use words that cut deep and it doesn’t take long for them to roll around the hallway, fists hammering and hands closing around each other throats. Neither of them hear their mother shout, desperate for her sons to stop. She screams, she cries, she throws plates to the ground but they don’t hear her so she brings out the gun and fires a warning shot into the ceiling. Now they stop, startled and she sends them to bed before breaking down in the living room, a hole in the ceiling being the literal sign for something terribly going wrong right now. Their father comes home a few weeks later, both boys not interested in seeing him. William, who initially wasn’t even mad, actually understands his brother because he too, feels left behind. The last image their dad has of them is when they were 8 and they have matured a lot by that now. There’s no hug this time, the ceiling being fixed long before the boys learn to deal with their feelings and it takes an even longer time to forgive their dad, because after all it is their dad and they do care for him very much.

It’s a special kind of bond the Miller brothers share between them, their trust grown over years spending together and the thought about one leaving the other actually scaring them. Both of them like to know their loved ones safe and sound, a lot of their caring coming from the time that they didn’t know if their dad was alright. Ben and Will join the military at the same time, both beaming with pride and confidence. This is what they both wanted ever since thinking about their future, side by side and even though William struggles to come to terms with the thought that his baby brother might get hurt, he couldn’t imagine his service without him.

The day they get sworn in is probably the proudest day for the whole family. Their father is beaming with pride looking at his sons and both of them feel like they might explode.

There’s a lot they still haven’t talked about. The past is not an easy thing to untangle and feelings don’t go away like that, Ben and Will slowly understanding their father more and more as they experience violence and war and grief in the same way he did. Now they are the ones who get to see their parents from time to time, the tables being turned in a way they always suspected to happen but not being prepared for the way it actually is. 

It certainly helps to have a father who’ve experienced this kind of mental strain before and who knows what its like to go to war and then come back home. A lot of the adjusting with life back home they actually turned to their father to, family dinners often revolving around their stories and experiences and sometimes just quiet pats on the shoulders, as no words are needed to understand the struggle each one is going through. Not every action can be excused but they are older now and old scars are sometimes just that, old scars.

[ninwrites]

Our Love Lives On

Pairing: Magnus Bane/Alec Lightwood

Words: 2353

Summary: His life has split into two, a timeline of before meeting Alec, and every beautiful moment afterwards.

Read on AO3 or below the cut xx

It’s only been a few months, since they moved back into the loft, since they left their Lower Hudson townhouse to Max, and his growing collection of magical artefacts and dusty old tomes of spells long forgotten - but the way the light drips across the floor, painting the room in hues of gold against dusty rose sheets, is not something Magnus would ever forget.

The details of the room are different, the sheets, the bed itself, the wardrobe and the clothes within it; twenty-five years is a long time, and most mundane-built objects don’t last decades, but the sense of waking up in this room, with Alec’s arm wound around his waist, is so reminisce of their first nights together that it fills Magnus with a pleasant and full warmth.

He allows himself a moment, to soak it in, to revel in the joy of waking up next to his husband; time is nothing compared to that statement, a century couldn’t weather away the awe that fills him when he glances at the ring on his left hand, a finger that had stayed bare his entire life, until he met Alec, of course.

Alec changed everything.

Magnus smiles to himself, when - as if hearing Magnus’ thoughts - Alec stirs beside him, hand curling against Magnus’ bare hip, his bed-hair tickling the underside of Magnus’ chin. It used to burn, the overwhelming force of love that Magnus holds for the man within his grasp, because love had never felt this strong, but Alec’s had, Alec’s love had slipped through cracks Magnus had forgotten about, his love had removed bricks in due time, had shown Magnus that there really was somebody out there for everyone.

It may have taken him a few centuries, but he’d found his soulmate, and now he was lucky enough to look out into the future without fear, but excitement, for all the things that forever hold for them both.

Beneath Alec’s head, from which tiny snores fill the air, is a rune, as stark and bold as those which cover Alec’s skin - only this one is Magnus’, one end of a pair that bind Magnus and Alec, and their lives, together.

Literally.

With all magic, there is a cost, and although the first … decade or so had it’s trials and tribulations, they’ve reached a point where they both understand the limitations of the magic that binds them together, the magic which gives Alec his immortality, and Magnus the chance to keep the love of his life, by his side, for so long as they both shall live.

Sometimes, Magnus stares at his chest, at the symbol of a language he used to curse and call ugly, and wonder how he ever got to this stage; and then Alec would stand next to him, or beside him, and they’d be matching, rune to heart, and it all made sense.

There’s only one person Magnus would mark himself for. Only one person he’d marry. Only one, he’d pledge forever too.

Magnus hardly startles, at the soft press of lips against his chest, against his rune; it is, after all, one of his favourite ways to start the morning. He trails his fingers, lightly, against the nape of Alec’s neck, charmed by the tiny sounds that escape from the back of Alec’s throat, skin warmed at every point of contact.

“Good morning, Alexander.” He whispers.

Alec’s fingers trace runes of love and protection against Magnus’ ribs, lifting his head with a degree of lethargy, though his gaze is bright and alert. “It’s always a good morning when you’re here.”

Magnus shakes his head, fondly, dropping a kiss to Alec’s temple. “Nearly thirty years, and you’re still as poetic and sweet as when we were young fools, rushing into love.”

Alec raises a lone eyebrow, tilting his head with an assessing gaze. “I have been meaning to mention,” He whispers, smirk toying at his mouth. “You’re starting to look your age, a little.”

He lifts his hand, fingers tapping at the sides of Magnus’ unglamoured eyes, then the center of his forehead. “Three decades with a Shadowhunter seems to be taking quite it’s toll on your skin, you’re breaking out into wrinkles-”

Alec laughs lightly, matching Magnus, happy giggle for giggle, as Magnus flips him over, straddling his hips in a move as quick and efficient as a Shadowhunter. Alec’s eyes are alight, the lines creasing the corners a sign of a life spent laughing; laughter lines, Magnus is more than happy to bear with pride. But to claim he has wrinkles is a step too far.

“I’ll have you know, dearest husband, that my skin is clear and perfect, because I have a great skin care routine, and whilst being married to the Head of The New York Institute-slash-co-founder of the Downworlder/Shadowhunter Alliance, isn’t exactly easy, I don’t have wrinkles.”

Magnus slips his hand into Alec’s, resting on the pillow next to Alec’s head. Alec’s hand curls around his, wedding ring glinting in the morning light.

“I’m sorry,” He leans up on one elbow, until his face is a cheeky few inches from Magnus’. “I didn’t mean to imply that you’re anything but effortlessly gorgeous.”

Magnus shrugs, letting his nose bump the tip of Alec’s. “I know you’re only trying to save yourself a night on the couch, but I’ll still take the compliment.”

“I mean it.” Alec kisses Magnus’ cheek, then the crease of his eye. “I was joking before, the centuries have barely touched you, Magnus. If you weren’t literally magic, I think a lot of people would be quite annoyed.”

“Me?” Magnus runs his thumb along the side of Alec’s hand. “Alexander, you haven’t aged a second since the day I met you.”

Alec grins. “Well, it probably helps that I share my lifeforce, and immortality, with my fantastic husband; it’s not too shabby, being wrapped in a cycle of endless love and life with the man of my dreams.”

For others, such a statement would only come out with knowledge of the romantic date and the typical, Hallmark connotations attached to it — but Magnus doubts that the date has anything to do with what he’s saying.

Alec is nothing if not honest to a fault, and the core of that honesty lies within his heart. It’s not enough, for Magnus to just say “I love you”, but then no words are adequate for practically thirty years of a soul-strong relationship.

Actions do a little better, or so Magnus thinks, as Alec peppers his cheeks with soft kisses, but he’d spend the rest of forever showing Alec just how much he truly loves him.

Fortunately for them both, that is a very possible option.

Instead of a whirlwind portal to a romantic and secluded cottage or resort where they can hide away and ravish each other, or something; Magnus suggests a nice stroll around the city, and then burgers down on East, where they’ve become quite familiar with the owner of a cozy hole-in-the-wall, Tony.

The revelation that comes, when he’s sitting across from Alec, bags tucked safely beneath the booth, ankles crossed - is not a stark one, nor is it anything new.

It’s just love, but then also, it’s a little more than that. They’ve been together for so long, Magnus almost can’t remember a time without Alec, because it’s not until he met Alec that he really started living.

His life has split into two, a timeline of before meeting Alec, and every beautiful moment afterwards.

“What?” Alec asks, after Magnus has been observing a little while, burger held almost religiously between his broad hands. “Is there something on my face?

“If I’m lucky,” Magnus mutters beneath his breath, stealing one of Alec’s fries. “No, darling, there’s nothing - I’m just thinking.”

“Dangerous,” Alec quips, cheekily. “So, what are you thinking about? Our thirtieth anniversary? Do you think we should throw a party for that? I suppose we’d have to see where the kids are at, the others too….”

“I wouldn’t be averse to throwing a party,” Magnus admits, dusting the salt from the tips of his fingers. “I was, actually, thinking about you. Us. Not our anniversary, per se, there is a few months, simply - us, as we are.”

Alec finishes his mouthful, carefully placing the burger down. “”Okay. Should I be worried?”

“Never,” Magnus promises. “It’s simple reflection, nothing terrible. We’ve come very far, you and I. Do you remember when you’d barely even look at me? Now I can’t get your eyes - or hands - off me.”

Alec shrugs, something sweet and coy tugging his smile. “Can you blame me? I’m married to the most beautiful man in the universe - I’m lucky I was smart enough to take a chance on something new, considering how well it’s worked out for me.”

He picks up his burger, assuming that to be all of Magnus’ point, and it is, technically, but Magnus is having a difficult time pulling himself from his own introspection.

He always thought that he’d reach a point, where waking up next to Alec was just another part of his day, where glancing at his wedding ring was just a reminder to bring home Alec’s favourite baked cheesecake for dessert, where bringing up the kids at breakfast would result only in an invitation to Sunday dinner, and an off-handed comment about how shaggy Max’s hair is getting.

But that point has never come - because every time he looks at Alec, at his never-changing presence, at his brilliant smile and glittering hazel eyes, it sends butterflies with feather wings tickling his ribs, sending his heart into such an overdrive that he’s afraid it won’t stay in place.

Every day with Alec is an adventure, a step forward in a life he never dreamed he could have: they have grown children, who they’re more proud of then their bodies can hold, and each other’s company till death does them both part.

It’s not easy, but good things never are, and whilst Magnus knows there are more costs to a forever with Alec that have yet to come (the days where Alec loses his siblings, his parabatai, will no-doubt stress everything they’ve built together) it is something they will face side-by-side.

Magnus has been able to find his someone, and time can’t weather that impact. Nothing can weather the impact Alec’s love has on him.

The scent of lavender and jasmine circle the air, smoke drifting from the candles stationed around the living room.

Magnus glances around at the warm setup and smiles, the atmosphere homely and sweet and calm, perfect for a night-in: he can still remember when they spent their first all-nighter with baby Max, because he refused to sleep longer than an hour at time, and neither could agree on who should get the chance to sleep.

Of course, Max is old enough to put himself to sleep, and he hasn’t lived with them for years, but some memories - fortunately - never fade.

“Smells great,” Alec slips his arms around Magnus’ waist, pressing a soft kiss to his shoulder.

“Hm,” Magnus leans back into the touch, head tucked against Alec’s neck. “So do you.”

Alec laughs, pressing another kiss behind Magnus’ ear. “Sandalwood,” he says. “Some things don’t get old.”

“Are you talking about the sandalwood or us?” Magnus asks, turning in Alec’s arms.

Alec loops his hands around Magnus’ neck, leaning forward to tease a kiss at the corner of his mouth. “Both, if I may.”

Magnus melts into the kiss that Alec leads, into the familiar warmth that is always accompanied by Alec’s presence; it’s the best part of his day, being this close to Alec, pressed together until their hearts are beating in welcome synchronisation.

“Dance with me,” Alec whispers, when they pull apart.

Magnus raises an eyebrow, even as his feet start to follow Alec’s lead, his fingers pressed to the nape of Alec’s neck.

“We don’t have any music,” He points out, echoing Alec’s tiny steps.

“We don’t need any.” Alec grins, hands curled against Magnus’ jacket. “We have each other. You’re all I’ve ever needed.”

Magnus closes his eyes, forehead resting against Alec’s. He remembers, once, for an anniversary, he’d personally delivered Alec a bouquet of flowers, right to his office; forget-me-nots and calla lily’s, primrose and red and yellow tulips, magenta zinnia and of course, the flower that connects the most, viscaria.

Magnus summons one, with a gentle curl of his fingers, and tucks the thin stem behind Alec’s ear.

“That’s a little on the nose, isn’t it?” Alec laughs, seeing, or perhaps sensing, the flower and it’s meaning: will you dance with me?

“It’s a sweet gesture,” Magnus corrects, tracing his finger along the curve of Alec’s ear. “For a sweet husband, whom I love more than anything else.”

“I can hear Max’s shout of indignation from here.” Alec states, tilting his head, as champagne laughter bubbles from his throat.

Magnus laughs, too, the sound mingling together. “We’re only a second away from Rafe’s eye-roll: which he definitely took from you.”

Alec smiles. “Perhaps. But Max’s sense of ‘act first think later’ — all you.”

Magnus tuts, ducking under the arm that Alec lifts high. “He got that from his uncle. Both of them, actually - I gave him his sense of adventure.”

Alec pulls Magnus close, hand pressed to the small of his back. “And Rafe his sense of style.”

“Naturally.”

Alec presses a kiss to Magnus’ temple, letting the moment linger, their steps slowing. “You know, I always wanted kids: I’m glad I got to have them with you, to have a life with you - it’s better than I could have hoped for.”

“My darling Alexander,” Magnus sighs. “You, our kids, our life - it’s the best thing that’s ever happened to me. I couldn’t wish for anything more.”

Alec pulls Magnus closer, and they spin and sway and step in time with the beat of their hearts.

Neither want for more than they have, because both have all they’ve ever wanted. True, endless love, a family of their own, and the chance to appreciate it, and each other - forever.

[words-are-like-colors]

64 Sensory Prompts -- Answered

Inspired by 64 Sensory Prompts  (___) is inspired by ** personal  __ original works 

1) Watching a meteor shower: (Bakugo Katsuki) Eyes sparkling, he stared up at the sky in awe. It looked dangerous, heated, and violent, yet beautiful. The majority of the rocks explode in the air like fireworks, but with reds and oranges instead of blues and greens. Bigger rocks plugged down but either exploded or disappeared from sight as they hurtled towards the ground. He was staring in astonishment as his friend walked over and clapped his hand on his shoulder, saying that he had never seen this look of amplitude on his face before. It was all fascinating, these rocks from space, outer-fucking-space, were coming down to their planet out of all of the infinite other places they could go. This was a once in a lifetime opportunity and he will never forget it. 2) Digging your fingers into the fresh dirt: (Sawamura Eijun)  You are digging with a shovel, pulling the dirt from the ground in weak pulls. Your mother gives you a patient smile, telling you that it takes a bit of effort but its worth it in the end. Some time passes and you get impatient; the shovel is too hard to use and your arms are getting sore. So, as any little child would do, you get on your hands and knees and start to scoop the dirt from the hole like a dog. Hands pass over each other in vigorous motions as you try to open the hole up more. Your mother notices this after a moment and pulls you back with a sigh. There is not much to punish on, your hands are covered with dirt, which would happen anyways, and the hole was dug well so she waved it off. Within the next month, the most beautiful flowers bloom from the hole that was made.

3) Snow being shoved down the back of your coat: (Yuuri and Phichit) Screaming and flailing he goes as his best friend cackles in the background. The pair were having a peaceful walk in the park when the friend suddenly yanks down his hoodie just to shove snow down his back. His back is prickling with cold-wet sensations as the snow instantly started to melt and roll down his back, leaving a trail of wet skin and clothes. Out of slight anger, he whips around with snow he snatched up from the ground and chucked it at his friend, not even caring to make a snowball out of it. His friend continues to laugh and laugh, only shutting up when snow is shoved down his jacket as well.

5) Trying to walk on ice:** The schoolyard was covered in ice. I watched as people slipped and slid over the icy snow as they had the time of their lives, laughing and bring the cold air joy. My friend that I had been making snow forts with the days prior was absent, sick probably, so I had to find a new thing to do. I glance over to the side to see a few more friends sliding down a mini snow slide onto the ice-covered pavement. I don't remember why I had it but I was clutching a small orange cat stuffie to my chest as I started to walk over. The pavement between the makeshift slide and myself was covered in a thin layer of ice. One step, two, three step, four, five step, PHEMP; I fell and landed on my butt. This isn't as much as a surprise as it was a regular act, seeing that the winters here are cold. Later that day, after lunch and recess, I notice that my cat stuffie's paw had been ripped upon impact.

6) Walking through the woods: (Kiribaku) Walking through the forest gives a place to clear your head, so that is just what he is doing. Within him was so much built up anger that he needed somewhere remote just to scream and explode, both in the literal and metaphorical sense. Sometimes he does not even end up blowing up before he goes home, he just finds a cliff to sit to gaze out over the mountain on. Here in the forest, there is nothing except vibrant leaves and silent animals. The first time he told his friend about where he goes more weekends, he received a look of shock until he stiffly explained that sometimes he just needs space from the overwhelming world and that being out on the cliff helps give him perceptive of the world. 

Today, he had brought that very friend. No one, not even his family was invited to see his escape but with this friend, he felt the same around him as he felt when wandering the forest. This friend lets him clear his head and has his body relax until he feels like venerable jelly. He will never regret bringing him with. 8) The way cold glass fogs when you press your hand against it:** It reminds me of my childhood. Sitting on the bus on the way to school. Pulling gloves off to press a warm hand against the cold glass, ignoring the sharp pricks for the cool sensation. The bus is cold but I am warm, the fog around my hand speaks that as I withdraw. Seeing this reminds me of Harry Potter when Ron has his hand on the train window when the dementor floats in with its demonic aura. Sometimes looking out the chilly bus window lets my thoughts wander into this area of mystery. As a child, just this creation of fog seems like a mystery in itself, and it still seems this way when you grow up when you learn why this is happening but still the mystery remains in what else this reaction can procure. 11) Blood at the corner of your mouth:**  Most would see this prompt and think of fighting but honestly, to me its the most mundane thing in the world: a split lip caused by picking. Fingers work at the split, picking and pulling until the skin is removed, little by little until it bleeds and you are satisfied. This is no self-harm, that should be said upfront, just a thing that happens when your mind wanders and your hands finds something to do without your promoting. When you finally bleed, your tongue instantly jumps to it, tasting the foreign substance and labeling the copper taste as blood. Your mom may tell you to stop it since it could get worse and rip more, but your hands ignore this and you go back to this when in thought. Soon enough you find it painful and you stop, but you should have stopped when your mother warned. There's a constant strain on the corner of your lips as it attempts to heal. Talking and laughing and especially yawning is bothersome; every time you perform this action it pulls at the spot until it opens back up and your tongue instantly jumps back to it. One day, you forget you even had the cut in the first place and you move on, sometimes your hands going back to that place or wander on to pick at something different. 12) Cloying sweetness on the back of your tongue:** "Cake, everyone loves cake!" is from a line of a famous movie but you sometimes beg to differ. The cake from your grandma's favorite bakery is sicking sweet and you can't help but grimace at the first bite. It would be rude to say no to the cake, but it was absolutely atrocious and you cannot bear to eat anymore. You flash your mom a guilty look and she understands instantly, since she is probably thinking the same exact thing., so she takes your remaining cake. Your grandmother doesn't seem to notice or care so you get up from the table to fill your glass up to rid of the taste. It is only hours later that you finally forget the taste and move on with your day. 15) The taste of salt on the tip of your tongue:** He seemed to be suffocating. Tears streamed down his cheeks as he gasped for breath. The original reason for crying was too far gone as his mind kept supplying him with more and more evidence on why he was unworthy. He doesn’t remember licking the tears off of his lips but suddenly he tasted salt and somehow that made him cry harder. Everything seemed to be crashing down upon his shoulders as he internally screamed for release. Even crying seemed like a reason to cry more. Crying is something toddlers do right? Shouldn’t he be looked at like a toddler then? A crying, annoying, insolent little toddler who can’t do nothing for himself, it seems. He goes asleep that night with salt on his lips and thoughts of pain 19) Satin in candlelight: (Akafuri) He woke up in the dead of night. Shadows were dancing across his walls, the trees outside his window causing the shadows to look like long grasping fingers, inching closer and closer to grab the man in the bed. But, he did not react to the shadows. He watched them for a minute, wondering if this could be some sign or just boring reality. Of course, it ended up being boring reality so he got up from his bed. Despite its thin apprentice, the black satin robe gave him some warmth as he dawned it. ‘People are much more interesting than shadows’ he thought as he lit the candle that sat upon his nightstand. His secret lover was sleeping a few floors below and seeing that he was a person and his lover, he decided to go pay him a visit. The floors and stairs creaked as he stepped upon them but he paid no mind to it if anyone was awake other than him at this hour would be a miracle. As he approaches his lover’s room, he opened the door without hesitation. There he was, sleeping on his bed, curled up in the sheets shaking like a small puppy in the night air. It hurt him to see the man he cared for cold and weak, but he was unable to supply him with any material warmth since his father would blame him for stealing and send him away. So he walks in silently, places the candle on the night table, and unties his robe. His lover slowly blinked up at him as he woke up, his expression conveying curiously yet gratefulness as the robe was draped over him. 20) Reflections in glass:__ It was like an overlay. No matter how many hours a day he spent clicking and scrolling on his computer trying to edit and recreate photos could match what a real overlay looked like. He gazed at the window, watching his coworkers run around the office through the reflection in the glass. He tried to ignore the reflection of his own bored and tired face but it was vividly there. Behind him and his coworkers and outside the window was a view of the busy streets of the inner city. Outsiders may see this as a new, wondrous place but to him, it was the same day in and day out; cars zoom past just to go nowhere. people stroll past just to see no one, life creeps past just to end in nothing. Bored, trapped, he felt as he kept gazing, unfocusing and refocusing on the reflections until he got bored of that as well. 'maybe a change in scenery will help...' he thought lonesomely. 22) Neon lights at 1.30am:__ Laughter echoed throughout the deserted parking lot. According to the time on my phone, it was evident that we had been roaming the streets for a few hours now and currently it was 1:30 in the morning. Typically we would be sleeping or using our phones in bed at this sorta of an hour but tonight was a special night: we were free; we were free from school, parents, and life itself. This night we had decided to live how we wanted to for one whole day before going back to normal. A few of the group had left to either do more enjoyable things or something wrong, probably illegal by the glint in their eyes. I stepped out of the main group for a moment to take a breather and embrace the night air. The last of my soda tingled in my throat as I drank it before disposing of the can. Of course, a few of us had decided to get hand drinks but me? I rather make my own fun than being boosted but something other than. As I dropped the can into the trash bucket, I noticed a bar across the street that was emitting music loud enough to be heard. For a moment I watched as the people inside danced with wide smiles across their faces. While I was so drawn to this scene, I did not notice my best friend-crush approach me until he tapped my shoulder. I yelped of course before turning to him. What I saw was beautiful. His face was lit up blue and red from the nearest neon sign and he was bearing a soft smile and even kinder eyes. At this moment, a wild urge overtook me so I gave in and reached my hand out to him saying: "If you ever wanna join me, baby, I'll be dancing in the dark." [inspired by Dancing in the Dark by Imagine Dragons] 26) The smell of Cologne/Perfume on warm skin: (This was an original work but now I dedicate it to a special someone :P just yeet the cologne part dwai) The first thing that comes to mind is that of my face pressed against my love’s neck. I press kiss after kiss, roaming the warm skin with my lips and fingers as I plot the points of love across his expansive map. The cologne just makes the experience heightened. The smell intoxicates me; the scent is familiar and that I can only label by my lover’s name. My mind spins as I want more and more of the person before me, a person filled with comfort and warmth. Eyes hooded, mind fogged, I searched for more skin to kiss. 27) The musty smell of an abandoned home: (Hinata and Yachi)  She glanced at her partner to see that he was shaking in fright. Their friends had pranked them to go into the abandoned, mysterious house that sat in the middle of the woods. She had managed to get the door open when he had screamed and started to shake. Typically her friends called her the scaredy cat but when he was so frightened by even a fly, she had to step forward to protect him. Grabbing his hand, she pulled him into the house. The flashlight revealed that it was a standard home; living room in the front, kitchen to the side, and bedrooms upstairs. It should be noted that they were the first two ever to go inside, so everything still sat where they were placed years ago. Other than the darkness and bleakness of the house, the thing that most hit her was the smell: it seemed to clog her nose with all of the dust and particles that had not normally been flushed out of the house. She sneezed loudly just to receive another scream from the boy. 31) the cool, sharp smell of the first frost: (Todoroki family) This was expected. Her little brother was finally gaining his powers. She laid awake most nights, wondering how their father would treat him once his powers take. The hair itself showed a perfect split of powers but only time could tell what would actually happen. Her little brother ran into her room one night, tripping over his small socked feet as he tried to be careful of the dark surrounds even in his panic. He nearly crashed into her bed if it was not for her turning on her lamp. Mismatched eyes were filled with tears and for a second she was confused on why until her eyes drifted down to see his fist covered in a thin layer of frost. Her fears stood corrected, he had obtained both of the quirks; the fire was not visibly present but it wouldn't be surprising if it suddenly out lashed. But, enough with their fathers, she had a small crying little boy clearly afraid of what was happening to him. She grabbed her blanket from the bed and knelt down before him before wrapping his hand in the hem of the blanket before he got frostbite. That night, they fell asleep night to each other but her dreams were plagued by visions of flames and hatred. 32) The smell of blood: (Akafuri)  His lover sat before him, his hands shaking as he held up a bundle of flowers. It was perplexing to see pure white roses since he had only read of them in storybooks. Where did he find these? He raised his hand to touch one of the pure roses when movement caught the edge of his eye. His lover raised his hand before curling it up in a fist. Raising an eyebrow, he went to fistbump instead as he was taught but before their fists could connect, blood started to drip from the fist. Instincts told him to grab the hand, open it up and tend the wounds but no, the piercing laughter that broke out from his lover's lips made his body stop and mind freeze. Blood dripped down upon the bundles of roses, staining them red as he laughed and laughed and cried out that while love is pure, it is also painful. The crackling went on and on and on.. and on.. and on... and... His eyes snapped open. Breathing harshly he sat up in his bed, pulling and grasping the blankets before him. The cursed laughter filled his ears and the smell of blood tickled his nose. 33) The feel of fingertips trailing over a bare shoulder blade: (Miyusawa) The knife hit the cutting board with dull thumps and I sliced through the celery sticks. For the most part, the house was quiet other than the sounds of the birds chirping out back and Slider, the dog, snoring peacefully in his bed. It was just a lazy Sunday morning. The pan sizzled and popped as I dropped the sticks in among the other vegetables and meat, the smells of my favorite breakfast making me smile softly. After stirring the contents a bit, I reached up and brushed my fingers across the bruises on my neck, not minding the soreness that much opposes to their appearance. Not much could be done about that so I go back to cooking; chopping up onions is the next step. As I started to slice through the onion, soft fingertips were felt on my shoulder blade. I did not jump like expected, just sighed lightly as my lover pressed kisses to my shoulders before wrapping his arms around me. I would never jump at his touch anymore, I would just lean in and feel loved. 34) The feel of fingers brushing together by accident:__ Brushing against him was the easiest thing. Seeing that I often hug him and sit against him it would be reasonable to think that I would not notice a simple brush of knuckles but no, I notice every time. Every time we go for the plates at the same time, every time he passed me a glass, every time he-- heh, not all of the touches where accidents to be honest, just purposeful reaches to touch. I couldn't help but smile at his sleepy grin as we twine our fingers together before pulling apart just to let him boop my nose and pull at my fingers. Those touches are wonderful but also are the small ones. The accidental bumps where fingers meet and warm spreads throughout from the single point of contact. I want to grab his hand fully and press a lingering kiss to his lips, to get closer and closer making the simple brush seem meaningless. But no, I do not get the kiss but that is okay; feeling the small touches and seeing his happy smile is enough to keep my heart singing and mind buzzing.

39) Stepping on something squishy: (Sawamura Eijun) Someday, God will pay, he thought as he glared down at his foot. Stepping in dog turd was not a way he wanted to start his first day of work or any day in fact. It was disgusting— if it were not for it being the poop but purely the sensation he still will be grossed out. Even now, he can already hear his coworkers’ laugher as he walks in with smelly, brown shoes. For a moment he cursed the pet owner for leaving the poo before he realizes it was his own ignorance for stepping into it on accident. Sighing again, he started to walk, hoping numbly that he would find a shoe store or a bathroom on the way to his new office. 46) The waver in a person’s voice when they’re stressed:** "I don't know, I don't know, I don't know." He repeated, the words coming out waver and waver as he continued. Eyes stared at him. He couldn't tell if it was one person watching or thousand just that it was overwhelming and stressful and all he wanted was /out/. He did not know the answer, why are they pressuring them? Why are they being this way? Why do they not care that every part of them is screaming for escape but just the idea of being hurt is enough to make him stay? Why, why, why? He is scared, so scared inside. Apparently, he is not allowed to be wrong; apparently, he is not allowed to be hurt and in pain; apparently, he is not allowed to be scared, like any normal child. But there they are before him, looking at him with a neutral face, unforgiving and hard look in their eye. His repeating falls silent as tears finally spill and he is choking on his own sadness, sad that only not knowing one thing can turn out so painful. 49) Trying to pull on clothes with damp skin Trying to pull off damp clothing:**  Taking off wet clothing for most people meant they had just trudged through a snowstorm and were having the worst day and were struggling to find dry clothing but for me? It meant happiness-- but then again, once most people reach a certain age that does not take care of children take snow for granted. Unlike those people, I walk into my house with a huge grin on my face, not giving a care in the world that the floor was getting covered in snow. The snow boots I wore gave me blisters with turned into scars but I did not care about that either. But what I did care about was getting warm. Running upstairs I grabbing a fresh pair of clothing before heading into the bathroom. Letting out a sigh, I try my best to pull off my soaked shirt just to get it stuck on my head. Laugh, have fun with that imagery, but yes, almost every single time.  Luckily enough I get it off without help and that in itself is a workout. So within all of this, the important lesson that should be noted is that whenever you go out into the snow, make sure you are prepared for the endgame struggle. 53) The relief of fatalistic recklessness:__ "Fate rules all." This was the topic of the paper he was set to write. He did not understand why his professor assigned them just a simple sentence that could turn into the most complicated thing in the world. Fate was always a heated topic among every living person on the planet; no one goes each day wondering if things happen by free will or predetermined events. Religion and culture are heavy on these topics but he much rather put those to the side for the last resort option. He does not understand the looks of peace and relief that some of his friends wear as they do some of the most reckless things with their lives and just say "no matter what I do there is already a set plan for me". He wants to argue with them up and down and give reasons why that was not true but like anyone else, everyone has their own beliefs. If they want to believe that their lives are already set courses, then be it, there is no trouble in trying to get the best for yourself... Hours later, he sits back in his seat and sighs. His fingers tired from rapidly typing keys as his runs them over his face to try to rid of the sore eyes. Yawning, he grabs his glass before glancing at his paper one last time before turning in for bed, and at this, he realized that all he wrote was about the argument of the topic and what he thought about it. Maybe he will get a great grade when turning it in or not, that is fate to decide. 56) Someone accepting the bad parts of you without judging:** Someone very important to me once told me, “If you act like yourself, everyone will be much happier, including yourself.” The statement in itself is somewhat blunt but the impact it had on me was huge. It meant that I could be unapologetically me, all of the good and all of the bad and that no one will think horribly of me. Of course, there’s a lot of people that will but around my closest friends, that meant they accepted me for who I am. Telling someone your pains and anxieties and all the while your wondering when they will leave and abandon you for you being you is painful, but just as you are trying to swallow back your tears, there’s that special someone who takes you by the hand and tells you that everything is gonna be alright and that just because sometimes about you are dark doesn’t mean that you are not the light. 57) Brown iodine stains on skin: (my mother) It is painful to watch. Yes, what had happened to her was painful but the situation she had to come back to was more painful to watch. Although we still sometimes laugh at the horrific sandwich incident, the rest of the situation was not funny. A couple of weeks before she had gotten surgery on her wrist and hand, rendering her without her right hand (although she was ambidextrous), and today she was finally pulling the bandages off. Surgery and medical operations always make me feel queasy inside but before she wrapped her hand up in new bandages, I noticed orange-brown iodine stains covering her hand. She noticed the look on my face and said not to worry, that it will fade away soon enough. I knew there was nothing to worry; in the past, she had gone through knee surgery, GBS (which is a thousand stories in itself, lucky to have her here still) and broken foot so something like this is nothing to be extremely worried about. If she could get through what happened before, she can get through this, and she did! I am lucky and proud of her healing and attentiveness to get herself to be better, physically at least... the painful part about watching the post-surgery at home was the utter lack of caring by my father. It was basically nothing, no offers, no taking charge-- he basically put more on her than usual. It was painful to watch her suffer mentally to all of this, so I had to take a step forward myself and help her. 58) Rust red dirt: (Shiro and OC Violet)  Sometimes when he wakes up, he forgets where he is. Most days he is expecting to wake up at home in his bed next to his beautiful wife and to go downstairs and give his children forehead kisses good morning. He only realizes that he is not at home is when the flashes of lights from nearby control panels catch his eyes and that the bedding below him was stiffer than any mattress he would purchase. Groaning he sat up, rubbing his eyes with the palms of his hands. Every day here makes him miss home more. He is starting to miss the smallest of things; he misses the sound of tussling sheets, he misses the taste of sweet soda, he misses the feel of fingers on his cheek, he misses the smell of freshly cooked steak, he missed the sight of the annoying, awful ad on Tv that he actually likes since it makes his wife laugh every time. He misses his home.    Standing, he walks over to the nearest porthole and stares out. The only thing he was met with was miles and miles of red rust dirt and rocks as big as houses, and behind it was a beautiful view of space that he was slowly starting to hate. If he knew he would be his homesick up on Mars, he would have never signed that contract. 59) the creak of leather: (please forgive me, be glad I’m sharing this at least):  Leather gloves are intoxicating. Leather fingerless gloves are the prime. He runs his hand down your arm. Your breath jumps, eyes fixated on his hand as your nerves start to buzz from the simulation. When he does this, you get two sensations: the drag of fingertips and the soft pull of leather, both creating this incredible feeling. You pull his hand to your lips as you press a kiss to his palm and breathe in the succulent smell of leather; an earthy, sweet and raw smell you breathe and you don’t want him to stop touching. You gasp and shift as he continues to touch, rolling his hands over soft plains of skin. You pay no mind to the rest of him, just his hands.  62) Fingertips smudged in blue ink:** Notes, notes, notes. A constant stream of words and drawings on paper makes your eyes sore as you continue to write. The pen you are using flows across the page; each letter and word from this pen becomes more and more sloppy as time rolls on. As you yawn and go to turn the next book page, your hand slips and you accidentally press your fingers into the wet ink. You don't notice this at first and continue to go turn the page. Minutes or hours later you notice that there's blue ink smudged on your fingertips and palm, and all you can do it try to scrub it out or shrugged, because who has not had a day when they accidentally have ink on their hands. It is evidence of hard work after all!

[tiredrobyn]

It’s all about control (and letting go)

So I asked for a sheith prompt, and @batkidrocks kindly suggested ‘accidentally slept together’, so here it is! I went the angst route, unsurprisingly, and finally finished it. Enjoy!

Keith emerged from sleep slowly, surrounded as he was by warmth and comfort, an unusual thing. He groaned very quietly and, eyes still closed, burrowed further into the body next to him on the bed. He felt the solid, cold weight of the muscled arm around his waist pull him even closer, and smiled. Then his brain fully processed the situation, and while his eyes snapped open, his body froze completely.

The room was dark, but Keith could have recognized the face in front of him in even dimmer lighting, especially considering it was mere inches away from his. Keith’s first instinct was to pull away in panic, heart hammering in his chest, but the quiet groan Shiro let out and the furrowing of his brow stopped him before he could dislodge himself from the embrace. Shiro shifted slightly, rolling the shoulder of the arm he had thrown over him, the fingers flexing against - against his ass, and then settled. Keith could literally feel the flush covering his face, and tried desperately to stop any noise from leaving his throat. But god, those fingers were strong, there might actually be bruises left later (please please please).

‘And anyway, what’s one more of those?’ he thought cynically, ‘At least it’ll be well-hidden.’

Because as much as he was glad to have found the Blade of Marmora and to have passed their trials, they hadn’t been gentle.

Gathering his courage and pushing away his libido, he gulped and slowly started extricating himself from the comfortable, delicious, dangerous hold his friend had on him. When his feet finally hit the cold floor, he straightened over the bed and took a deep breath, his own heartbeat deafening in his ears. Looking around, he resisted the urge to groan. They were in his own room. He might be able to leave, but he couldn’t return until he was sure Shiro had left as well, and that meant he truly would get no more sleep tonight. The next thing he noticed were the clothes scattered on the floor, which made warmth rise in his cheeks again.

As quickly and quietly as he could, Keith picked up his own set of clothes and pulled on his pants (he didn’t manage to find his boxers), grimacing at the way his muscles and bruises protested against the movements. At the door, he gave one last look behind him, and was momentarily distracted by the way Shiro looked, sleeping soundly in his bed. On his side, blanket up to his stomach, his right hand was softly gripping the sheet where Keith had been sleeping. His face was so peaceful, eyes relaxed and mouth slightly opened, that Keith couldn’t make himself look away. It’s only when his hands finally twinged in pain from his nails digging in the palms that he shook himself and started walking out, head down and his teeth clenched.

“Keith…?” came Shiro’s voice behind him, stopping him like a chain.

His friend’s voice was sleepy and soft, gravelly and relaxed. He probably thought he was in his own room, as usual, and that Keith had come to bother him in the middle of the night for some reason. He probably thought everything was normal, that Keith hadn’t fucked (ha) their relationship maybe beyond salvaging.

“I’m sorry,” Keith managed to say, without raising his head.

And without looking back again, he ran away.

Fuck.

Slash.

Fuck.

Parry.

Fuck.

Duck.

Fuck.

Feint.

Fuck.

Sla –  Fuck!

The training bot fell to the ground, defeated, and Keith was left panting in the middle of the gym with his sword dangling from his hand. With a sigh, he deactivated his bayard and let himself fall to the ground, laying on his back. Eyes trained on the ceiling, he let out another groan and covered his eyes with his arm.

He’d messed up. After all this time - fighting together, getting Shiro back, those years at the academy - he’d managed to mess it all up in one single night. Shiro had only wanted to help him, he was so worried after the beating Keith had taken from the Blades. With a deep breath, he raised his arm from his face, above his head, and slowly flexed his fingers. They were long and slim, but covered in calluses, and he could see all the small scars he’d gotten over the years. He was more used to holding a knife than someone else’s hand, like he’d seen so many people do. Just yesterday, he’d fought for his life, for the truth, and he’d won, barely. And yet, last night, these hands…

It had all started with Shiro putting that healing salve on him, and then he’d lost control. Closing his eyes, he recalled the way Shiro’s skin had felt when he’d grazed it lifting up his shirt, the almost-feverish warmth of it. The leader of voltron, kneeling in front of him, had been quiet as his top was being removed, but Keith had heard his breathing pick up. He hadn’t moved much, just small movements to facilitate the task, until Keith had hesitated at his belt. The worst thing was, Shiro never looked away from him, even as he’d fumbled with him to take off his pants hurriedly. Keith’s hands had been trembling then. Shiro’s too, he remembered. He’d felt it when those broad hands had slid along his back, dragging him close enough for Shiro to gently, delicately place his lips at the juncture of his neck, breathing hotly on his skin.

“God, Keith, you’re… so much. You don’t know –”

And then Keith had pulled his head up and silenced him with his mouth, because Shiro’s voice, right in his ear, saying his name like that… well. He’d kissed him, and Shiro had responded immediately, cupping his face and pushing, until they tumbled back in the bed and –   

Fuck.

Keith jumped to his feet, all the nervous energy he’d depleted fighting the bot was back, almost aching in his limbs. He grabbed his bayard and started angrily slicing the air with wide, increasingly faster movements.

So they’d accidentally slept together. No big deal, right? It wasn’t that important anyway, they’d get past this easily. Who had the time to get hung up on things like that, they were in the middle of a war. Him and Shiro were close, they’d soon forget this and go back to their normal relationship. After all, neither of them had really been emotionally invested in what happened.

Neither of them. What a joke.

“Dammit,” Keith breathed softly, closing his eyes just for a second.

He hated running away but, maybe just for this time…

“Alright!” he said, dropping in combat stance. “Gladiator, level – !”

“Don’t you think you’ve already done enough?”

Keith jumped almost a foot in the air, swinging around to see Shiro standing at the entrance, already in paladin armor. His stomach dropped down to his feet.

“Shiro,” he said, unnecessarily. At least his voice didn’t crack.

Shiro looked almost embarrassed.

“Keith, listen, about last night…” he started, and really, Keith couldn’t bear anything more.

“An accident!” he blurted out, and immediately regretted it.

‘An accident, really?’ He berated himself. ‘What, did you trip and fall onto his –’  

“An… Right. Just an accident!” said Shiro, nodding effusively.

His voice was too loud, his eyes a bit too wide, and he’d crossed his arms to grip his biceps tightly. All these signs that Keith would normally have noticed from Shiro, were made invisible to him by his relief, and he smiled nervously.

“Yeah, you know the, um, the adrenaline…”

“Yeah, no, absolutely,” echoed Shiro, now looking a bit uncomfortable. “It, um, it happens often, nothing to worry about.”

“Really? It happens often?” Keith couldn’t help but ask, and Shiro floundered, obviously not expecting to be questioned.

“W-well,” he stuttered, “probably? I mean, since you…”

Apparently aware that he was digging himself into a deeper hole, Shiro interrupted himself and cleared his throat. He’d also probably noticed Keith’s progressively redder face, a color that was mirrored on his own cheeks. Looking back at Keith, or rather, at a point just over his head, he noticed with a pang, Shiro smiled weakly.

“What I mean is, you don’t have to worry, Keith. We’ll just ignore this… accident.”

Keith should have left it at that, he really should have, but it was untenable.

“You don’t resent me?” he blurted out, painfully insecure.

At that, Shiro looked shocked, like the question was truly unexpected. Then, he smiled reassuringly, undoubtedly sincere.

“You didn’t do anything wrong, Keith.” His smile turned down at the corners, closer to a grimace. “Like you said… it was an accident. You’re not to blame here.”

With that, Shiro took a deep breath and visibly straightened, more serious now. In response, Keith immediately schooled his features and stood to attention.

“We’re having a meeting with the Blade later about our plan against Voltron, don’t forget. We’ll need your contributions, as paladin and a member, but also as our best pilot. I’m counting on you.”

“Of course,” said Keith, nodding firmly.

Shiro nodded back in approval, and then turned to the exit. Just as the door opened and he was about to step out, he paused and turned his head back halfway, not quite looking at Keith.

“I know we’ve been having sparring sessions every other night, but I’d understand if you want to stop them for a while or… indefinitely.”

His voice was even, but higher pitched than usual, and Keith was so surprised by the words that he couldn’t respond right away. It wasn’t until he saw Shiro’s shoulders tighten and his throat work, as he swallowed nervously, that he shook himself into reacting.

“Of course I don’t want that! I wouldn’t do that, Shiro!”

Perhaps he was a bit forceful, but it was worth it by the way Shiro’s shoulders immediately relaxed, and the last small smile he shot him before leaving the gym.

Keith stayed a minute like that, without moving, before simply letting himself fall back and groaning his misery out loud. Of course he couldn’t confess to his crush, the fricking love of his life, normally. No, Keith had to sleep with him, and the morning after call it an accident. Then agree with his crush to never speak of it again. He wondered, would his bayard work against himself, or would it automatically deactivate? He should ask Pidge. He couldn’t fling himself into the infinite void, since Red would come after him, as always. He heard her roar distantly in his mind in agreement, and snorted. Damn cat.

Sighing, he knocked his head back against the floor. Soon he’d have to go out there, and face everyone, as a team member. He closed his eyes.

Fuck.

The meeting went well, and soon Keith and Hunk were on their way to enter a giant space animal’s stomach. Honestly, between that and spending time in close quarters with Shiro right now, Keith considered himself lucky. They’d hugged, before leaving, and while the butterflies in his stomach had always been there in such a situation, they’d been exacerbated by the fact that Keith now knew exactly how the skin under that armor felt against his. He hadn’t been able to stop from indulging himself, though, and his only comfort was that Shiro had held on as tight as he had. He had that to keep him sane, at least.

Plus, he liked Hunk. He was good company, and smart, even though his piloting could sometimes use some work. Better than Lance, at least, or staying with Allura. The way she’d been looking at him… He knew what she was thinking. He’d thought it too.

But Shiro, Shiro never hesitated when touching him, trusting him, and Keith would do his absolute best not to betray that trust. While Shiro’s opinion wasn’t quite the only one he cared about anymore, it was still the most important one. He’d just have to prove himself to the princess… again.

He was distracted by the way Hunk was staring at him, again, and almost groaned.

“I already told you, Hunk, I’m not turning purple!”

“No no, it’s not that!” the other denied, then paused pensively. “Well, a little bit. I can’t help it!”

Keith sighed loudly, but Hunk soon continued in a more serious tone.

“But really man, it’s not just that. You just seem… a little gloomier than usual? What’s going on? Is it Allura? She’ll come around, you know. Just give her a little time.”

“I know, it’s not that,” Keith said, before realizing his mistake.

“Then what is it?” Hunk asked, turning his head to look at him, then turning back precipitately to avoid crashing into an asteroid.

“No, uh, it’s nothing. Not important.”

“Well now you’re just making me more curious. Come on, Galra Keith, you can share with me!”

“I told you – !”

As Hunk laughed, Keith tiredly rubbed his temples. He really hadn’t got much sleep last night, and kind of envied Hunk for having slept through the meeting. His friend soon sobered up, however, and smiled at him disarmingly.

“Hey, I won’t judge man, and I know it can help to share problems with friends. Come on, I’m right here!”

Faced with Hunk’s earnest eyes, Keith was defenseless. Not only that but, he’d never really had close friends before. The only one he really considered close was Shiro, and, well.

So he swallowed his pride, resolutely faced the front window, and opened his mouth.

“Well, um, what would you do if you… made a mistake.”

Hunk waited a few seconds for some details, but none came.

“What… kind of mistake?” he prompted, and Keith shifted uncomfortably.

“The kind that… involve someone else. That you care about.”

“Oh, that’s easy! You apologize! I’m sure Shiro will forgive you.”

He felt it was obvious, but Keith didn’t look any more advanced, just a bit more red.

“How do you know that – anyway. I tried, but he said it wasn’t my fault! We agreed to just forget it, but… I don’t know.”

Hunk frowned, examining the very few details he had about the situation, and what he knew about Keith and Shiro. About KeithandShiro.

“Well…” he started again, “did you hurt him? His feelings, I mean.”

Keith shrugged his shoulders, looking very unsure.

“I… I don’t think so? I mean, it didn’t seem so last night, but this morning… I don’t know.”

Hunk looked at his expression closely, before speaking again, very casually.

“Well… Are you sure it was a mistake? For either of you?”

Keith startled at that, turning to look at his friend with wide eyes. He didn’t say anything back, but Hunk seemed satisfied with his effect, and faced forward again with one last comment.

“Well, you two better resolve your problems soon, relationship troubles are bad for teamwork. Oh look, here’s the weblum, let’s go!”

Then they were off, Keith left to splutter ineffectively as their mission truly began.

They didn’t get a chance to resolve their problems, as it was, with the attack on the castle and then everything else. There were just too many more pressing things that had to be addressed and – yeah, Keith was avoiding it. In his defense, so was Shiro, which may or may not make him even more reluctant to avoid a confrontation. So the dust settled, with this like with everything else, and Keith could honestly say the situation returned to its previous state… with one tiny exception.

Shiro wouldn’t stop touching him.

Nothing too blatant or excessive, casual touches they’ve always used without any connotations. Except now, it happened at every single opportunity.

They couldn’t stand in the same room anymore without Shiro putting his hand on Keith’s shoulder, the back of his neck, his back. Just earlier in the day, Shiro had helped him walk forward by placing his hand on Keith’s lower back and gently pushing him. Keith could admit they’d always kind of migrated together while in a room full of people, but now, it was like a goddamn magnetic field.

And it was driving him mad.

The others were completely oblivious, which he wasn’t sure was a blessing or a curse. On one hand, if they were to notice and find it weird, maybe it would make Shiro stop. On the other hand, well, it would make Shiro stop, and Keith was apparently shameless enough to want to keep this, as small as it was. Also, he still felt strangely protective of his and Shiro’s relationship, no matter how bizarre things had gotten. Conversation with Hunk aside, he’d rather keep it all to himself.

Back to his current problem, though, he might have to start avoiding Shiro soon, if he wanted to keep himself in check. It would be for the best, especially considering how distracted he’d become since the beginning of this whole ordeal. Case in point…

“Keith, are you listening?”

Keith snapped to attention as Coran waved a hand in front of his eyes. He shook his head to clear his thoughts, and looked back at the older man.

“Sorry, Coran, I’m a bit tired. What were you saying?”

Coran didn’t respond right away, and just observed him for a few seconds, twirling his mustache pensively. Finally, just as Keith was about to question him, he spoke again.

“You’ve been out of sorts these last few days, Keith, are you alright?” he said, and Keith winced. Guess he hadn’t been that subtle. He was about to apologize again and make an excuse, but Coran continued, his eyes kind. “I can’t know exactly what’s going on with you, but I want you to know everyone in this castle trusts you, no matter what’s recently been revealed about your parentage. You make a fine paladin, and no one can say otherwise.”

While Coran was wrong on the cause of his recent attitude, his words still meant a lot to Keith, and he found himself smiling softly.

“Everyone, huh?” he murmured, thinking of Allura and her cold gazes, and of how he might have screwed things up with Shiro.

“Well,” mused Coran, smiling warmly, “I wouldn’t ask Lance directly but, subconsciously, I’m sure he does!”

Keith snorted at that, and took a deep breath. Coran was obviously trying to cheer him up and, honestly? It was working. So he raised his head, and smiled gratefully at him.

“Thanks, Coran. I feel better already.” And he did. Maybe he’d go for a swim, try and profit of this good mood. “Did you need me for something else?”

Keith was asking with honest intentions, but the moment he saw the mischievous light that suddenly glowed in Coran’s eyes, he wished he hadn’t. Holding back a sigh, he prepared himself for the worst, but the Altean man surprised him.

“Well, now that you mention it, I think Shiro was in need of assistance… I know, why don’t you go see him now!” Coran seemed very enthusiastic about this idea, but Keith just blinked.

“Assistance in what?”

“In being helped of course! I’m sure your presence will be greatly appreciated. He’s in the training room I believe, now off you go!”

And thus Keith was shooed away almost against his will, Coran waving behind him.

“Oh, and one last thing!” he added cheerily. “I know you two will sort it out, but try and keep the noise down. You’re both responsible adults, remember to act like it!”

“What’s that supposed to…?” Keith turned around, but he was already gone.

After a moment of contemplation, he shrugged and started heading for the training room. He should start distancing himself from Shiro soon… but not right now. He had time, and if Shiro needed him, he wasn’t about to refuse. Stubbornly ignoring the palpitations in his stomach, Keith subtly but surely quickened his pace towards his friend. His best friend. Shiro.

The door was closed when he got to it, but he didn’t bother knocking. He entered confidently, ready to call out a greeting, when the sight in front of him stopped him short.

Shiro was down on the floor, shirtless, doing push-ups at a pace that wasn’t to be scoffed at. He was obviously focused on his task, if he didn’t the door open, but he looked preoccupied. As Keith watched, he gradually increased his speed, biting his lip in apparent frustration.

And Keith was worried, he really was, and he was going to ask about it. Just… as soon as he could focus on something other than the glistening muscles of Shiro’s back. The flexing of his arm, a peek of his abs, the sweaty mess of his hair… Keith shook his head violently. He needed to get a grip, it wasn’t anything he hadn’t seen before.

But, he realised with a sinking sensation, that was the problem, wasn’t it? Now that he’d seen, had had Shiro in a way he’d never dared dream he could, could he go back? Push down all his terrible and passionate feelings where he could ignore them, and just be the best friend Shiro needed. It wasn’t like it was a bad position, and he’d never been unhappy with it before. But now, as he looked at the roll of those shoulders, now that he’d tasted that…

It was at this exact moment that Shiro let out an irritated huff, and jumped to his feet. He brought a hand up to his hair, looking quite disheartened, when he noticed Keith, standing frozen at the entrance. For just a second, Shiro perked up, even took a step forward, but then he caught himself and schooled his features into a polite facade. Looking at it, Keith felt his stomach drop, he’d seen that face before too, of course… just never looking directly at him.

“Um,” he cleared his throat before Shiro could speak. “Coran said you needed me?”

A peculiar look washed over Shiro’s face, and he didn’t answer right away, simply looking at Keith with that strange emotion in his eyes. Keith almost fidgeted under that gaze, but held it back. They weren’t strangers, he’d be damned if he acted like it.

“I didn’t say anything to Coran,” Shiro finally said, his voice carefully neutral.

“... Oh.”

He just stood there for a second, feeling like a bit uncomfortable under the scrutiny, then turned around abruptly.

“Then I guess I’ll just –”

“But he was right, you know,” Shiro finally let out from behind his back, and Keith stilled, his hand on the door. When he turned around slowly, Shiro’s stance was the one he usually had when he needed to command the room, or was facing a particularly daunting situation.

“What…”

“I do need you, Keith,” Shiro continued, his voice sounding strangely ragged, “and I know that you might not feel quite the same way as I do, and it’s alright.”

Keith’s shoulders tensed. Was this the moment he was told they could stay friends, despite his own out of control emotions?

“You’ve probably guessed it, but I think it’s important to be said, and I need to take responsibility. Just remember there’s no pressure on you, I don’t want you to feel like you owe me something, ever. I’ll do anything, anything you need to make you more comfortable.” There, he hesitated slightly, before forging ahead. “Keith, since quite a while I’ve –”

“I love you!” Keith exploded, back ramrod straight, and staring with a sort of resigned determination into Shiro’s wide eyes. “Not – not just like a friend, not as my leader or whatever, just… as Shiro. Like you’re just Shiro, and I’m just Keith and I love you so much, and it’s driving me crazy. I could just ignore it before, but now I can’t help it, so just… you just need to tell me, Shiro. Just tell me that you don’t want me, and I’ll stop, I’ll go back to –”

“I’m so in love with you,” Shiro breathed out, almost inaudible, and everything inside Keith’s head froze.     

“Wha…?”

Shiro didn’t speak, but burst out laughing instead, a sound so full of joy and relief, that Keith couldn’t help but smile a little too. The older man, now sporting a large delighted smile that erased all recent traces of stress, looked at Keith with a face so fond, he felt warm all over.  

“I’m in love with you, Keith,” he repeated, “and I really, really regret wasting all that time.”

He looked so open then, so happy, that no force in the world could have stopped Keith from running forward, straight into his arms. Shiro welcomed him, lifting him easily and hiking him up until Keith wrapped his legs around his waist. When their mouths found each other, eager and familiar and missed, they both let out soft sighs of pleasure. Keith linked his arms behind Shiro’s neck, holding him tightly, as Shiro raked the fingers of his left hand into his hair.

“You wouldn’t stop touching me,” Keith managed to say between kisses, “do you know how hard it was to ignore it?”

“I couldn’t help it,” gasped Shiro in return. “Do you know how hard it was to let you go after having my hands on you?”

As an answer, Keith bit his lip, prompting a moan from his larger partner. In retribution, Shiro took a firm hold of his legs, and let himself drop to the ground, Keith’s shout of surprised muffled into his mouth.

They stayed on the ground in relative silence for a few minutes, lost in each other and to the world. That is, until Shiro rolled his hips in a particularly skilled way, making Keith groan breathlessly. He’d lost his shirt too, now, and honestly couldn’t say where it went.

“You know,” Keith panted as he worked his hands under Shiro’s pants and onto his bare ass, “Coran asked that we be quiet.”

Shiro’s smile, full of promise, made a delightful shiver run up his spine. The way Shiro had started working his way down his torso with his tongue certainly wasn’t unpleasant either.

“Then he shouldn’t have sent you here with me.”

In the end, they were quite loud, for quite a while, but nobody came in to disrupt them. They ended up staying on the floor, unwilling to move, exhausted and sweaty. Wrapped in Shiro’s arms, secure in the knowledge that this was now his, Keith counted that as a win.

[jouissezduprintemps]

Something to Prove, Chapter One : Lackluster Welcome

Rating: T Warnings: Swearing Words: 3,177 Fandom: Naruto Summary: As Suna prepares for its first independently-held chunin exam since Gaara became kazekage, the sand siblings must make sure that everything goes off without a hitch.

Next

Temari loved both of her brothers dearly. They were the only family they had left. As annoying as Kankuro could be, and even after everything Gaara had done, they were still her blood. But, sometimes, she needed a break.

She could understand why the elders and her father had assigned the three of them to a squad despite their age differences. They were all highly talented; they had royal blood; it would be easier to groom them to become future kazekage.

But for the love of all that was holy, no one could travel for three days straight with their siblings and stay sane.

“I’m telling you, it’s going to be so fucking cool. And I’ve just got to figure out how to get all of them to interlock. I mean, I can already get them to morph into what I need. That’s easy. But when you think about it, I’m going to need a lot more than just crow and the others to make it happen. And then, I’ve got to figure out how to manage that many threads-”

Temari looked up at the sun. Four in the afternoon. Kankuro had been talking nonstop for over an hour. Neither she nor Gaara were even pretending to listen. He just loved the sound of his own voice. If she was honest with herself, she’d stopped listening after he’d said the words ‘giant, morphing puppet monster.’

Maybe this is why Shikamaru smokes.

“Kankuro,” Gaara rasped, looking ahead rather than at his brother. “We’ve still got some ways to go before we reach Konoha. You may want to save your breath for a while.”

Temari bit back a laugh, surprised that quiet, reserved Gaara had spoken up before she did. She could tell by Kankuro’s gaping mouth that he was caught off guard, as well.

“You know, if I didn’t look just like Dad, I’d think I was adopted,” Kankuro snapped bitterly.

“That would explain a lot of things.” Gaara’s voice was tinged with amusement, and Temari could hear the smirk he was wearing.

She couldn’t hold it back anymore. Temari laughed into the palm of her hand, turning away from her brother. The look on his face would be too much, and she’d have to stop if she laughed too hard.

“The hell?! Don’t team up on me like that.”

“Then quit setting yourself up,” Temari suggested once she had composed herself.

Kankuro bit his tongue, already planning his revenge. Maybe he’d go with his old standby of leaving Crow in unusual places. That one never failed to make Temari jump out of her skin. Gaara was harder to break, but he’d figure something out.

The three ran in silence until the sky turned a hazy purple. With the red walls of the village in sight, they slowed their pace to a leisurely stroll down the marked road. Only a complete idiot would risk attacking the trio so close to an allied village. Gaara would have sensed any enemies by now, anyway.

The kazekage stretched his neck to the left and rolled his right shoulder in a stretch. “Let’s not forget why we’re here. It’s an honor for Suna to host the chunin exam without the aid of Konoha, and we can’t afford to let anything slide. Kankuro, you’ll be meeting with a few of the jonin squad leaders. Make sure they know what their teams will be up against when it comes to the survival challenge. I don’t want anyone sending unprepared genin into the Demon Desert. It won’t look good if too many die on our watch.”

“Right,” Kankuro affirmed. They had spent their fair share of time within that hell hole, and all three were intimately aware of the dangers that lurked within. He glanced at his sister out of the corner of his eye, trying to will away the image he had of her bleeding out onto the sand after an ambush by a giant scorpion. They were only genin; if Gaara hadn’t lost control, Temari might not have survived. That was the only time Kankuro had ever been grateful for the sand demon.

“Temari, I trust you to take care of things on your end. I’d like to have everything smoothed out by the time we leave as far as the exam itself is concerned. Run the numbers and make any contingency plans you think are necessary.”

“I’ve got it,” Temari said confidently. The exams had been at the forefront of her mind for months; she’d even started dreaming about them over the last few nights. To her, this exam was their chance to prove themselves to the other nations. No other village was led by anyone close to Gaara’s age, let alone advised by those in their late-teens or early-twenties. Being Kage had always been an old man’s game. Sure, recent Kage had chipped away at that mold, but Suna couldn’t keep appearing weak to the other nations. This was a time when they could prove themselves as the next generation, to show their predecessors that they were fit to take the reins and rule in their stead.

“The exams are in two weeks. We have three days here. Make the most of it.” Gaara’s serious tone didn’t raise any red flags. So far, it seemed everything was going as planned.

The familiar faces of Izumo and Kotetsu were illuminated by the lights they held as they stood guard over the large, open gate. Darkness had yet to fall, but they had run behind, a fact for which Gaara made sure to apologize. The two leaf ninja brushed the incident aside, but it was clear that they had both been eager to shut the gate and abandon their post for the evening.

The air was full of spicy-sweet flavors that made Kankuro’s stomach growl audibly. Fair enough, Temari thought. They hadn’t had much of anything in the last few days, and the smells of dinner time in the leaf were enough to make anyone weak.

Her eyes darted around their location, clearly on the lookout. Her eyebrows raised ever so slightly before furrowing. He forgot, she was sure. That, or he was too wrapped up in having his own dinner to remember his job. She clicked her tongue in impatience before turning to her brothers. “Well, we should get something to eat before it gets too late.”

Kankuro placed his hands on his sister’s shoulders and looked her straight in the eye. “I would kill a man for barbeque.”

Temari nonchalantly moved his hands away and glanced at Gaara, who shrugged. Pleased, Kankuro grabbed his siblings by the wrists and practically drug them down the busy street. No one paid them much attention. Gaara had chosen against traveling in his kage garb, which he found cumbersome. To the untrained eye, the three of them were just normal ninja. Gaara and Temari were finally released so that Kankuro could open the door beneath a large sign that read ‘BBQ.’

After being ushered to their table, Temari plopped down onto a cushion and rubbed her wrist. “None of that was necessary.”

“I beg to differ,” Kankuro argued as he studied the menu. The one thing he loved about these trips was that their food and lodging was on Suna’s dime rather than their own. He had developed a sort of masochistic ritual where, upon arrival, he would stuff himself silly and then lay in bed, sick, for the rest of the night. All the same, it only affected himself, so neither his brother nor his sister said or did anything to stop him.

Gaara and Temari informed their waiter that they’d be splitting one plate of meat to Kankuro’s two, and Temari asked for extra vegetables and a bottle of sake. She knew Kankuro was looking at her as she ordered. As the waiter left after bringing her sake, she looked over at him and snapped “What?”

“Oh, nothing. It’s just that someone’s trying to flaunt their age a little too desperately.”

Temari scoffed. “Don’t blame me because you’re underage. That one’s all Mom and Dad. If you want it so badly, just order. No one here’s going to check up on you.”

“Yeah, you’re probably right.”

Temari smacked her brother’s hand, which was reaching across the table for her cup. “Get your own.”

“Be reasonable,” Gaara warned his siblings. Young as they were, the three of them were still visiting dignitaries. As the name implied, well, he hoped they’d both maintain at least some of their dignity.

And reasonable they were, to the best of their ability. Kankuro ordered his third serving at the same time Temari asked for her second bottle of sake. Even their younger brother was starting to feel full and content.

“Hey, look who it is!”

Temari looked up from their table to see her pleasant, and rather plump, friend standing beside them. To his left was Ino, who seemed more surprised than anything else.

“Mind if we join you?” Choji asked, although by that point he had already taken a seat. Temari tucked her legs back under the table to make room for him and to avoid being sat on. Ino followed his lead, slipping more gracefully down next to Gaara.

“Not at all,” Gaara assured them. He did wonder for a moment if this meant that they would be paying for their companions’ food as well, but he decided that wasn’t important. It had been a long journey, and they were all happy to have the company.

“Here,” Temari slid the plate closest to her nearer to the center of the table. “We’ll go ahead and order some more.”

Begrudgingly, Kankuro followed her lead before signaling to their waiter. A look of recognition crossed the man’s face as he saw the new guests, and he made sure to grab a tray on which he could put more plates.

“Hey,” Ino spoke up as she surveyed the restaurant. “Where’s Shikamaru?”

“Don’t know,” Temari informed her as she tilted the bottle of sake over her cup, pouring out the last of it.

“He wasn’t there to meet you?”

Temari lifted the glass to her lips before shrugging her shoulders. Her cheeks had turned a healthy shade of pink from the alcohol and the warmth of the grill. “He probably forgot.”

“Yeah, the two guards were there, like always, but that was it.” Kankuro confirmed as he took one of the plates passed to him by the waiter. Dishes changed hands and more sake was brought to the table before he continued. “I didn’t even know he was supposed to meet us.”

“Well, he always escorts Temari. So, when we heard you were coming, we just assumed,” Choji informed them, mouth full.

Ino glared at him, scolding “Swallow before you talk, you idiot! Use your manners!”

Choji chuckled bashfully after doing as he was told. “Sorry, Ino.”

“We were late getting here. Perhaps he thought we weren’t coming?” Gaara suggested, not entirely sure if Choji and Ino were concerned for or disappointed in their teammate.

Temari let out a short laugh, perhaps a little louder than she had intended. “The day that man is on time for anything is the day the sun won’t rise.”

“I’ll drink to that!” Ino exclaimed, and both women downed their cups of sake after toasting one another.

“Come on, guys. Lighten up.” Choji jumped to his best friend’s defense. He started flipping the meat on the grill as an excuse not to look at anyone in particular. “He means well.”

“Meaning well and doing well are two completely different things,” Ino corrected, earning a nondescript noise of approval from the sand kunoichi.

Kankuro groaned and shoved his empty plate further inward on the table. His hand snatched the black hat off his head, revealing a mess of brown hair. He rested both his forearms in front of him and lay his head down. “I don’t feel so good.”

“What did you expect?” Gaara asked his brother, who only groaned.

“Aaaand that’s the end of that,” Temari declared, gesturing for their waiter to bring them the check.

Gaara took the check before anyone else had a chance to say something, handing it immediately back to the waiter with the full amount they owed. He lifted himself to his feet before bracing himself, moving to help his brother to his feet.

Temari and Ino were stable on their own, but they’d both had a little too much to drink to be of any use. Choji took it upon himself to help Kankuro. His larger frame made it easier to help him along than it would be for the slight kazekage.

“Are you staying at your usual place?” Choji asked as the five ninja stepped outside into the cool, night air.

“Well, if my escort ever bothered to show up, maybe we’d know,” Temari remarked snidely before she could stop herself. Her face reddened when she realized she had used a possessive pronoun, but the color in her cheeks masked it, much to her relief.

Ino laughed, easing Temari’s nervousness. Her mind was still clear enough to realize that they wouldn’t get very far without the keys to her apartment. In fact, she had no idea if her brothers would be staying with her at the small apartment, or if the hokage had arranged for them to stay elsewhere.

Gaara, who was far more lucid than either of his siblings, and the only one free of the effects of alcohol, caught on to this fact the quickest. “It seems like we need to find Shikamaru.”

Kankuro groaned, putting more of his weight against Choji. “Please don’t make me walk.”

“Okay, easy does it.” Choji did his best not to jostle Kankuro too much as he pulled him up onto his back. The sand ninja was too ill to feel any embarrassment at his current situation. Choji took it upon himself to lead the way. Gaara walked beside him, keeping an eye on his older brother. Temari trudged along behind, matching her pace with Ino.

“Where do you think he is?” Ino asked her teammate.

“Dunno. But he’s gotta be around here somewhere, right?”

The group wandered through the streets of Konoha as the moon rose steadily higher. The further from the gate they went, the fewer people they encountered. Soon Temari didn’t recognize the faces of anyone they passed. She let out a languid sigh.

“Tell me about it,” Ino commented. She then turned her attention to the front of the group. “C’mon, Choji. He’s probably wandered off somewhere. I say forget him.”

“Let’s just see if he’s at his place,” Choji insisted. “If he isn’t, then we’ll figure something out.” It was getting late, and playing ‘where’s Shikamaru’ wasn’t how any of them had planned to spend the evening.

Temari was sobering up as the night went on, but that didn’t stop her from cursing him under her breath. Apparently, she wasn’t as quiet as she thought, because Ino put a hand on her shoulder in solidarity.

She’d been on the road for three days. All she’d wanted was a good meal, some hot sake, and a long bath.

Choji set Kankuro down against a stone pillar, which served as the base for a large gate. A banner hung down, marked with the Nara family symbol. It didn’t look like any lights were on. “Let me check.” Choji left his companions behind as he walked down the path and up to the door. He walked from one end of the porch to the other, peering around the house.

Temari placed her hands on her hips as Choji made his way back to them. When he shook his head, she reached her arms up to the sky and twisted, popping her back. She was exhausted, and she’d had enough. “Fuck it,” she decided, catching the leaf ninja off guard with her language. “There has to be an inn around here. Shikamaru can pay the bill.”

“Now, come on, don’t do that.” Choji did his best to placate her. “You guys can come crash at my place. My folks won’t mind.”

Gaara jumped in before his brother or sister could say a word. “That’s very kind of you. We’d appreciate that. I’m sure we will get this sorted out tomorrow morning.”

“Well, I’m out, then.” Ino raised her hand in farewell. “Let me know if you find him, okay?”

“You’ve got it,” Choji assured her.

Kankuro took it upon himself to walk the rest of the way, but he also didn’t hesitate to complain. His voice was the only one in the group; Gaara and Temari were both physically exhausted. Thankfully, they didn’t have much further to walk.

Temari sat down in the doorway of the Akimichi residence as she removed her shoes, and she wondered if she’d be able to get back up. She certainly didn’t want to. One thing was for sure. She’d gained a lot more appreciation for Choji. She also felt closer to Ino after tonight, as strange as that was for her. New friends weren’t easy to come by.

Choji offered her his hand, which she took and used to pull herself to her feet once more.

“Up you go.” Choji smiled. “Now, come on, you guys. We’ve got some spare rooms. I’ll explain everything to my parents tomorrow. For now, let’s get some rest.”

Bedding, blankets, and pillows were stored neatly away in closets behind sliding doors, much to Temari’s relief. She dropped her pack onto the tatami and gathered what she would need, half-dragging it out into the room. At that moment, the clean bedding felt like heaven.

As she changed clothes, she could already hear Kankuro snoring from the next room. That was sure to keep her up a while longer. Quietly, as not to disturb their hosts, she slipped into the hallway and tiptoed until she found the kitchen. She took a moment to splash water onto her face from the sink, enjoying the cool sensation on her warm cheeks. Before she closed the faucet, she filled a glass of water and drank until it was empty. She knew she’d thank herself for it the next day. Once she filled her glass a second time, she retraced her footsteps. Quietly, she slid the door to her room closed.

Too warm for her tastes, she opened the door to the walkway, letting the night air inside. She took a moment to sit cross-legged on the wood, breathing deeply. She needed to let go of some of her anger if she was going to sleep. Still… how could he forget? She couldn’t admit that she was personally offended. But, even as a mission, he’d failed spectacularly. In a word, she was disappointed.

The realization weighed heavy on her chest. Bitterly, she hoped that he’d lose just as much sleep as she would that night. A yawn caught her by surprise, and she gave up the fight. She fell down onto her bedding, asleep as soon as her head hit her pillow.

[caroline18mars]

Into the night - Chapter 100

“Are you sure you don’t want me to come with you, I could talk to her, make her see sense, you know? She’s my friend too and I flew all the way down here for her” Nahla let go of Noah’s hand for a second as she walked up to him so the child wouldn’t hear, “I know, Nahla, I know you care about her, but I really need to talk to her in private this time,  I promise we’ll all go see her once this is settled, ok? but right now I need you to stay with Noah, he’s had enough to deal with lately” they all had..why could this not be as simple as hitting some reset button to erase the memories of the past and start over?. “Yeah..ok..” Nahla sighed a little dissapointed but she stepped back and wanted to take Noah’s hand but the boy pulled it away from her, clutching both his arms around his doll instead and just stared at Jared without saying a word until he broke eyecontact and closed the frontdoor behind him. Tom waited for him at the end of his driveway “Rough night, huh? I’m sorry for dumping all this on you yesterday, I..” he apologized as he saw the dark rings under Jared’s eyes, but he just shrugged “let’s just go and convince her to come home where she belongs”. Jordan stopped in her tracks on her way to the kitchen, where was she going? She was on her way to do something, but what? The last couple of days it felt like there was a huge hole in her head, she had so much difficulty concentrating on anything, her thoughts were starting to become such a blur like now, she knew she had to do something in the kitchen but what was it? Ok, think Jordan, think..she closed her eyes and forced herself to trace back her steps, she had gotten up, she had come down the stairs..and then what?..she had put water in that thing and pushed a button..what was the water for again? Oh..coffee, of course, coffee. The ringing of the doorbell made her stop in her tracks, and stare at nothing at all for a few seconds before she plodded over to the door and opened it. “Hey Babe…” Jared’s heart jumped in his chest “can we talk?”, Jordan stared at the two men on her doorstep without saying a word while behind her Per came walking down the stairs as well, tying up the belt of his bathrobe “I really don’t think that’s a good idea, gentlemen”. The voice of that man always made her skin crawl so she stepped back and pulled the door open a little further to let them in “Per, it’s ok, they..want..to talk” she walked up to her nurse who shook his head and hissed at her “No, it’s not ok, you still need to take your meds”. Meds, meds, meds it was all this guy could talk about, every time she took them her brain got all fuzzy again, “excuse me, but I don’t appreciate your tone of voice with her” Jared walked up to them “I’m the one who’s paying you, remember? so I would appreciate it if you gave us some privacy while I talk to my girlfriend, alright?” the ice in his voice made Per take a step back and go back upstairs where he came from. “I could say something really sarcastic right now, like how glad I am that I’m not the only one on the receiving end of your wrath, but I’m not going to..I guess I’m just too much of a childish brat for that” Jordan huffed and walked to the kitchen.

”Coffee?” she asked all casual, trying to hide the fog in her head but when she stood there with the hot kettle in her hand looking ever so lost, Tom stepped in “it’s ok, why don’t you sit down? I’ll get the coffee” he took the kettle from her hands and guided her to a chair. “I missed you, so much..” Jared reached for her hand as she sat down and their eyes locked for the first time in a while, “Did you?” she batted her eyelashes and pulled her hand away. Tom put the cups in front of them and sat down himself “Jordan, come on, of course he misses you, we all do, I know for a fact that Noah misses you terribly”, her head shot up hearing his name “Noah, how is he? Is he ok?” the worry in her voice take everyone’s breath away. “He’s fine but we do need to talk about him, especially about his future” Tom sipped his coffee, “what? But Tom?” she stammered but it was Jared who grabbed her hand again and squeezed it this time “Babe, Tom told me all about the letter”. Jordan’s eyes shot daggers at Tom “Why Tom? I trusted you!”, Tom put his cup down and stared back at her “I know and I told you that I can’t take care of Noah, I wouldn’t know what to do or where to start, you know I have absolutely no experience raising kids and neither do I want to”. Jordan put her elbows on the table and held her head “Tom, please, you know I have no other choice”, Tom could feel his heart break but he needed to be honest “Yes you do and you know it, if there’s one person who’s always been there for that boy then it’s definitely Jared, I don’t know why you refuse to see that!”. Slowly she raised her head and shook it keeping her eyes closed “Great, this is just..great..whose side are you really on, Tom?” she hissed as she hung her head again, “what? This is not about taking sides, Jordan” Tom grabbed her wrist to make open her eyes and face him but she just yanked it out of his grip and pushed her chair back “No, of course it isn’t..d'you know what, forget it! It was stupid of me to think we could even be friends, let alone think that you would respect my last wish”. All of a sudden Per came walking into the room “Jordan, come on, I’ll take you to your room, you really need to take your pills” his tone of voice hardened as he approached the table, “No, I don’t!?” she pulled away from him as she got up, “you do, Jordan, don’t be ridiculous, your life depends on it” he grabbed her arm. “Fuck off” she pushed back against him and stomped out of the room, just when Per wanted to follow her, Jared stopped him and shook his head at him “I’ll go”. Upstairs Jordan let herself fall on her brother’s bed, and silently cried holding one hand over her mouth to muffle the sobs and one over her painful heart, her doctor kept saying she had to worry less, but how could she when everyone around her kept piling on top of the already endless list. Jared stopped at the door, seeing her lying there curled up into a miserable little ball broke his heart, suddenly the matress dipped and her eyes shot open to see Jared lying on his side, staring at her.

“Go away” she mumbled, agressively wiping her tears away, “nuh-uh” he shook his head without breaking eyecontact with her, “I’m sorry” he breathed, moving closer to her “I’m sorry for losing my temper, for saying all those godawful things��. Jordan blinked a few times, never had an apology sounded more sincere but she kept her forcefield firmly up, for now at least..”I don’t want to do this anymore..” her breath danced on his face as he moved closer to her. “What? What don’t you wanna do anymore, Jordan?” Jared swallowed hard and held his breath, unsure whether she was talking about their relationship or their epic fights, “this! This whole..you know, this whole..oh fuck this” Jordan just couldn’t get the words out. “Ok, you’re gonna have to be a little bit more specific here, this whole what? Jordan? This whole mess we’ve created, us fighting? Is that what you’re sick and tired of? Because hey, so am I, ok? But we can handle that, just don’t say you’re sick and tired of ‘us’ because I won’t survive, I swear I won't” he rambled in a voice that was suddenly hoarse with worry as he pushed himself up on his elbow. “I don’t know, Jared, you and I..” she tried to get her clouded mind to function “you and I came together under some pretty sinister circumstances and I don’t know..I don’t know if we..I just don’t think you would have even so much as noticed me if we had just met without all this darkness surrounding us..half of the time I feel like some kind of distraction or something, someone to keep you occupied to stop you from missing her too much, I know you still love her and I know how much it still hurts, the wound of her death is still so fresh..Are you really sure you’ll be able to go through all that grief again?”. Jared felt like his blood was freezing in his veins “No, I’ll not be able to go through it again, because I won’t have to, you’re not gonna die, ok? You’ll get that new heart and we’ll get our happily ever after! That’s all I’ve ever wanted and all I’ll ever want, to spend the rest of my days with you and Noah” his face hovered over hers while his hand rested on her stomach. She didn’t say anything, she just lay there looking up at him like she was studying every single detail in his face, her silence made his heart thump in his throat, there was no telling what she would do or say, but then her hand slowly reached for his face. Her hand caressed the heavy stubble on his cheek and he closed his eyes, leaning in to the warmth of her touch “What is all that ‘happily ever after’ anyway? Come on, I know we’re in Hollywood right now and I know they invented the phrase but they sure as hell aren’t practicing what they preach, are they? Nobody believes in all that bullshit anyway, I mean, the average relationship here only lasts as long as what? 6 months?” she breathed. “Oh, you really are a romantic, are you?” Jared sarcastically grinned, at least she hadn’t said that she was breaking up with him “well, thank god we’ve managed to survive the 6 months itch then!”. The first signs of a slow grin on her face were starting to show “No we didn’t, we were friends longer than we’ve been lovers, so we’re not out of dangerzone just yet”. Jared felt the tension between them slowly fall away so he brought his face closer to hers, his lips only inches removed from hers “Well..Some might say ‘danger’ is my middle name”, the grin curled into a cheeky smile beaming up at him. “Oh really? Well that’s odd, because I did have a few dangerous men in my life you know? I do love a bad boy as much as the next girl, but you..this..I guess I just don’t feel any danger, at all, wait…” she frowned and pretended to be checking “nope..definitely no danger”. Jared played along and pretended to be shocked too “Ok, how about this then?” he gathered his courage and kissed her warm lips, hungrily biting her bottom lip before he lifted his head to look at her, she didn’t really participate, but at least she hadn’t pulled away or protested. “Uhm, no..nope..still no danger” she slowly shook her head at him, “ok, well, how about now?” he murmured before his mouth came crashing down on hers, within seconds his tongue was demanding entrance to her mouth all dominantly. And just like that, with nothing more than a kiss, she could suddenly feel the fog in her head clear and remember the excitement of the first days of their relationship and it brought an unexpected fighting spirit back into her, something she had thought had gone for good, so she broke down the wall that she meticulously had built between them, there was no reason to keep it up any longer now that she realized there was nothing left to fight over.

Noah pushed past Tom who tried to stop him and quickly ran up the stairs  ignoring Tom who chased him, heading straight for his parents’ bedroom but stopped in his tracks at the door looking at the scene in front of him. “Leave my aunt Jordan alone” Noah spurted forward and jumped on the bed, breaking up their passionate kiss by throwing himself inbetween them as they hastily let go of each other, “whoaaaa, whoaaa, easy, easy, buddy” Jared folded his arm around the boy to stop him from crashing into Jordan. Smiling and relieved she pulled Noah against her chest and held him tight “hey, hey it’s alright” she breathed in his tousled blonde hair, a little smile forming around her lips as she glanced at Jared, “I missed you so much, aunt Jordan, you can’t leave me” her nephew murmured against her chest, his little fingers digging deep into her skin. “I missed you too, Noah, and I’m sorry, I’m never leaving you again, you hear?” she kept kissing the top of his head while Jared scooted closer to them as well, caressing the young boy’s back which finally made Noah turn his head “can my aunt Jordan come back to live with us?” he asked as he reluctantly let go of his aunt and rolled on his back between them. “What kind of question is that? Of course she’s coming back to live with us..that is if she still wants too of course” Jared cocked his head. Jordan pretended to still think about, but then put them both out of their misery “I would like that very much” she said with a warm smile, “yaaaayyyyy!!!” Noah sat up and pushed a clumsy, sloppy kiss on her lips and jumped off the bed “Tom, my aunt Jordan is coming back home” running up to Tom who stood there, all doe-eyed at the door. “So I heard, come on, we’ll go tell everyone the big news and give your aunt and Jared a little bit of time alone” he winked at Jared and Jordan as he put his hand on Noah’s head and started guiding him out of the room, “they’re not gonna make babies, are they?”. Noah’s words had been just loud enough for her to hear “What did he say?” she gave Jared a worried frown but Jared tried to suppress a giggle “it’s a long story, he asked about siblings, about not having a brother, and he didn’t know where they come from so I kinda told him”. Jordan closed her eyes and shook her head completely clueless “wait, what? You had 'the talk’ with Noah? He’s 5! you didn’t make it too graphic, did you? Because I know what you’re like”, her prudish reaction made him lean into her again “what I’m like? Ok, so what am I like?” he teased her mouth with a butterfly kiss before he left a trail of them on her chin, making his way to her throat. “You know what I mean, you’re not exactly the type who talks about the flowers and the bees..” she swallowed hard as his lips had now reached her collarbone, his teeth grazing her skin there was driving her slowly insane “I just don’t want to put images in his head, you know, of us having sex”. He pushed her back down on the mattress, his tongue drawing circles on the side of her neck “well, lately we haven't” she could feel his mouth curl into a grin “and I’m not against it”, wait, what did he just say?. “You’re not against what?” her hand stilled on his back as he crawled on top of her, “against us having babies” he whispered against her lips and kissed the tip of her nose, “Jared..” this was the first time they had ever talked about something as lifechanging as this and she didn’t know how to feel, hell she didn’t know if she would live that long or if she even wanted any. “Don’t panic, it’s just a thought, I’m not saying we need to have them right now, but maybe one day? And until that time, I was thinking we could start practicing tonight, in our own bed, how does that sound?” he claimed her mouth again in a hungry kiss.

[mab-speaks]

Fic: Dangerous Decadence

For @zokudarakuron. Written for my bsd ficlet challenge based on the prompt requests: “I would kill for a cup of coffee…literally” and Angocest. (Ango x Ango)

Rated: M 

Summary: Definition of Decadence - 1. moral or cultural decline as characterized by excessive indulgence in pleasure or luxury. 2. luxurious self-indulgence.What if Ango's ability enabled him to luxuriate in self-indulgence - literally and, like Chuuya when he goes into Corruption-mode, Ango can lose himself to himself in a downward spiral to the point he can't stop? Who needs friends when you can entertain yourself?

Content Notice: Sex, references to suicidal ideation/attempt, loss of control, Inappropriate humor. Also, implied Odazai and potential Dazango.

You can read it here or on the Ao3. 

Clack. Scuff. Clack.

The sound of my shoes against the pavement resounds in my ears tonight. My shadow stretching before me grows longer with every step, taunting me to chase it, to catch it before it, too, slips from my grasp.

I try to ignore the taunt, pushing my glasses further up the bridge of my nose and focusing instead on the end of my journey. The hotel. Eighteen stories of concrete walls, the promise of anonymity and seclusion within.

Who needs friends anyway? I've gotten by just fine without them for most of my life; if Dazai and Odasaku feel the need to cozy up together at the bar and forget I'm present, then who am I to interrupt? I'd excused myself to use the restroom and left through the back door. They probably haven't even noticed my absence.

I furrow my brows as the wind picks up, the sea-breeze chilling my face with a layer of salt, fogging my glasses. My temples throb, a tension headache building.

Clack. Scuff. Clack.

I continue walking, the buzzing of the streetlamps accompanying my shoes in a pathetic rhythm. It's odd, the lack of people tonight. Normally the nightlife in this district borders on bawdy, but tonight – the streets are vacant, the shops all closed, windows dark.  

My shadow jumps as I pass the park, playing hide and seek with itself amongst the diagonal pattern made by the trees. Nearly there. The hotel looms ahead, dark but for a scattered few lit windows.

I welcome the burst of warm air that greets me as I stride through the lobby doors. I flash my ID at the doorman and head for the elevator, rubbing absently at the nape of my neck. I need to do something about this tension, something I haven't indulged in for far too long. The idea flashes across my mind like a sign from heaven, making my pulse race, my palms itch.

The elevator dings as it reaches my floor, the doors taking far too long to open. I have to force myself not to break into a run in my rush to reach my room. My hand trembles as I put the key into the lock, my heart thudding in my ears. Is this really a good idea? I have had several shots of whiskey already. I may not be thinking clearly enough to … NO! I don't care! I deserve this. Attention. Affection. Self-care. I need it. I bite my lip as I open the door and step into my sanctuary.

I loosen my tie, unbuttoning my jacket as I cross the room to draw the drapes over the windows. That finished, I run through my nightly routine of checking the room for bugs and signs of intrusion, shrugging out of my clothes as I go, leaving them where they fall.

It's been too long. My hands grip the tiled bathroom counter, my back bent, head bowed as I glare at the large wall mirror, my forehead creased. My gift – I used to rely on it all the time – decadence enabled me to rise above all others, to need nobody. It made me superior. In this moment I can't recall why I had sworn off using it, why I had called it a curse.

I bite my lip, hesitating, my eyes roving over my own reflection. His pale skin, nearly always hidden beneath a brown three-piece suit, now completely revealed. His lips are plump and rosy, the faint traces of teeth marks marring the lower one. They stretch into a smirk, an invitation. I'd been ready to go for it the moment I'd stepped off the elevator, but now, facing him – my conscience prickles, the throbbing at my temples intensifying.  

"Wh-hy?" I ask aloud, my voice cracking. "I haven't needed you for more than two years. I buried you." My arms tremble, elbows locking to keep them from giving out. My nerves feel raw under the eyes of my reflection, his dilated pupils drinking in every inch of my exposed body with the magnetism of a black hole.

He doesn't answer out loud, can't … yet.

He arches an eyebrow, tilting his head to the side. I know what he's thinking. After all, he is me. If you'd like me to answer, you know what you have to do.

My eyes burn as I close them, briefly shutting him out. It's hard to think clearly under his gaze, harder still with the pounding in my temples. In my mind's eye, I return to the bar, to my lonely perch on a barstool, separated from Dazai and Odasaku by the service counter. They share a laugh, a joke perhaps that I hadn't caught, their shoulders brushing, Dazai's hand clutching Odasaku's wrist to steady himself. I sigh, swigging the last of my drink and swallowing the bitter taste with a grimace.

I open my eyes again, meeting his, my focus sharpening as the lingering taste in my mouth grows bitter once more. Right. What are friends really? What guarantee do they deliver? Friends grow together and then apart, some faster than others, at least, according to my observations. I hadn't asked to be friends with them in the first place. I was bullied into it. Sure, I enjoyed the time I had with them more than any other period of my life, but I always knew it would come to end. It was inevitable. They never knew who I really am and, were they to find out, they wouldn't hesitate to kill me. Dazai especially.

I swallow hard, my mouth dry, lips parched. I take in my reflection. My eyes are round and soft, sad. This, too, was always inevitable. I can't count on others to fill the emptiness inside me. I can only rely on myself.

"Discourse on Decadence," I whisper, reaching up, touching my fingertips to his, meeting them in a coarse press of dry skin against skin, our palms lining up, pressing flat together and then, our fingers linking, curling, joining in a shared fist. Heat floods my body, the familiar thrill of pleasure, of promised satiation. I pull, breathing out, stepping back to make room as he climbs out of the mirror as if from a veil of mercury and then we stand face to face, my peripheral vision catching our twin profiles in the mirror.

"Ango." He speaks first, his voice soft and deep, washing over me like warm puff of air, sending sparks of anticipation up and down my arms, canvassing my chest. I simply take him in, his presence so familiar and yet, altered. The hollow space inside my soul aches, yearning for him to fill it up, a hole tailor-made to his shape. "How I've missed you."

I fall into his arms without a second thought, his warmth further igniting mine, making me feverish. I don't care. I haven't been cherished for so long, haven't felt whole and complete. I need this – him – like air, like water. He can do anything to me and I'll let him. I close my eyes, nuzzling his neck and lose myself in the sensation of our skin brushing together, my pulse rushing, my mouth panting, desperate to join as one.

Our lips meet and catch, tongues tracing familiar patterns, and then we trade kisses, drinking them in with so much need, so much frenzy, I forget to breathe. Surrendering myself to his arms, his guidance, giving myself completely over to the only person I can trust makes my heart swell with the thick nostalgia of coming home. I lose myself, my sense of time, my everything without complaint so long as he doesn't leave me. He carries me to the bed and sets about fulfilling my deepest, most hidden desires. Nothing is false between us. How could it be? He is me.

XxxX

Self-Indulgence. Decadence. It isn't so much a gift as a curse; I recall these facts now. I can give myself anything, can accomplish any goal so long as it's something I truly want. The downside to this ability took me a long time to realize and by the time I had, it was too late for me. If your every desire can be had, every goal you set can be achieved all on your own, goals cease to carry weight, pleasures become boring, dull, and the need to connect with others, to develop relationships is not necessary. I began self-sabotaging my efforts, finding half-way through a mission that would have secured me a position of great power that I no longer wanted it. I no longer cared.

I got picked up by the government, drafted into the Special Abilities Division, and then seduced into becoming a double agent by Ougai Mori. He was always the mastermind behind most of the cases I catalogued during my undercover stint as an accountant. When you get to the point of complete apathy, hollowed out inside and dreaming of a day when you may once again have something to live for, following a master with a clear vision and a tight grip on control is just what happens.

I hate myself as much as I love myself. I hadn't realized that I still had the capacity for such strong emotions as love and hate until Dazai singled me out. He and Odasaku. And now they have outgrown our friendship, found a higher plane together and left me high and dry. I can't hate them for it; I already saw it coming.

It was only ever a matter of time before this whole experiment went bust. I had ceased relying on my ability in order to save myself, to find a reason to live, to do something worthwhile and also to protect myself from exploitation. It's preferable that my masters remain ignorant of my gift. I truly believe the work I do is, in the grander scheme, worthwhile. So long as the Mafia gains legal status, the citizens of Yokohama will continue to live peaceful and happy lives. Law and order. Peace. Happiness. I long to understand these concepts, to realize them in my own life. I don't know if that will ever be possible, but I still hope.

Fingers press my pleasure spot, scattering my thoughts like chaff. I exhale, moaning, giving in once more to my basest desires. I've lost track of the time, the date, how long ago I ate or drank. I know myself, he knows me, knows what I need and how and when to give it to me. After two years of abstinence, a passionate reunion is definitely not unwelcome.

"Ango," he grunts, his breath hot against my cheek, his touch reaching deeper, higher inside me than he ever has before. I feel like I'm floating, hovering halfway between wake and sleep, the land of dreams and fulfilled desire. My eyes roll back in my head, I'm losing my ability to stay present, passing out … "No you don't. Look at me."

He grabs my chin, forcing it down, his eyes dark as tunnels swimming as I try to bring him into focus. My vision splits into three, blending into two and then, as he stops pumping into me, I'm able to focus on his face.

"It's too much." I sound like I'm whining, but even I can hear the yearning for even more in my own ears. I never want to stop, never want to be alone again. I can see him read my thoughts as he grins at me, his bangs plastered to his forehead, sweat dripping from the tips. "My throat is dry," I clarify. "I need a drin–" I swallow my words as he closes his mouth on top of mine, chasing my complaints down with his tongue. I don't mind. I wrap my arms around his back, holding on for dear life as his hips begin pumping into me again. Drunk on his taste, his kisses, his presence enveloping me, I find my climax as he steals my breath, my vision going white. It stays white as I linger in the moment, high as a kite, floating on a cloud, without a care if I ever come back down.

XxxX

So empty, so high, so light … my brain buzzes as I return to the present, my eyes lolling unfixed in their sockets. I force myself to focus, too see out from my dazed state, but it's as hit or miss as getting power through a frayed wire.

My body rocks, my head rolling on the mattress, occasionally bumping up against the headboard. How long have I been out? How long has he been at it? How much more can either of us take? My stomach clenches, a gnawing rumble breaking the silence. He chuckles.

I try to wet my lips, but even my tongue is dry. My throat feels like a desert, wasted and parched. My eyes are dry. It's more comfortable to keep them closed, but even then, my eyelids feel like they're made of sandpaper.

This … my ability … It's gone too far; it's too much. I realize with horror, holding fast to the thought: I have lost control. I feel nothing. My physical self is somewhere apart from where my mind is at. Where do I find hope? What is hope? Do I still have that? I feel so blank. Empty.

"Da-zai …" The name sounds in my ears, a croak. I'm pretty sure I'm the one who called it. And it makes sense right now, in this moment, that the one man who inspired emotions in me, a man of a similar emptiness, would be my last hope. "I want … I want … Dazai."

The bed creaks as he rises above me. I can't feel my legs. The only sensations I hold seem centered in my chest and my head. I open my eyes as his breath hits my cheeks. My heart clenches as if lodging itself in my throat. His features shift, changing, becoming more like Dazai.

"No!" I gasp. "Not like that. Not you – not me in a Dazai mask. I want the real person. Dazai."

His face returns to normal. The heart-shape, bland features I see every day hover over me as if I was peering into a mirror. His expression doesn't hold the horror I feel at all. His eyes look at me half-lidded, bored.

"Ah yes. But … this goes both ways, you know. You invited me to come inside, to become one with you and that is what I want."

Wait. What? My mind reels. I'm losing the plot.

"I cannot do what you do not want, Ango," he says, sounding so much like he's reciting a carefully prepared criticism. "And, likewise, you know that you can trust me because I am you."

My vision dims again, his face becoming a blur of color until I close my eyes to stave off the discomfort. "Still. Call him. I want Dazai, not this. Please …" Even without the dizzying color blur, I'm losing my fight to stay aware. "I want … Dazai … want you … come …"

I'm slipping in and out of consciousness, unable to fight it, unwilling to try.

XxxX

"Back again, Ango?"

His voice sounds far off, but it gives me an anchor point to draw myself back into awareness. My eyes open as slits. It takes more energy than I have to blink.

"Good. You're nearly ready. We will be one."

My heart stutters, picking up and knocking against my ribs and then skipping a couple of beats. I don't know what he's talking about. It's impossible. We've always been able to read each other. We have no secrets. "I … I don't understand…" My throat feels like it's been scraped raw, just pushing enough air through it to make my voice heard.

"You wouldn't," he says dryly. "You think you can seduce me, us; use us; thrive off the power we make together and then just … one day … stop? That there wouldn't be any consequences?"

My mind races, attempting to catch up to him, to get a glimpse, a thread of what he's telling me. "I thirst," I croak. "Can't think. Need help. Feels like … dying."

He talks over my complaints as if he didn't catch them.

"It's time to break down all the boundaries between us. You can't put us away any more, Ango. Can't refuse to answer us, to ignore our presence, your true nature. We will no longer be suppressed."

"How?" I ask, my voice barely audible, like wind hitting a blade of grass.

"That empty space you always bemoan – it's grown. I've been growing it more. Going to hollow you out, break your reins, your last hesitation and then, I will climb inside. We will reside together in one body and be one always. We will never be without our ability and we will rise above the rest of the riff-raff and show them what true mastery is."

I form my words with my lips, forcing the last of my strength into making them heard. "I'd rather die."

He grabs my shoulders, his fingers digging in bruisingly. "This is the truth? Why you call out for Dazai, for that suicidal freak? You choose death over us?"

"Y-es," I gasp. My eyes burning, my lips going numb, the world going dark.

XxxX

"Well that wasn't very nice, but I do admit it had that touch of poetry about it."

My lips are cold, freezing, but it doesn't matter because my throat is wet again, cool trickles of water sluicing over the parched membranes. I'm so relieved, I don't even wonder who that voice belonged to or what it said.

I move my lips, finding a rough bit of something gummy, gluey, pressed against my mouth. The water source. I latch onto it and suck, drinking it as much as I can, though it's slow-going. Ice? I think it must be ice. That would explain the cold, but the weird texture … It must be wrapped in some sort of … fabric? I'm not sure. It's slimy.

Tentatively, I open my eyes, blinking, disoriented. And then things start to make sense as I take in the scene. Dazai, crouching over me, straddling my thighs and pinning me in place while he feeds me melting ice with his … Gross. I turn my face away from the ice pack, finally making sense of the odd taste. "Dazai, stop." Gauze. I turn back to meet his eyes after he's moved the bundle away from my face. He looks like he's trying to hide his amusement. "Seriously? You had me sucking on ice through your damn bandages?"

The pounding in my temples is back again. I'm so tired, Dazai's stupid smirk souring my mood further. "Get off! I can't feel my legs with your bony ass sitting on them."

He smiles, his left eyebrow lifting high on his forehead, his right eye and upper face are still hidden with bandages. "Yes! Good morning to you too, Ango! Did you sleep well?"

My brain feels like mush. I hate mornings. I wrinkle my forehead, confused. What did I do last night? What did I drink? I dare not voice those questions.

"Why are you here?" I ask him, sighing and rubbing absently at my forehead.

He hands me my glasses as the scent of coffee suddenly wafts across my nose, my brain screaming for it. God. Coffee. Yes. Caffeine. I need wake-up juice to give me a boost and then I might be able to deal with Dazai this early in the morning.

I slide my glasses into place and start to push myself up, but Dazai holds me down with his hand on my chest, still pinning my legs between his thighs. "Dazai?" I repeat, unamused.

"Hmm?"

"This is not a joke."

"No. You're right. It isn't."

"Let me get up and grab a cup of coffee then? I'll gladly sit still and listen to whatever you have to say after that."

His forehead creases, worry lines bunching up, his lips drawing down into a frown.

"Dazai. I will kill for a cup of coffee … literally."

He nods again, his expression seeming to grow more sad than worried. What the hell is going on right now?

"And your body is currently between me and the coffee pot," I lower my voice to emphasize the threat. And then it hits me as Dazai's lips twitch into a playful smirk. I massage the bridge of my nose, closing my eyes against the tension. "Right. And it's pointless for me to threaten to kill somebody who longs to die. Is that it?"

I pause, waiting for his playful comeback and encountering only silence. I look up at him, locking gazes with the most serious face I've ever seen Dazai wear.

"You tell me, Ango. Is that it?"

I scoff, an uncomfortable inkling making the back of my neck prickle. I did something stupid. I showed him something too close to home. I blanch, feeling the blood draining from my face.

"Whoa, whoa!" he says, holding onto my shoulders to keep me steady and then fluffing my pillows behind my head. "I'm not judging, just trying to jog your memory. I gotta tell you that I didn't see that coming at all. Like, honestly. I'm impressed."

I can only gape at him. What the hell did I do?

"I've attempted to kill myself dozens of different ways, but … suicide by fucking yourself to death is uh... creative, to say the least."

I cannot believe he just said that. I cannot believe … and then snippets of memories flash across my mind. Dazai and Odasaku's closeness, my quick departure from the bar, the walk home, the mirror … "Oh my god. Why does it have to be you? Why do I have to have this conversation with you?" I'm so mortified, I wish I could disappear into my mattress and just be gone.

His hand closes around my wrist, surprisingly gentle.

"Because, Ango, you called me."

The End

[magicbound-a]

Fault ( drabble )

   » A rewrite of a drabble I wrote more than a year ago about the first time Orsino was whipped. Obvious trigger warnings for physical abuse. Better writing and more accuracy regarding what was given in World of Thedas 2.

  Protectors. That’s what the Chantry and civilians alike called them, and what the Templars so self-righteously heralded themselves to be. It was hardly questioned by those that mattered. It might as well have been the truth based upon how many believed it, all except for the very people that the Templars were sworn to protect. Orsino knew in his gut that what the Templars do in the Circle was wrong, but he kept himself silent. It was better to be invisible than risk his well-being to change the direction of a tide that would not budge. At this point, it was a force of nature unable to be controlled no more than the rain.

 He was seven when he was brought in. Already had abuse been normalized to his young soul. Already did he know how to become a thing without importance; the guards that patrolled the alienage gave him plenty of practice beforehand. The Gallows was the same matter with different reasons. He knew that the Templars were no protectors, just the same as the guards had been, for one does not live in fear of protectors, but he cared too much about waking up to see the sun rise to do anything about it.

  There was so much a mage could do wrong in the Circle, and Orsino was determined to not be one of them.

  Orsino had been fifteen when he gave into the habits of a teenager, and lazed about in the courtyard of the Gallows where the merchants did their business. Out here, he could feel the rays of the sun touch his face, and the gentle heat of the stone beneath him. The courtyard within the building was undesirable, as the walls cast a shadow across the area. The sun never touched the ground there to provide warmth to the cold stone.

  A woman stood about in the courtyard, searching for someone who seemed of importance. Despite his lax posture, their eyes had locked, meek smiles and shy waves were exchanged, and she took this as an invitation for conversation. She approached without hesitance despite him being clad in mage robes. It was admirable. While he was quiet and stuttered often, the woman kept smiling, and refrained from commenting on his bashful demeanor. While she was looking for someone to sign off a shipment of fruit, they spoke of mundane things instead as if he was a normal being. It was just enough to have Orsino forget what he was for a few brief moments, and where he sat.

  He was a fool. It was a mistake to forget why the Chantry treated him as they did; he was nothing normal. He was a mage, a dangerous thing to be locked away and controlled. When the Templars arrived upon the scene, they treated him as such. Her face which had been so full of love for life contorted into one of confusion and pity as they dragged Orsino away along with the fruit, showing more care to the handle of the food than him.

  Orsino couldn't remember what they had said to him about the situation. They were too loud, and him too scared. They thrust their faces inches apart from his until he could only think about how afraid he was. Eventually, he broke down into pleas and apologies. They weren't supposed to talk to civilians it seemed, but it was a rule he never had heard until now. They told him it was his fault for not knowing.

  "We-we were j-just talking a-about nothing i-important!"

  "Then why were you pleading?"

  The logic caused Orsino to freeze. A crease between his brows formed as his face twitched with confusion, and then dawning horror that they believed his blubbering to be an admission of guilt. His silence that followed after the question sealed the matter.

  Sharp gauntlets held his biceps as they hauled him off the ground and into a darker, more secluded room. They forced him into a kneeling position and told him to remain on his knees, hands in front of him. Orsino sat there in complete silence except for his terrified, ragged breaths. The terrified teenager waited for the Templar's punishment. After hearing them move for a worringly amount of time, no clue to what they planned, he heard a strange noise he couldn't describe. Something soft tapped against the ground and armor. In anticipation, he stopped breathing. For three seconds, the room was completely silent. Tension a taut string that begged to be cut loose.

  Orsino yelled when a leather whip was brought down upon his back. They did not ask him to remove his robes, but the fabric didn't protect him from the sting. Sobs came immediately, as did more pleading, but the wielder did not relent. Again and again, they brought down the whip until his back became hot. Holes were made in the back of his robes, and the cloth clung to his back as it became red with blood. The mage became louder with each strike until every yell was a shrill scream.

  Ten times they lashed him. It was merciful compared to the thirty they give his people now.

  They made each strike count. They did not hold back any force. Orsino didn't realize when they stopped. By the time they were done, he was faced downwards with his nose smashed against the stone. He had retreated back into his mind, aware of the pain of his back, but no longer reacting. They had whipped him, but it felt like they had lit a fire on his back instead. Cut and bruised skin throbbed, wounds bled, and welts formed where the skin did not break. Occasionally, Orsino would twitch, but he made no movement to get up.

  The Templars hauled him back into the cell they called a chambers. He was too out of it to see the pitiful, worried glances from the other mages as they passed. While they looked, no one followed except one mage. The Templars dropped Orsino limp in his bed, and went back to their positions. Another figure slipped into his cell when they had gone down the hallway, and sat down on his bed with him.

  "It's okay, I'm here," Maud whispered to him on the verge of tears. She lifted his head onto her lap, and pet his hair until he regained normal awareness of his surrounding.

  "It was my fault," Orsino first said, "I should be thankful they didn't kill me." His voice hitched as he admitted his part, and rubbed his eyes that had gone red and puffy as he cried.

  Maud didn't reply. She wiped away her own tears, and began to apply a salve to her friend's back.

[angelavengedinspo-blog]

There were no clocks in Isabelle’s black and hot-pink powder-puff bedroom, just piles of clothes, heaps of books, stacks of weapons, a vanity overflowing with sparkling makeup, used brushes, and open drawers spilling lacy slips, sheer tights, and feather boas. It had a certain backstage-at-La-Cage-aux-Folles design aesthetic, but over the past two weeks Clary had spent enough time among the glittering mess to have begun to find it comforting. Isabelle, standing over by the window with Church in her arms, stroked the cat’s head absently. Church regarded her with baleful yellow eyes. Outside the window a November storm was in full bloom, rain streaking the windows like clear paint. “Not much longer,” she said slowly. She wasn’t wearing any makeup, which made her look younger, her dark eyes bigger. “Five minutes, probably.” Clary, sitting on Izzy’s bed between a pile of magazines and a rattling stack of seraph blades, swallowed hard against the bitter taste in her throat. I’ll be back. Five minutes. ...

Isabelle dropped Church, who let out a yowl. She came over to the bed and sat down beside Clary. Isabelle looked even more slender than usual—like Clary, she’d lost weight in the past two weeks—but elegant as always, in black cigarette pants and a fitted gray velvet top. Mascara was smudged all around Izzy’s eyes, which should have made her look like a racoon but just made her look like a French film star instead. She stretched her arms out, and her electrum bracelets with their rune charms jingled musically. “No, it’s not a bad sign,” she said. “It just means they have a lot to talk over.” She twisted the Lightwood ring on her finger. “You’ll be fine. You didn’t break the Law. That’s the important thing.” Clary sighed. Even the warmth of Isabelle’s shoulder next to hers couldn’t melt the ice in her veins. She knew that technically she had broken no Laws, but she also knew the Clave was furious at her. 

.....

“Quit it,” Isabelle said. For a moment Clary wasn’t sure if Isabelle was talking to her or to the cat. Church was doing what he often did when dropped—lying on his back with all four legs in the air, pretending to be dead in order to induce guilt in his owners. But then Isabelle swept her black hair aside, glaring, and Clary realized she was the one being told off, not the cat. “Quit what?” “Morbidly thinking about all the horrible things that are going to happen to you, or that you wish would happen to you because you’re alive and Jace is . . . missing.” Isabelle’s voice jumped, like a record skipping a groove. She never spoke of Jace as being dead or even gone—she and Alec refused to entertain the possibility. And Isabelle had never reproached Clary once for keeping such an enormous secret. Throughout everything, in fact, Isabelle had been her staunchest defender. Meeting her every day at the door to the Council Hall, she had held Clary firmly by the arm as she’d marched her past clumps of glaring, muttering Shadowhunters. She had waited through endless Council interrogations, shooting dagger glances at anyone who dared look at Clary sideways. Clary had been astonished. She and Isabelle had never been enormously close, both of them being the sort of girls who were more comfortable with boys than other female companionship. But Isabelle didn’t leave her side. Clary was as bewildered as she was grateful. “I can’t help it,” Clary said. “If I were allowed to patrol—if I were allowed to do anything—I think it wouldn’t be so bad.” “I don’t know.” Isabelle sounded weary. For the past two weeks she and Alec had been exhausted and gray-faced from sixteen-hour patrols and searches. When Clary had found out she was banned from patrolling or searching for Jace in any way until the Council decided what to do about the fact that she had brought him back from the dead, she had kicked a hole in her bedroom door. “Sometimes it feels so futile,” Isabelle added. Ice crackled up and down Clary’s bones. “You mean you think he’s dead?” “No, I don’t. I mean I think there’s no way they’re still in New York.” “But they’re patrolling in other cities, right?” Clary put a hand to her throat, forgetting that the Morgenstern ring no longer hung there. Magnus was still trying to track Jace, though no tracking had yet worked. “Of course they are.” Isabelle reached out curiously and touched the delicate silver bell that hung around Clary’s neck now, in place of the ring. “What’s that?” ..... Before Clary could reply to Isabelle, the door opened. Both girls sat up ramrod straight, Clary clutching one of Izzy’s pink pillows so hard that the rhinestones on it dug into the skin of her palms. “Hey.” A slim figure stepped into the room and shut the door. Alec, Isabelle’s older brother, was dressed in Council wear—a black robe figured with silver runes, open now over jeans and a long-sleeved black T-shirt. All the black made his pale skin look paler, his crystal-blue eyes bluer. His hair was black and straight like his sister’s, but shorter, cut just above his jawline. His mouth was set in a thin line. Clary’s heart started to pound. Alec didn’t look happy. Whatever the news was, it couldn’t be good. It was Isabelle who spoke. “How did it go?” she said quietly. “What’s the verdict?” Alec sat down at the vanity table, swinging himself around the chair to face Izzy and Clary over the back. At another time it would have been comical—Alec was very tall, with long legs like a dancer, and the way he folded himself awkwardly around the chair made it look like dollhouse furniture. “Clary,” he said. “Jia Penhallow handed down the verdict. You’re cleared of any wrongdoing. You broke no Laws, and Jia feels that you’ve been punished enough.” Isabelle exhaled an audible breath and smiled. For just a moment a feeling of relief broke through the layer of ice over all of Clary’s emotions. She wasn’t going to be punished, locked up in the Silent City, trapped somewhere where she couldn’t help Jace. Luke, who as the representative of the werewolves on the Council had been present for the verdict, had promised to call Jocelyn as soon as the meeting ended, but Clary reached for her phone anyway; the prospect of giving her mother good news for a change was too tempting. “Clary,” Alec said as she flipped her phone open. “Wait.” She looked at him. His expression was still as serious as an undertaker’s. With a sudden sense of foreboding, Clary put her phone back down on the bed. “Alec—what is it?” “It wasn’t your verdict that took the Council so long,” said Alec. “There was another matter under discussion.” The ice was back. Clary shivered. “Jace?” “Not exactly.” Alec leaned forward, folding his hands along the back of the chair. “A report came in early this morning from the Moscow Institute. The wardings over Wrangel Island were smashed through yesterday. They’ve sent a repair team, but having such important wards down for so long—that’s a Council priority.” Wards—which served, as Clary understood it, as a sort of magical fence system—surrounded Earth, put there by the first generation of Shadowhunters. They could be bypassed by demons but not easily, and kept out the vast majority of them, preventing the world from being flooded by a massive demon invasion. She remembered something that Jace had said to her, what felt like years ago: There used to be only small demon invasions into this world, easily contained. But even in my lifetime more and more of them have spilled in through the wardings. “Well, that’s bad,” Clary said. “But I don’t see what it has to do with—” “The Clave has its priorities,” Alec interrupted. “Searching for Jace and Sebastian has been top priority for the past two weeks. But they’ve scoured everything, and there’s no sign of either of them in any Downworld haunt. None of Magnus’s tracking spells have worked. Elodie, the woman who brought up the real Sebastian Verlac, confirmed that no one’s tried to get in touch with her. That was a long shot, anyway. No spies have reported any unusual activity among the known members of Valentine’s old Circle. And the Silent Brothers haven’t been able to figure out exactly what the ritual Lilith performed was supposed to do, or whether it succeeded. The general consensus is that Sebastian—of course, they call him Jonathan when they talk about him—kidnapped Jace, but that’s not anything we didn’t know.” “So?” Isabelle said. “What does that mean? More searching? More patrolling?” Alec shook his head. “They’re not discussing expanding the search,” he said quietly. “They’re de-prioritizing it. It’s been two weeks and they haven’t found anything. The specially commissioned groups brought over from Idris are going to be sent home. The situation with the ward is taking priority now. Not to mention that the Council has been in the middle of delicate negotiations, updating the Laws to allow for the new makeup of the Council, appointing a new Consul and Inquisitor, determining different treatment of Downworlders—they don’t want to be thrown completely off track.” Clary stared. “They don’t want Jace’s disappearance to throw them off the track of changing a bunch of stupid old Laws? They’re giving up?” “They’re not giving up—” “Alec,” Isabelle said sharply. Alec took a breath and put his hands up to cover his face. He had long fingers, like Jace’s, scarred like Jace’s were as well. The eye Mark of the Shadowhunters decorated the back of his right hand. “Clary, for you—for us—this has always been about searching for Jace. For the Clave it’s about searching for Sebastian. Jace as well, but primarily Sebastian. He’s the danger. He destroyed the wards of Alicante. He’s a mass murderer. Jace is . . .” “Just another Shadowhunter,” said Isabelle. “We die and go missing all the time.” “He gets a little extra for being a hero of the Mortal War,” said Alec. “But in the end the Clave was clear: The search will be kept up, but right now it’s a waiting game. They expect Sebastian to make the next move. In the meantime it’s third priority for the Clave. If that. They expect us to go back to normal life.” Normal life? Clary couldn’t believe it. A normal life without Jace? “That’s what they told us after Max died,” said Izzy, her black eyes tearless but burning with anger. “That we’d get over our grief faster if we just went back to normal life.” “It’s supposed to be good advice,” said Alec from behind his fingers. “Tell that to Dad. Did he even come back from Idris for the meeting?” Alec shook his head, dropping his hands. “No. If it’s any consolation, there were a lot of people at the meeting speaking out angrily on behalf of keeping the search for Jace up at full strength. Magnus, obviously, Luke, Consul Penhallow, even Brother Zachariah. But at the end of the day it wasn’t enough.” Clary looked at him steadily. “Alec,” she said. “Don’t you feel anything?” Alec’s eyes widened, their blue darkening, and for a moment Clary remembered the boy who had hated her when she’d first arrived at the Institute, the boy with bitten nails and holes in his sweaters and a chip on his shoulder that had seemed immovable. “I know you’re upset, Clary,” he said, his voice sharp, “but if you’re suggesting that Iz and I care less about Jace than you do—” “I’m not,” Clary said. “I’m talking about your parabatai connection. I was reading about the ceremony in the Codex. I know being parabatai ties the two of you together. You can sense things about Jace. Things that will help you when you’re fighting. So I guess I mean . . . can you sense if he’s still alive?” “Clary.” Isabelle sounded worried. “I thought you didn’t . . .” “He’s alive,” Alec said cautiously. “You think I’d be this functional if he weren’t alive? There’s definitely something fundamentally wrong. I can feel that much. But he’s still breathing.” “Could the ‘wrong’ thing be that he’s being held prisoner?” said Clary in a small voice. Alec looked toward the windows, the sheeting gray rain. “Maybe. I can’t explain it. I’ve never felt anything like it before.” “But he’s alive.” Alec looked at her directly then. “I’m sure of it.” “Then screw the Council. We’ll find him ourselves,” Clary said. “Clary . . . if that were possible . . . don’t you think we already would have—,” Alec began. “We were doing what the Clave wanted us to do before,” said Isabelle. “Patrols, searches. There are other ways.” “Ways that break the Law, you mean,” said Alec. He sounded hesitant. Clary hoped he wasn’t going to repeat the Shadowhunters’ motto when it came to the Law: Sed lex, dura lex. “The Law is harsh, but it is the Law.” She didn’t think she could take it. “The Seelie Queen offered me a favor,” Clary said. “At the fireworks party in Idris.” The memory of that night, how happy she’d been, made her heart contract for a moment, and she had to stop and regain her breath. “And a way to contact her.” “The Queen of the Fair Folk gives nothing for free.” “I know that. I’ll take whatever debt it is on my shoulders.” Clary remembered the words of the faerie girl who had handed her the bell. You would do anything to save him, whatever it cost you, whatever you might owe to Hell or Heaven, would you not? “I just want one of you to come with me. I’m not good with translating faerie-speak. At least if you’re with me you can limit whatever the damage is. But if there’s anything she can do—” “I’ll go with you,” Isabelle said immediately. Alec looked at his sister darkly. “We already talked to the Fair Folk. The Council questioned them extensively. And they can’t lie.” “The Council asked them if they knew where Jace and Sebastian were,” Clary said. “Not if they’d be willing to look for them. The Seelie Queen knew about my father, knew about the angel he summoned and trapped, knew the truth about my blood and Jace’s. I think there’s not much that happens in this world that she doesn’t know about.” “It’s true,” said Isabelle, a little animation entering into her voice. “You know you have to ask faeries the exact right things to get useful information out of them, Alec. They’re very hard to question, even if they do have to tell the truth. A favor, though, is different.” “And its potential for danger is literally unlimited,” said Alec. “If Jace knew I let Clary go to the Seelie Queen, he’d—” “I don’t care,” Clary said. “He’d do it for me. Tell me he wouldn’t. If I were missing—” “He’d burn the whole world down till he could dig you out of the ashes. I know,” Alec said, sounding exhausted. “Hell, you think I don’t want to burn down the world right now? I’m just trying to be . . .” “An older brother,” said Isabelle. “I get it.” Alec looked as if he were fighting for control. “If something happened to you, Isabelle—after Max, and Jace—” Izzy got to her feet, went across the room, and put her arms around Alec. Their dark hair, precisely the same color, mixed together as Isabelle whispered something into her brother’s ear; Clary watched them with not a little envy. She had always wanted a brother. And she had one now. Sebastian. It was like always wanting a puppy for a pet and being handed a hellhound instead. She watched as Alec tugged his sister’s hair affectionately, nodded, and released her. “We should all go,” he said. “But I have to tell Magnus, at least, what we’re doing. It wouldn’t be fair not to.” “Do you want to use my phone?” Isabelle asked, offering the battered pink object to him. Alec shook his head. “He’s waiting downstairs with the others. You’ll have to give Luke some kind of excuse too, Clary. I’m sure he’s expecting you to go home with him. And he says your mother’s been pretty sick about this whole thing.” “She blames herself for Sebastian’s existence.” Clary got to her feet. “Even though she thought he was dead all those years.” “It’s not her fault.” Isabelle pulled her golden whip down from where it hung on the wall and wrapped it around her wrist so that it looked like a ladder of shining bracelets. “No one blames her.” “That never matters,” said Alec. “Not when you blame yourself.” In silence, the three of them made their way through the corridors of the Institute, oddly crowded now with other Shadowhunters, some of whom were part of the special commissions that had been sent out from Idris to deal with the situation. None of them really looked at Isabelle, Alec, or Clary with much curiosity