#like time doesn’t work so fluidly so it’s already happened but it hasn’t reached me yet? if that makes sense

[realitymuse]

as someone who has spent their entire life on the sidelines, trapped and limited by my own body and mind, shifting is such a beautiful thing to stumble across.

for so long i have lived solely in my dreams, in written words and movies and video games—in other worlds. i’d do my best to ignore this reality but there was always the physical pain, the gnawing grief, the awful thoughts that would sink my mood lower and lower.

at night i would spin intricate tales, homemade movies taking placing entirely in my head with detailed storylines and intriguing characters that all included me. of course they were picture-less, i have aphantasia and if there is something like that for senses then i think i have that too. but i would look forward to bedtime because it meant i could return to whatever plot i was currently on and perform it in my mind in the limited but still enjoyable way i could.

i’ve always been a writer—ever since i learnt how to hold a pencil (or perhaps crayon) and scribble onto paper (sometimes walls), i’ve been writing myself into fantastical worlds full of dragons and fairies and medieval castles. in some stories i would be exploring space, in others i would simply be wandering around in ancient egypt. and whilst i wanted to be a writer in this life i also wanted to be everything.

shifting is like a gift to my 8 year old self—the little girl who had no idea how bad this reality could be—because with shifting i can be anything and everything i’ve ever wanted to be. from florist to baker, ancient language specialist onboard a research spaceship to a hecking superhero. shifting grants me an eternity to explore every possibility and that is the reason that i will keep on this journey no matter what. i am a shifter. i always have been. i always will be.

[ncssian]

A Favor: Part Eighteen

Nessian Modern AU

Masterlist

a/n: a short update while i try to find my writing rhythm again :))

***

Nesta hasn’t danced in over ten years—yet her body still remembers how to move fluidly and create shapes as if she never stopped. Pole dancing is different, of course: most of it takes place in the air, and she doesn’t have the right muscles developed to support her weight that well. Damn, she should really ask Cassian for help if she wants to keep doing this.

Still, Emerie and Gwyn are gaping by the time Nesta lands on the floor after trying out a basic spin.

She cracks her neck. “What?” she says at their stares.

“Where did you learn to do that?” Emerie demands.

She shrugs indifferently. “Eight years of ballet. Push-up challenges with Cassian.”

The instructor, an overly energetic Australian woman, comes up just then and claps Nesta on the shoulder, making her jump. “That was beautiful,” she praises. “Really, you have the balance of a cat. What’s your name again?”

Nesta introduces herself obediently, and Gwyn and Emerie follow.

The instructor nods. “In that case, Nesta, you keep doing what you’re doing. Don’t worry about your upper body strength yet, it’ll come around with time. You, the redhead,” she addresses Gwyn.

Gwyn straightens.

“I’ve never seen someone with your height and grace at the same time,” the instructor says. Gwyn beams with pride. “Unfortunately,” she continues, “I’ve also never seen someone so prone to hurting themselves on the pole.” Gwyn hangs her head.

“And the pretty girl.” She turns to Emerie last, who looks like she already knows what she’s about to hear. “Well, we can’t all be naturals.” The instructor grins broadly. “Feel free to keep using the poles after class is over.” She nods to their group and moves on to some other students.

Emerie sticks her tongue out and groans. “My tights keep giving me wedgies on the pole.”

“This was your idea,” Nesta reminds her as she reaches for her water bottle.

“Yet you’re the only one reaping the benefits,” Gwyn grumbles. “You never told us you had the body of a dancer and the balance of a gazelle.”

“Cat,” Emerie corrects.

“Guys,” Nesta says firmly. “This class is important for all of us. We won’t look this good,” she gestures to all their bodies, “forever. Gwyn is already pushing thirty.”

Gwyn’s jaw drops. “I’m turning twenty-seven, not getting menopause.”

“Same thing,” Emerie mutters. Gwyn shoves her hard and goes to pack her gym bag, leaving Emerie dramatically rubbing her shoulder. Nesta follows after Gwyn while the rest of the class begins gathering their things, too.

“How’re you feeling?” she mutters lowly as Gwyn packs. They haven’t brought up the conversation in Gwyn’s car since it took place, but Gwyn seems returned to her usual self now, if not even sunnier.

Gwyn’s lips twitch up as she glances sidelong at Nesta. “Perfect,” she says smoothly. “I can’t even remember what I was so upset about.”

Nesta is glad, even though she knows the nightmare isn’t gone. Knows that anytime from the next hour to the next year, it could reappear in full force and drag Gwyn down again. But hopefully it won’t hit as hard as it did before, now that Gwyn has her.

After class, they all pile up in Emerie’s car, a handed-down hunk of metal which Emerie insists on calling “vintage”. Gwyn sticks her head between the driver and passenger seat from the back and wrinkles her nose. “Get me home quick, it smells like a dead banana back here.”

“Oh, is that where I left it?” Emerie starts to turn around, but Nesta stops her with a hand on her shoulder. “I need a shower and a nap,” she pleads. “Let’s go.”

Emerie begrudgingly assents, sticking the key in the ignition and turning it. Nothing happens.

Frowning, she turns it again, but the engine doesn’t so much as choke. She slaps the dashboard like it’ll bring her car to life.

“Amazing,” Nesta mutters.

***

Cassian has imagined more times than he’d like to admit what it would be like when Nesta finally introduced him to her friends, but he never imagined this.

Three tired and hungry girls sit in his truck, alternating between arguing and laughing with each other. He can’t keep up with all of their personalities at once, so he just hones in on Nesta while he drives. Nesta, who Cassian has never seen so carefree or witty with people other than himself before. It both fascinates him and freaks him out, the realization that there’s so much to Nesta he doesn’t know yet. It gives him all the more excuse to spend the next several years getting to know her.

“Don’t tell me what to do with my car,” the dark-haired girl, Emerie, is snapping from the backseat. “Mr. Madani,” she abruptly says, sticking her head forward to look him in the face. Cassian nearly jumps. “Do you know how to change a car battery?”

Nesta shoves Emerie’s face back through the gap between seats from where she sits in the front. “You don’t need a battery change, you need a lifestyle change,” she says. “And don’t call my boyfriend by his last name, he’s not a middle-aged dad.”

Cassian bites back a laugh at that.

“Oh, but if I’m twenty-seven, I’m on the brink of menopause,” Gwyneth speaks up.

“Really?” Cassian says, meeting her eyes in the rearview mirror for the first time all drive. “You’re the same age as me?”

He remembers what Nesta told him about Gwyn’s discomfort around men, so he tries to keep his tone casual, distant. If he scares Nesta’s friend away, he’ll never forgive himself.

Gwyn looks stunned to be directly addressed by him, seeming to lose all her sass. “Uh...my birthday’s in a few days,” she says, suddenly awkward.

“That’s right,” Emerie interjects eagerly. “We’re having a rager.”

“We’re having a sleepover,” Nesta corrects. She throws Cassian an exasperated look. “Drive faster, will you? I can’t share a car with these girls any longer.”

“Don’t be fucking rude.” Gwyn flicks a hair tie at Nesta, making her cry out.

Cassian does not understand this dynamic at all, so he shuts up and does as he’s told.

After Gwyn and Emerie have been safely dropped off, Cassian throws his keys into the bowl at the cabin entrance and tosses off his shoes. “I think I finally know what it’s like to be you,” he tells Nesta as they meet the warmth of the house.

“What do you mean?” She unzips her windbreaker, revealing the form-fitting athleticwear beneath. God, he hasn’t even gotten a chance to look at her since he picked her up.

He redirects his eyes to her face. “You know,” he says. “On the outside looking in. I feel drained.”

Her lips quirk up as she hangs up her jacket. “That scared of a couple of girls, huh?”

“They’re your friends. I don’t know what else I expected.” He follows Nesta deeper into the living room, kicking at the ground. “So…” he trails casually. “How was class?”

Nesta responds by rolling her eyes. “I was wondering how long you’d take to crack.”

“What do you mean?” he says, indignant.

“I mean…” She steps up to him and takes his hands, dragging them up her waist to settle on the bare skin beneath her black crop top. “You haven’t said a word about pole-dancing since I told you I was starting it. One would almost think it didn’t affect you at all, and yet,” she tilts her head, “I get the feeling you haven’t been able to stop thinking about it. Especially at night, when you’re alone.”

Cassian’s breath goes thin. She knows him too well.

“Cunning witch,” he breathes. Nesta’s smile is slow and winning, which he takes as invitation to slip his hands around her back and pull her in. Her chest is pressed flush against his.

She stares at his mouth, the place she always stares when her mind is five steps ahead of reality. Like she’s already imagining how he’ll take her. “Dreaming about a private performance, are you?”

“Hopefully not right now,” a low voice says from above them.

Nesta jumps, spinning around in Cassian’s arms, but Cassian just closes his eyes and sighs. He opens them to find Azriel sitting in the reading nook that overlooks the living room, various work reports scattered about him.

“Have you been there this whole time?” Nesta demands.

“Unfortunately,” Azriel says at the same time Cassian grumbles, “Of course he has.” Remaining unnoticed is all his brother is good for.

Nesta sighs and rubs her eyes, the mood effectively killed. “I need a break.”

Cassian considers going up to Az and pushing him over the second floor railing as Nesta wiggles out of his arms and heads for the stairs. “And a back massage,” she calls over her shoulder.

“I’ll be right there,” Cassian tells her. But he waits to hear their bedroom door click shut before he also goes upstairs, not towards Nesta but to the reading nook.

“Hey, bro?” He tries to sound lighthearted as he approaches Az. “Do you mind not cockblocking me in my own house?”

Az doesn’t look up from the report he’s reading, flipping a page. “It’s rude to be horny in public spaces.”

“My house is not a public space,” Cassian growls, struggling to keep his temper. “Before you moved in, it was a very, very private space.” For him and Nesta alone, he doesn’t add.

Azriel finally looks up, question in his eyes. “So what?” he says. “You want me to leave?”

Never, is the automatic assurance that nearly comes out of Cassian’s mouth. Of course he’d never want his brother gone, especially when he’s clearly going through… something. But he bites down on the word and takes a seat in the chair across from Az. “I want to know how long you’re planning on staying. For real. You can run from your problems as much as you want, but that doesn’t mean I can provide you with a hiding place forever.”

“Wow.” Azriel’s eyes widen in mock-disbelief and he clasps a hand to his chest. “So cold, brother. I think you caught some of your girlfriend’s iciness.”

Cassian narrows his eyes seriously at Az. “Or maybe I’m being the only adult here.” Cassian now has responsibilities to a person who isn’t part of his traditional inner circle. A person he can see himself making long-term plans with, a person he plans on keeping around. It changes the course of his future in a way that the rest of his family probably haven’t realized yet.

Though maybe Azriel does realize it, because he looks away and murmurs, “No need to rub it in.”

For the thousandth time that month, Cassian wonders what caused Azriel to run away from Velaris. It’s a secret Az refuses to share with even him.

“I’m trying,” Azriel says. His words are slow, unsure. “I’m trying to create space between me and that city, but I’m going to need more time. I can’t tell you how long it’ll take until I can go back. But if you can’t keep me here, I’ll find someplace else to stay.” He shrugs. “It’s not that hard.”

Cassian exhales, feeling sympathy twist deep in his chest for his best friend—and he doesn’t even know what the sympathy is for. “Then take your time,” he says sincerely. “Stay here forever if you want. We can Photoshop you into all our pictures. But don’t think I’m gonna make it easy on you,” he warns.

“You already don’t make it easy on me,” Az mutters. “I can hear you and Nesta fucking all the time.”

“First, don’t ever talk about Nesta and fucking in the same sentence ever again.”

Az blinks in surprise, likely remembering the way they would talk about their hookups before Nesta came into the picture. “Damn, she’s got you bad.”

“Second,” Cassian continues, “I will not hesitate to make you sleep outside if you get on my or Nesta’s nerves.”

“With that attitude, I’ll be out of here by next week,” Az snorts. He crosses his feet and picks up his report again, clearly done with this conversation.

Seeing no hope in rubbing the point in further, Cassian leaves Azriel to his work.

***

Nesta is stripped down to her underwear and getting ready to shower when she notices a missed call from Elain on her phone.

She hesitates at her sister’s name on the screen, wondering what could possibly have encouraged Elain to call while Nesta was at dance class. What happened to the times that Nesta could go weeks without a single person checking up on her?

Looking toward the bedroom door as if Cassian will come in and save her from having to call Elain back, she waits a solid minute before giving up.

Elain picks up on the first ring. “I’m surprised you called back,” she greets.

“I’m full of surprises these days.” Nesta settles onto the bed. “What did you want?” She doubts Elain called just for a check-in, not with the stagnant bitterness that’s been between them lately.

“To have a normal conversation with my sister for once.”

Nesta tries not to roll her eyes all the way back into her head, even though no one is around to see her. “Go on and have it then.”

“I heard from Rhys that Azriel moved into Cassian’s place,” Elain says in her honey-sweet voice. “I’ve been meaning to ask how that’s going for you.”

Nesta’s brow furrows at that voice, the one that Elain uses whenever she wants to give her best first impression—or wants to pry something out of someone. “It’s going fine,” she says flatly. “Az and I get along great.”

That’s a bit of an exaggeration, but…

“You’re calling him Az now?” Nesta can hear the way Elain tries to tamp down on her curiosity, but she’s never been as good at affecting apathy as Nesta is.

“Yeah,” she answers. “Why? Do you miss him?”

Elain nearly chokes over the line. “Why—why would you say that?”

“I thought you guys were friendly,” Nesta says, leaning back into the pillows. “Doesn’t everyone miss him back in Velaris?”

“Oh.” The relief in Elain’s voice is palpable, piquing Nesta’s curiosity. “Yeah, we miss him.” She clears her throat. “He left without telling anybody.”

Nesta fiddles with the band of her panties. “You don’t know why he left either?”

Elain is silent for several moments. “No.” Her answer is quiet, truthful. “I don’t know.” She adds, “Keep an eye on him, will you? I would do it myself, but I’ve been iced out.”

Nesta finds this very suspicious. She can’t bring herself to be interested enough to keep snooping, however, not as the door creaks open and Cassian enters the room. “Will do,” she promises Elain, and makes a quick goodbye. When she hangs up, Cassian asks, “Who was it?”

“Elain.” Nesta frowns at her phone. She wonders if someone like Cassian would be better at reading between the lines of the strange conversation she just had. Maybe he could put his finger on the mysterious relationship between her sister and his brother. But since there are no creeks nearby for Azriel to be shoved into, and it isn’t any of Nesta’s business either way, she decides to give him and Elain time to sort their own shit out.

“What did she want?”

Nesta refocuses on Cassian, who leans against the door appreciating her half-naked form stretched out before him. Without words, she holds her arms open.

He shoves off the door and approaches her on the bed, letting her envelop him into a hug. It isn’t the warmest or most comforting hug, and her arms are stiff as stone, but he melts into her either way. There’s a weariness in his broad shoulders that spikes concern in her.

When Cassian pulls away, she traps his face in her hands and scans it closely for answers. “What’s wrong with you?” she asks. “You fell asleep early during the last two movies we watched and you’re half-asleep now.”

“What are you talking about?” He throws his signature smile her way, but it lacks alertness. “Do I look like there’s anything wrong with me?”

“You tell me.” Nesta shifts so she can slide her hand over the smooth plane of his back, resting her palm on the warm spot between his shoulder blades. It’s her best imitation of a soothing gesture, and it makes Cassian’s lips quirk up lightly.

He hangs his head and sighs. “Is it possible to have growing pains at my age?”

Nesta is confused. “Like, physically?”

“No,” he says. “Just… growing up.”

“I don’t think we ever stop growing up,” she answers honestly. Maybe she’s biased because a part of her is still trapped in that childlike state, and she has more growing to do than most people. “I think it hurts a little every time we have to shift and become someone older. What’s hurting you now?”

Her hand slides up to the nape of Cassian’s neck, gently massaging the muscles there. His head droops even more under her touch. “I can’t believe you’re asking me that when I’m supposed to be taking care of you,” he huffs. But he doesn’t look very inclined to argue.

Nesta squeezes the back of his neck. “I can be the stable one, too, you know. I can take care of you.” She should’ve defeated this misconception sooner.

“That’s not what I meant,” Cassian says, shaking his head. “I meant that I promised you a massage.”

Oh. She nearly forgot about that. “If you tell me what growing pains you’re having, I’ll let you join me in the shower,” she promises. “You can do whatever you want there.”

He looks up at that, dragging his gaze over her mostly-bare figure, and Nesta knows she’s won. “Tell me,” she demands one final time.

Cassian inspects her face, likely deciding how much he should reveal or not. “I’ve been thinking about the future,” he finally says. “It was never something I cared much about before, but now it keeps me up at night.”

Nesta is slow to realize—he’s talking about their future. “You really never thought about the future before?” she asks. At one point in time, Nesta had her life planned out to the age of forty. Her plans hadn’t included this, though.

Cassian shakes his head. “There was nothing for me to think about.”

She runs soothing fingers across his scalp, her heart rate unexpectedly picking up a beat. “And what do you think about now?”

Hazel eyes meet hers with wariness. “Stupid stuff,” he says. “Cars, taxes, insurance.”

At the look on her face, he pulls away from the hand that’s gone still on his neck. “Okay, let’s get you in the shower before I scare you away for good.”

Nesta feels herself being scooped into Cassian’s arms, but she doesn’t quite register it. It’s not until they’re in the bathroom that she remembers words. “I’m not scared,” she says from the cradle of his arms. “I was just surprised.”

Regaining her senses, she squirms until Cassian puts her down on the floor. She straightens. “I’ve never... pondered on the small things like that.”

Except they aren’t really small or stupid, are they? They’re big, inevitable facets of sharing a life with someone. She clears her throat. “The way we live now is already so nice. I guess I forgot things won’t be like this forever.”

Which isn’t the most assuring thing to say from the way Cassian’s face becomes carefully still. But in a blink he’s smiling again, his hands going to unclip her bra. “Don’t worry yourself with that shit,” he chuckles. “I was only dreaming.”

Guilt turns Nesta’s stomach into sludge. She made Cassian share what was weighing on him only for her to brush it off. She wants to talk through it with him until he’s giving her a real smile, but she doesn’t know where to start or what to say. So she lets her bra drop to the floor and steps close to wrap her arms around him.

His breath hitches against her ear, and one of his broad hands comes up to rest on her bare back. “Two hugs in one day?” he says, his amusement covering up some deeper emotion. “I’m either doing something right or doing something very wrong.”

“No. I’m just feeling appreciative.” Her hand returns to that space between his shoulder blades, the spot that seems to disarm him, and pats him there. She gives herself a solid moment to luxuriate in the warmth and size and hard strength of him before saying, “Get undressed, will you?”

One of his hands squeezes her butt. “You need to get off me first.”

She hums in agreement but doesn’t move—hoping he can feel everything she doesn’t know how to tell him.

***

a/n: i bought my eid dress and it’s so pretty yall 🥺

taglist: @hellasblessed @sjm-things @thewayshedreamed @drielecarla @valkyriewarriors @superspiritfestival @aliveahaahahafuck @cupcakey00 @sayosdreams @rainbowcheetah512 @claralady @thebluemartini @nessiantho @missing-merlin @duskandstarlight @lucy617 @sleeping-and-books @everything-that-i-love @cassianscool @swankii-art-teacher @awesomelena555 @julemmaes @wickedqueenoffantasy @poisonous-bloom @observationanxioustheorist @gisellefigue08 @courtofjurdan @theoverlyenthusiasticwriter @wolfiixxx @cass-nes @seashade @royaltykxx @illyrianundercover @queenestarcheron @monstrousloves-explodinggalaxies @humanexile @that-golden-lyre @agentsofsheilds @mercy-is-alive @cassiansbigwingspan @laylaameer01 @verypaleninja @maastrash @bow-dawn @perseusannabeth @dead-on-the-inside666 @jlinez @hungryreadingaddict @anidealiveson @planet-faerie @shallowhighwaters @ghostlyrose2 @chosenfamily-valkyriequeens @rarephloxes

[personaimage]

A mothers ignorance

{Jason Todd x Reader}

CW: Toxic parent, toxic mother, injury via glass, anger, blood

Calling you angry would be an understatement, all you wanted tonight was to be left the fuck alone. Though instead of a relaxing night spent with Jason, your mother decided to text you.

How fucking fantastic. You still remember when she gaslit you during an anxiety attack, and then proceeded to try and manipulate you and guilt trip you. And after that, tried to make the entire situation about herself.

Long story short? She’s not the greatest person. She walked out of that door willingly, and you locked it behind her.

You pace back and forth in your living room, the carpet irritating your bare feet slightly. You could feel your nails dig into your palms as you thought of her responses and her patronizing tone. Your body quivers with emotion, your usually chill aura becoming sour and dark.

Your phone buzzes from its place at the edge of a nearby end table, and you are immediately met with what could be considered a small novel, from your so called mother, about how “maybe I’ll forgive you for what you said to me”

What you said to her? Really? So she’s just going to forget about how she called you a N*zi after you told her not to be racist? Seriously? The fucking nerve.

Your blood boils at this paragraph, your body moves seemingly without your command, quickly grabbing a nearby vase and chucking is as hard as possible at a wall. Chunks of glass fly everywhere, entangling itself in the carpet below, becoming scattered on the nearby couch, and embedding itself into your flesh.

You quickly realize what you’ve done, blood dripping onto the already dirtied brown carpet. Just as you make a move to start cleaning the mess, the familiar sound the lock on the front door echoed throughout your apartment.

Fuck, Jason’s home.

The door quickly opens, Jason walking into the kitchen with a bag of snacks and random foods he found at the local convenience store. He hasn’t seen the living room yet, you panic and drop to your knees, rushing to clean the glass shards.

The small process was messy however, quickly injuring your knees and your hands causing you to panic further. Your attempts at cleaning before he saw the living room were futile however. he quickly realized something was wrong when you didn’t come to the kitchen to inquire about what he had gotten.

He notices you first and your now cracked phone second. You aren’t quite sure when that happened. He moves quickly and fluidly, picking you up from your place on the floor. He makes a mental note to deal with the glass later, and to probably get a new vacuum after this.

He takes you to the bathroom to st you on the edge of the pristine tub. You think it may be one of the only spotless things in the entirety of the cheap apartment. No words have been spoken quite yet, the only sound filling the room right now is Jason humming. It’s of no specific songs, just an attempt at calming you while he disinfects your wounds.

The moment the disinfectant hits the cuts you hiss, however the pain is quickly forgotten, replaced by memories and thoughts of your mother. To say you zoned out quickly would be an understatement.

Jason rips you from your thoughts,

“Can i ask what happened beautiful?” His voice is quite and calm yet inquiring. You have to find the words before speaking.

“She texted me again, she needs to leave me alone” your voice is barely above a whisper. Your hands once again closing into a fist, you an faintly feel your nails digging into your palms once again.

Jason wastes no time reaching out to hold your hand, he knows who “she” is, he knows what your mother has done to you. He isn’t always great with words, so instead,  you two sit in a strangely comforting silence.

He waits until your hands stop shaking, you didn’t even realize you were shaking until now, before speaking.

“Want to watch a show to try to get it off your mind?” He inquires, he may not be great when it comes to comforting somebody, but he try’s. You nod gently, quickly, he helps you up and softly brings you to your shard bedroom.

He claims to have something to do quickly,

“Pick a show yeah? I’ll grab some snacks for us, okay doll?” He says while handing you the remote.

Sighing he strides into the living room once more, he wont let his anger directed at your mother be released, not quite yet. His main goal was to first, pick up the glass and then second, bring you sour patch kids and various other snacks.

He worked quickly with the glass, dedicating more than a few minutes to makes sure that it was all out of the carpet and that none had gotten stuck in or under the couch. Returning to his earlier mental note of getting a new vacuum.

While finishing up he spots your now cracked phone on the floor, quickly picking it up, he’s me with your mothers texts. He doesn’t bother reading them, its not his place too and he knows that. He knows you’ll show him when your ready.

Instead he quickly silences all notifications from her, knowing you’ll block her yourself later. He quickly pockets the device, grabbing the snacks he returns to you.

The intro to “Rick and Morty” plays throughout the room. You seemed content humming the theme song, he smiles and sets the snacks on the bed. His mission forgotten, his only goal now was to cuddle you. Quickly crawling into bed, the both of you situate yourself in a position whee you can cuddle and snack at the same time.

An episode goes by before you say anything,

“I’m sorry, I acted before i could think” you apologize quickly, guilt filling you. He quickly jumps to respond,

“Baby, its okay, ive done the same thing how many times?” You smile slightly, hes done this exact thing a total of six times in the past. He realizes that he didn’t get a verbal response,

“I love you doll, this situation isn’t going to change that, and neither is your so called mom you hear? Your stuck with me for life” he says, you respond quickly, “you say that like being stuck with you is a bad thing my love” you pause, studying his features for a quick moment, “i love you too Jason Todd”

He smiles at the response and leans in to kiss you gently, this night may have started horribly, but Jason was determined to make it end well.

——————

Thank you for reading my first post on tumblr! I apologize if this is a little rusty,  I haven’t written anything in a few months :)

[sweetbyte]

guilty 

bakumomo - rated m

chapter one | ao3  

Chapter Two 

He is awaken by the aggressive rays of light that shine through the sheer window curtains and he curses at their uselessness. Why have curtains at all if not to block out the damned sun? It seems rather counterproductive but it’s probably telling of her pedigree. Rich people sure did love expensive fancy brand-name bullshit.

He considers lounging in, her furniture is tragically comfortable probably being the only thing worth the price tag, but his instincts kick in when he catches the smell of something burning. Bakugou is on his feet in seconds and quickly arrives to the source of the smell emanating from the kitchen. Bakugou feels a bit dumbstruck as he watches Yaoyorozu comically hop around the stove where whatever she had been trying to cook is being engulfed in flames.

“The fuck, just turn it off!” He snaps as the smell of char starts to escalate and he resists the urge to gag, a throb in his temple reminding him of the alcohol lingering in his system.

Yaoyorozu turns whips around in surprise, wide eyed, red faced, sweat gathering on her elegant brows. “It is off, I was just about to get the extinguisher.” The word rush out of her, almost in a pant, and he focuses on the throb in his head rather than the rush in his gut and glares at her.

“What are you waiting for then, the whole building to catch fire?”  Her face seems to get pinker, maybe it was a trick of the light, and she moves hastily to her pantry and takes out and quickly deploys the extinguisher. After she’s done so and the pan fire has been extinguished, she bustles around the kitchen and living room opening windows while muttering nonsense under her breath. She then rounds the corner with rags and different bottles in her hands. She pauses to look at him with a frown etched on her usually chic face and drops what she’s carrying on the counter and disappears around the opposite side of the counter. She reappears with a glass of water and a bottle of pain meds and slides them over the counter in his direction before taking her supplies.

She moves gracefully and with purpose, unlike how he initially caught her, and continues to stare at her in mild confusion. Amidst his staring, she bends to pick up some cursed thing and he realizes she’s not in the dress she was wearing the night before. Instead she’s in a thin looking top and shorts that give him a view he’s not supposed to have.

Oh, fuck me. He thinks and he rapidly averts his gaze to the glass of water that was conveniently left for him and debates chugging the whole glass as his throat has suddenly gotten dry or chucking it at her.  Actually, knocking back the whole bottle of meds sound good too.

Yaoyorozu has the mess cleaned up in record time and he wonders if this is actually routine for her. She lets out one last huff as she deposits the used rags in a bin and wipes the sheen of sweat off her forehead with her arm.

“Well, tea it is then.” She comments lightly and part of him thinks its an attempt at a joke.

“What the hell just happened?”

“Breakfast was a no go.” She replies with a light shake of her head, her tone contradicting the look of disappointment. “I do have cereal though, the milk should still be good...” she trails off, opening a cabinet to set an electric kettle on the counter. “Sleep well?” She asks conversationally and his irritation spikes as he makes a bold accusation.

“Did you really almost burn down your kitchen because I kicked you out of your room?

She bats her eyelashes innocently and Bakugou knows better by now. This Yaoyorozu is different from the one he went to school with. She has honed her mind to strategize and play the long game it seems.

“Don’t flatter yourself, I’ve always been abysmal at cooking.” She laughs airily as the kettle beeps. She turns to another cabinet to reach for some mugs, he definitely does not peek at the way her shirt rides up exposing a toned stomach. She’s moves fluidly-naturally- there’s nothing that should rouse suspicion in him but he’s used to combat, analyzing and reading the enemy. The fire in her eyes makes it clear this is a battle and she has made it known she’s aware that she thinks she has the upper hand.

“Abysmal is putting it nicely” He bites back nonetheless and she only shrugs in response. “It’s a work in progress. How do you take your tea?”

“No, don’t bother, I’ll make it myself. You’ve inebriated me, almost suffocated me with the smoke of your attempted cooking, I don’t need you fucking poisoning me via tea.”

She steps aside with a small glare. “I’ll have you know unlike my culinary skills, my tea making is phenomenal.”

“Sure, I believe that.”

She huffs. “And really? Poisoning? I’m surprised you didn’t accuse me of trying to drug you to have my wicked way with you.”

“That sounds like wishful thinking, princess.”

He barely dodges her spoon.

They drink tea in a relatively peaceful silence. Yaoyorozu seems to want to attempt conversation but ends up chewing on her bottom lip quite frequently thinking better of it, not that he noticed- absolutely not. That would imply that he spent time staring at her, which he did not. The silence becomes stifling after a while when she begins glancing and side eyeing him while stirring her tea.

“What?”

“I’m surprised you’re still here.” She answers honestly with a tilt to her head as she continues to observe him. “I assumed you would have stormed out by now. I’m not saying this as an insult or to rush you, I’m just…surprised.”

He doesn’t quite know how to respond to her with why he hasn’t left yet. Truth be told, had he been in the right state of mind, he would have left while she was playing around with her pan fire. If not, definitely after forgoing her tea out of spite. He doesn’t know why he’s still here exactly.

“What happened to your dress?” He asks instead hoping to change the subject. It doesn’t seem like she minds the deflection and instead appears to grow haughty. “Did you really think I was going to sleep in that sequined nightmare? I made myself a change of outfit.”

“Didn’t you say that was against the law? Messing with the economy and shit.”

“It was justified! Desperate times call for desperate measures.” She responds hotly, crossing her arms as if daring him to argue with her. He only smirks in response and finishes his drink.  “Desperate indeed.”

A lovely shade of pink blooms on her cheeks, runs down her neck and disappears beneath the collar of he shirt. He wills his eyes not to follow it and his mind not to wonder how far it goes.

“I need it to be clear that this was really not an attempt to seduce you.”

He rolls his eyes. “I know. If it was, I’d be concerned. That was some shitty seduction.”

There’s a dangerous glint in her eyes and it excites him, there’s no use denying it. “Careful, Bakugou, you sound rather let down.”

He snorts. “Yeah right, if I wanted to fuck you, you’d know.”  Lies. He would totally fuck her right now. Fuck her on the table, the couch, the bed he refused to sleep in last night to avoid being surrounded by her scent, but she definitely didn’t need to know that. Especially not now as her eyes run over him searching for cracks in his front. He resists the urge to unbutton the stupid dress shirt he’s still in from the night before.

“I’m not quite sure I believe you. I think you’re too prideful to admit to that.” Damn her.

“I don’t give a single fuck about what you believe in.” He snarls and she holds her hands up in peace, an attempt to calm down a feral beast.

“No need to get hostile. It was merely an observation.” She smiles with a shake of her head and starts to clean up the table and heads to the sink with her cup in hand. The smile catches him off guard. It was pure and unguarded like the UA days were she would effortlessly throw them at anything and anyone.

By the time he gets up, she’s wiping down the countertop, putting away her kettle, the sugar she had gotten out for her tea, and the milk she had left out ‘just in case’ for him.

We takes his dish to the sink and washes it, and the other dishes in it, earning a small smack on the arm from Yaoyorozu.

“I got it! You’re a guest-“ “Shut up, I’m already doing it.” She lets out an annoyed ‘hmph’ and bumps him with her arms crossed in disapproval.

“Don’t start something you can’t finish.” He warns her, flicking water at her face. She’s shocked still by the playful gesture and he takes advantage of it by wetting her again, this time with the sink spray. Even though it stuns her back to reality, he immediately regrets it. He had forgotten about her thin top, now partially drenched ergo partially transparent. Apparently Yaoyorozu didn’t have a bra on and now he has a hard on he can’t possibly hide. He should have left when he had the chance, what a dumbass.

[dalgonachan]

Latibule

pairing: Seungkwan x reader, ft. 95z as a troublesome trio genre: high school au, angst, fluff warnings: none prompt: every day is a new beginning, but today just seems to be too tough to face count: 3632 a/n: i feel like my new writing pattern is updating on the members’ birthdays. this one has been sitting in my drafts for like a year and i was having second thoughts about posting it but alas here it is. happy birthday to best boi boo seungkwan 🥳🎈

Standing in a shower cubicle, as you feel your hair and body dripping wet, definitely counts as one of the most awkward moments in your entire life. Most especially when you’re waiting for everyone to leave the locker room. Forgetting to bring your towel with you was a completely dumb move because you just ran in and took a shower without even thinking of the consequences of being unprepared. Although, first come first serve basis has become a tradition during gym class and you don't want to run out of stalls and wait. Even worse, having to share with someone too generous would be an unpleasant experience. So here you were waiting for everyone to leave so that you can dash out of the cubicle and grab your towel from the lockers.

Maybe I could just wear my swimsuit, go out, and take my towel—no. You thought to yourself, quickly dismissing the thought with a shake of your head. That is just disgusting.

There are around four or five more people left. Silently, you whisper to the air about how much you wish for them to leave so you can be alone right now. Not long after, you hear the locker room door close, followed by a sudden stillness. You carefully open your stall's door, hoping it doesn't creak, and peek outside to check if there's still anyone left. 

Nobody's here. But me. Good.

Without hesitation, you immediately exit the stall and manage not to slip while running. You slam the locker door open as soon as you’re inches away from it, then grab your towel and start drying off. You’re not even close to dry when you change back into your uniform and shoes, but for now, you really don't care. You’re running late for math class thanks to your stupidity.

Your footsteps and ragged breathing echo in the empty hallway. You slow down and start searching for your locker. Upon instantly catching sight of it, you sprint for it and nearly slam against it. You twist the knob to put in the code, however, it doesn't open and you try again. A few more attempts to open it are made, but none succeed.

"Come on! Work!" You plead, twisting the knob one last time.

Finally, you give up and kick your busted locker in anger. Being awfully late for math class is as bad as lacking the needed requirements, but together they're simply distressing.

You turn around and walk down the hall, dragging your feet lethargically. Your backpack seems to weigh heavier than it is... or was gravity also conspiring against you, trying to get your body to drop to the floor? As usual, you shrug it off and try your best to go on.

I'll just get to class and hope that this day doesn't completely go downhill.

Eventually, you reach your destination. Hesitantly, your hand reaches for the door knob, but getting caught standing outside any longer could give you a formal warning. You decide to walk in as casually as possible. For certain, you’ve failed to act normally because your movements become stiff with everyone's eyes on you. Barely reaching your chair, the teacher calls you out.

"(L/n)! You're late," her harsh tone is startling and you freeze.

"My apologies, Miss Kang," you timidly respond.

"I hope you have your materials with you." She taps the attendance chart on her desk. "Don't forget to register."

The attendance chart is where students write in, of course, their attendance. However, that isn't all. Listed above their names is a row of all the requirements needed in class. If they have the specified material, a check mark is put below it, beside their name. Lucky for you, you have none so the space beside your name is left blank.

Miss Kang checks the chart and gives you a look after reading your entry. With her eyebrows furrowed, lips pursed, and hands on her hips, it's obvious that she's cross. You lower your head in shame as you feel everybody staring in silence, watching the scene before them unfold. 

This must be so interesting for them. Spitefulness drips off your thoughts like venom. (Y/n) (L/n), the pupil who came to class tardy and incomplete, is sent to detention by the math teacher.

You take off the embarrassingly enormous detention tag hanging around your neck and place it in the plastic basket right next to Miss Joo's desk. She doesn't even look up from her computer as she points to your seat—fifth to the right, third to the back. Making your way to the chair, you take a gander at all the other students in the detention room. Some were familiar faces, some others you didn't know at all. Yoon Jeonghan, Choi Seungcheol, and Hong Jisoo, a group of known troublemakers in your school, huddled at the back while palavering about what most likely is their next evil scheme. You get into your seat, pull out a pad paper and pen, then carelessly drop your bag onto the floor.

Miss Kang sent you to detention to write a two thousand word essay about why one should always be prepared and early for class. Could there possibly be a punishment much worse than this? Honestly, it doesn't take long to fill up half of the paper since you were simply stating all the corrections to the mistakes you've recently committed. Just as you’re about to move on to the next page, something slobbery hits your nape followed by an eruption of laughter. You don't even have to turn your head to know who shot that spitball, but still do it to send a death glare their way. Jeonghan shrugs as if he knows nothing, meanwhile the other two are too busy laughing their heads off. If only.

Returning your attention to the paper, you force yourself to ignore them. The pen glides smoothly across the sheet as your thoughts fluidly flow out... but not for long. Another spitball comes your way, but this time it lands on the paper. You can tell they used so much saliva on this one because it created one hell of an ugly blotch on the essay that it actually ruined the ink. So much for effort.

This time, there is no room for mercy. Obviously, Miss Joo doesn't care, so you push your chair out of the desk, letting it screech across the floor, and stomp over to the three boys. The other students in the room watch closely, anticipating the drama about to happen. With arms crossed and eyebrows arched, you shoot them with the most painful glare you can make.

"I'm sorry, but what is your problem?!" You could almost yell at them, but you don't want to get into any more trouble. You’re going up until only this far.

"Nothing. We were just messing around," Jeonghan smugly replies.

You fight the temptation to rip his mouth off his face, but the urge to do so can still be heard in the way you speak.

"Nothing? Oh, sure! I totally believe you, as if you three..." You point an accusing finger at each of them, "...weren't spewing spitballs in my direction!"

The whole room is filled with silence and old Miss Joo is still as deaf as ever.

"We weren't aiming at you," Jisoo defends, leaning forward.

"We were trying to get it to the trash can over there!" Seungcheol points with his thumb, but you don't turn around to look.

"I'm not falling for that and you idiots should know that. Oh, but I guess idiots like you don't really understand anything at all." You feel the tone in your voice getting angrier by the second.

"Fine, fine. We're sorry, okay?" Jeonghan says, but the smirk on his face is still evident.

You squint your eyes and tap your foot impatiently on the floor.

"Right, guys?" Jeonghan glances over at his accomplices.

"Sure," Seungcheol says.

"Sorry," Jisoo mumbles.

"You better be. Just quit bothering me." Turn on your heel, you walk away.

Thankfully, you get to reprimand the three of them for their stupidity. Even so, you can hear them whispering behind your back. Returning to your chair, the tension is thick as you feel everyone's eyes on you. Once you sit down, their gazes divert elsewhere because Miss Joo announces it's time for lunch.

The high school cafeteria is filled with boisterous students, making it almost impossible to move around. You carefully weave through the winding crowd, in search of Seungkwan, your boyfriend, while tightly clutching the lunch tray close to your body. Your eyes sharpen upon nearing each table, trying to identify the people seated down.

The crowd begins to thin when you catch sight of him. He's by himself at the table, staring straight at you with a faint smile on his visage, then you notice he hasn't touched his food yet. Obviously, someone's been waiting. You grin widely, approaching the table he reserved for. Fortunately, lunch time is the most forgiving part of a school day. It's also a good thing because you get to spend time together.

"Took you long enough," Seungkwan comments as you arrive.

"I got stuck in the crowd and I had a hard time searching for you because of that," You respond, still standing in front of the table.

"I noticed," he says with a smirk.

"You could've called me!" I grumble.

"It was fun watching you get lost," he says with a chuckle. "Now sit down already! I want to eat!"

"Alright, alright," You say, placing the tray down and settling into the chair.

In the blink of an eye, a football crash lands on the table, knocking out your lunch and hitting you in the face. Food splatters you from head to toe in less than a second before the whole tray falls on your lap. You lose hearing for a while, your ears ringing. The pain on your face throbs mercilessly.

You look up, vision blurry, still dazed from the hit. Your eyes make out the empty space in front and before you can assume he's left, you feel him tugging you out of your seat. The other students simply look at what all the commotion is about. Turning to the direction where the football came from, your vision clears to see Jeonghan, Jisoo, and Seungcheol with guilt-stricken faces. Unsurprising.

"I should've expected those jerks to have done it again," You mutter.

Grabbing your bag, you stand up from the table and burst out of the cafeteria doors in frustration. This day has been pushing your buttons and you've had just about enough. Perhaps, even, too much. And those three just had to add up with the disasters of today.

"(Y/n)! Wait!" You hear Seungkwan yell.

Not wanting him to catch up, you quicken pace. Hot tears streak down your cheeks as you continue to run away. His constant pleas for you to stop being rendered useless by ignorance, however, he still manages to catch up with you. His hand seizes your wrist, but you yank it from his clutch and push him away.

"(Y/n)!" He calls again, stopping in his tracks.

You don't look back and proceed further on through the corridors, not knowing where to take yourself.

History class helps tone down your emotions, distracting you from the reminder that this day is cursed. The quiz temporarily brings your thoughts to concentrate on the task at hand except for the irritatingly scratchy uniform the clinic let you borrow. Just as how your luck ran out today, so does the ink of your pen. Not to mention, writing an essay to a question which isn't even second to the last of the whole paper. Fingers scrambling through the contents of your pencil case, you realise that this is the last pen.

"Hey," you whisper, attempting to get your seatmate's attention.

No response.

"Hey," you say a little bit louder, worried that she didn't hear you at first.

Her head merely turns to the side, sending a glare your way. Before you can ask, she goes back to answering the paper.

"I need to borrow a pen," you persist.

She leans her head to the other side, letting her hair fall over her face to block you from view.

"Please, I'm still not done," you beg, glancing at the clock. Just a few more minutes and the quiz was going to end.

"I really need to bo—"

"(L/n)!" Mr. Ho's voice booms from behind and you flinch.

He snatches the paper from beneath your arm and shoots an angry look. All you could do was sink into the chair in humiliation since you had no idea how to defend yourself. To him and everyone else in this room, it did look like you were trying to cheat. Therefore, you’re sent to detention for the second time this day.

Mr. Ho's class was the last, so technically dismissal comes next. Right now, as you sit in the same seat during the previous detention session, the bell is all you have to wait for. At least the trio didn't get into any trouble this time or you'd be spending the last period with them. Sleep gets the best of you and you’re consciously aware that you were snoozing off, although decide to let it come. You are really exhausted after all you've experienced.

A crackle of thunder jolts you awake from a dream. Your eyes snap open and see the lack of people in the detention room... which means you're alone.

Wait, what time is it? You lean over to check the clock and it's FIFTEEN MINUTES PAST DISMISSAL TIME?! WHY DIDN'T ANYBODY BOTHER TO WAKE ME UP? Hoisting the bag onto your shoulders, you hurry out of the room and scurry the hallways. Only a few students are left, but they have varsity training or cheerleading practice, anything to keep them busy and give them an excuse to stay late in school.

The rain pounds on you when you exit the doors of the school. From head to toe, you are once again sullied. Well, this has officially ruined the whole day. Unstoppable tears, you've been holding in all this time, flow out of your eyes.

Without re-evaluating your thoughts, you run away from the school and hurry home. The cold wind stings your skin and the reoccurring flashes of lightning blind your vision. Hurried steps splash large puddles on the pavement, drenching yourself even more. You really didn't care about anything anymore, so enduring the bad weather didn't matter at all.

Sooner than you could have expected, you reach the bus stop. You don't take long to go sit under the shed because you’re just absolutely done. Panting and soaking wet, you lean against the cold glass pane. You don’t even notice Seungkwan, who seems to be in shock at your condition, come in.

"You're soaking wet! Why didn’t you wait for me?" He asks sitting beside you.

"I'm just having the most terrible day of my life and I don't want to talk about it!" You didn't expect to yell and you bet Seungkwan didn't too because his eyes widened flabbergastingly.

A fresh set of tears begins to pour down again. By then you knew you've made another error you'd immediately regret. Seungkwan’s face is rewritten all over with worry as he reaches for you, but you push his hand and scoot away, then wrap your arms around yourself. He decides to leave it alone for the time being, allowing you to sit with your emotions. Soon, the bus arrived and he stood up, hand outstretched to you.

“Let’s get home.”

You shut the door and click the locks in place. Slamming your back against it, you slide down to the floor, hugging your knees to your chest and sobbing. Hopefully, after you give vent to all this exasperation, you'll eventually tire out and go to sleep. The saltiness of your tears blends with sweat, hair sticking to your face.

"(Y/n)?" Seungkwan’s voice is muffled behind the door.

You suck in a breath and stay quiet. He still hasn’t left after dropping you off at your house out of concern.

"Open the door, please?" He gently knocks. "I just want to talk for a little bit. Maybe it will make you feel better."

"Go home, Seungkwan. I'm fine." I know I can lie better than this, but why didn't I?

"No, let me in and we'll talk about it. You can't carry all your problems alone," he says causing you to stiffen.

Reluctantly, you sigh and get up from the ground. Your eyes meet Seungkwan’s lush brown irises the second the door opens. He comes in and engulfs you into a delicate embrace, rubbing your back and kissing your cheek. That's when you let it all out completely.

You cry onto his shoulder uncontrollably, but he tightens his hold on you. Now that you think of it, you feel like a bunch of lumber being chained together to keep from falling apart.

"(Y/n), what's wrong? Did they do something to you again?" He pulls away, his eyes scanning your face worriedly.

You tug him back, shaking your head. As much as it's embarrassing to know that you've already stained his shirt with tears, the crying doesn't stop. For a while, you're standing in the middle of the room, cradled in each other's arms and not letting go. Soon, the sadness turns into sniffles and you’ve calmed down a bit.

"Are you ready to talk about it now?" The tone of his voice by your ear is so timid, his breath barely grazing the skin.

"I don't know how to say it without making a racket," you reply.

"Just say what you have to." He smiles at you lovingly, taking your hand and intertwining your fingers together.

You inhale deeply then sigh.

"Today has been very... horrible. First, I forgot to bring my towel to my shower stall, so I had to wait for everyone to leave. Second, my locker got jammed. Not only was I late, but I also didn't have the materials for math class. Third, I got sent to detention for that and then Jeonghan, Seungcheol, and Jisoo had to ruin the essay I was writing. FYI, that was a punishment from Miss Kang!" You pause to catch your breath before continuing again.

"Because of that, I got mad at them. Oh! And because they shot a spitball at me, too! Fast forward to lunch, they take their petty revenge on me and thanks to them, I had to borrow an itchy uniform from the infirmary! Then here comes History where my last pen died while I was taking a quiz! And I thought it was such a good idea to borrow a pen from my seatmate, but instead, I get myself caught. Mr. Ho sends me to detention again and I fall asleep, then wake up fifteen minutes after dismissal time. Guess what? We aren't even at the best part yet!" You throw your hands up in the air in utter frustration.

"That does sound like a rough day," Seungkwan opines.

"Oh, believe me, it is," You say, rolling your eyes.

"So, what's the best part?" He shuffles closer.

"I forgot to wait for you, so I ran back in the pouring rain." You finish, shutting down the whole story.

Seungkwan stands up, and with your hand in his, you do too. He moves his palms to cup your cheeks and tilts your head to meet his eyes. The warmth of his touch makes you close your eyes and hum in content, further calming down. Before you could open your eyes again, his lips meet yours and you kiss back. When he pulls away, you grab him by the collar of his shirt and kiss him more passionately than a while ago. If this is the only good you can get from this extremely horrible day, you’re taking every single bit of it while it lasts.

"Whoa," He gasps just as you part.

"I'm sorry, I kinda got carried away," you shyly apologise, sheepishly scratching the back of your head.

"It's alright," he says before reading the time on the clock. "You know what, after all, you've been through today, I think you deserve some rest."

You haven't had the chance to say otherwise when suddenly he’s dragging you by the arm and you let out a squeal.

"Kwannie! I still need to do my science homework!"

"For science? Nice try, but you don't have science tomorrow," he chuckles.

You puff your cheeks and glare at him.

"You look adorable when you do that, not terrifying. Now go to sleep."

"But Seung—"

"Sleep."

"Kwan—"

"You need to sleep."

You groan in defeat. 

"Fine, but only if you sleep with me." You point a finger at him. Seungkwan thinks for a while before he nods in agreement.

"Hooray!" You move over and let him lay down beside you.

"What made me do this?" He asks while getting in.

"Your love for me, duh. Now, goodnight, darling," you say, pressing a kiss to his cheek.

"Goodnight to you, too. I love you," He says, pecking your nose.

You tuck into your blankets then close your eyes.

"I love you, too. And thank you for comforting me earlier,"

"You're welcome. You needed it," He replies, standing up to turn off the lights.

When he comes back to the bed, he wraps you in yet another tender embrace. You snuggle into him and bury your face into his chest, to which he responds to with a giggle.

If this is how my day ends, then I'm positively sure tomorrow is going to be a new day.

[filthfichunter]

Might i request underage, incredibly tight someone being trained to fuck by Vesemir/Eskel/Geralt. Maybe Vesemir training every boy in "fencing". Or Geralt and Eskel training Lambert or Jaskier. Belly bulge, cum inflation, overstim and any others you'd like. Breeding bench is hot af.

Dub-con into fuck yes more - con is good. No fully non-con tho please.

Okay okay, so we've established that I wouldn't know a short fill if it fell into my lap and introduced itself right??

CW for: I think I only managed to fit underage (Jaskier the year before he heads off the Oxenfurt, so however young you'd like, musical savant? Rebellious barely legal teen? Up to you), and training an incredibly tight hole, inflation, distended belly, punishment inflation, anal beads, coercion, dub-con and spanking... But everything else is totally in whatever imaginary coda I hope this inspires for you of what happens next!

Geralt wakes the bard by sliding his cock into Jaskier's mouth, pushing his hips forward until his white wiry pubic hair hides that cute nose. The kid is practically choking on it before he even fully wakes up and realizes what's happening. Startled sleepy cornflower blue eyes meet slitted cat eyed pupils. 

There is a brief pause. Geralt hilted waiting to see if he'll need to reinforce the lessons he's been teaching the bardling the last two weeks. For Jaskier that brief moment slams forward with a burst of adrenaline  as he finally wakes all the way up. A gurggle, gasping in air through his nose, as he desperately tries to get a deep enough breath, spots starting to form at the edge of his vision.

He's woken up this was every morning since the first. 

The now familiar taste and smell and discomfort calms him, and he forcefully reminds himself that it's all part of the deal he struck even if he didn't know all that he had apparently agreed to.

Geralt's hips forcefully rock, disrupting his airflow, triggering the gag reflex that hasn't quite been trained out of him yet.

The young man's eyes start to tear up even as he relaxes his throat and begins sucking.

"Good, work. Your throat is golden, the perfect little fuck sleeve." Geralt chuckles at his own joke and begins fucking his  bard's face, enjoying the way the kid's throat flutters, spasming around his girth. It doesn't take him long to come, it wasn't an over exaggeration, Jaskier's throat is tight and wet, tongue flicking over his length. He hauls Jaskier up out of his bed role when he's finished, kissing him filthily, licking his own cum out from between slick friction swollen lips.

Agreeing to let the bard follow him along the Path has been one of his smarter decisions of late. When the gangly youth, cocksure and so very pretty, had approached his table Geralt had decided to ruin him.

"I speak Elder, can juggle, play any instrument given to me, crowds have wept to hear a song from my golden throat, and  I am willing to both sing your praises and provide entertainment on our journey, should you allow me to but follow you on your nobel path this season!"

Jaskier had taken a bit of an unauthorized gap year.

"You decide to run away from home then? Someone looking for you no doubt" the Witcher had asked for forms sake, assuaging what little moral reluctance he still held, having already decided that he'd be taking the lithe twink up in what he'd offered and also what he hadn't. 

"Hmmmm"

It had been easy to see that Jaskier wasn't an actual bard or performer, not dressed in the expensive but sedate clothing, only a small rucksack  and case holding his belongings, and presumably his lute.

"I didn't run away from home sir Witcher! I am merely gathering inspiration and experience before I start my formal bardic training in the Fall!" 

"Which isn't to say that I am untrained now, merely in search of material to fule my enterance audition, you are the inspiration I seek!!"

Jaskier had thought it was a grand plan. 

Now he found himself naked gummy eyed from a fitful uncomfortable rest, breath stale from sleep and cum, reluctant to acknowledge that this hadn't been the plan. 

His cock was half hard from morning wood, jaw sore, belly still uncomfortably full from the previous evenings training, starting another morning with his Witcher.

Less time limping along after Roach was always welcome.

"Give me a show bard!" Geralt smirked, "You still haven't held up your end of the bargain and we can both agree that I have been attentive in your training, let's see if you'll disappoint again this morning"

"Thank you Geralt, for being so patient." Jaskier always tried to apologize early on, it saved him from dealing with a red bruised ass all day if he could keep from having to be corrected until at least after their lunch time stop. 

Geralt smirked enjoying the insincerity. Jaskier had started out so reluctant, and confused about his role, but after that first two hard days acclimating had learned to at least give the appearance of acceptance.

He's been working on Jaskier, getting him ready to service all of the appetites of a Witcher."Hands and knees, spread your legs wide, hump the ground, let's get you spent and loose"

Already used to such instructions Jaskier dropped getting into position. Geralt enjoyed seeing that ass jiggle infront of him as the boy dropped down into position for their morning lesson.

"I've been patient, little buttercup, but maybe what you need is a push." A solid clap, more noise than real violence echoed the clearing, Jaskier's hips rolling more fluidly, the fingers of his hands dug into the sod above his head beyond the bedding as Geralt's hand fell down twice emphasizing his threat.  

The lightly furred cheeks of the boys ass looked like a perfect peach, round, lightly furred with a hint of dewy sweat as Jaskier chased the coarse friction of the bedroll beneath him. His cock  hung vulnerable between his thighs thrusting hard  down drawing frustrated grunts.

His belly was taut and swollen beneath him, sloshing from last night's lesson training him to take more volume into his guys.

It was just plump enough that Jaskier couldn't get enough stimulation on his straining erection.

 It was never enough alone to get him off. "Hm. Your little hole is winking at me again!" The pads of Geralt's finger ran over the dry dusky starburst, "feeling shy this morning?" The rim clenched tightly around the thick rope that disappeared into a swollen hole. The friction and lack of moisture after having worm the training device all night causing the whimpers and thrusting to gain a bit more desperation.

The rope ran deep into the boy's asshole, connected to a series of graduated beads. The last bead large enough to retain the heavy expanding potion Geralt had funneled into Jaskier to aid in his training the night before.

Jaskier wasn't allowed to remove them, or empty his straining belly for the day until he'd come first.

It was his own fault.

His virgin hole had been so tight that Geralt had to punish it for refusing to cooperate. 

That first lesson, dispensed only an hour after they first met had done double duty.

Geralt forcing three of his fingers into Jaskier's mouth finger banging the back of his throat to help him get used to satisfying the Witcher with his mouth, and then those slopping spit slick fingers had reached back and smacked down on his hole, three quick spanks, then back into his mouth.

They had repeated the activity until Jaskier stopped thrashing and had eventually cum frosting against Geralt, held prone over the Witchers lap for the first time.

His hole had been too tight, from fear and anxiety the first time Geralt tried to fit the head of his cock inside. No amount of pressure was going to work, so instead of casting him aside Geralt let him know they'd work up to him fulfilling this role in their party through regular training.

There were only two anal beads that first night, liberally greased up with some salve from Geralt's pack. The beads had been small, easily thrust in and out of his asshole. 

He had cum so hard that first night he had blacked out, waking up warm, and sated Geralt's spend coating the inside of his thighs where he'd taken his own pleasure from Jaskier's unresponsive body, pinked up thighs splashed with white seed.

Every couple of days Geralt would add more beads, bigger beads getting Jaskier ready to take his cock, making do with the boy's mouth, hands, and his thighs as they worked to stretch his hole large enough to be able to take Geralt.

Attitude just brought more discomfort so it hadn't taken long for Jaskier to give in. Geralt was very handsome, and his cock was intimidating enough that he'd been grateful not to have had to take it without all of the prep work they had done together

There are a dozen heavy carved stone beads up Jaskier's ass. They bump against each other clacking and vibrating, a property of the mineral they are made from.

 With little tugs to the rope Geralt is able to peek the surface of the largest bead out of the younger man's hole. "Looks like a hungry mouth Jaskier, gobbling up almost everything, who knew my boy had TWO such hungry mouths, bear down, gape that tight little pucker" 

The bead pushes further out of his hole, stretching the rim as it starts to push out. Jaskier rim looses color under the strain a white band of stretched muscle straining.

When Jaskier isn't able to push it any further himself he earns a quick series of slaps to the meat of his ass, cheeks bouncing hard and going even pinker.

They've been working at stretching Jaskier out every evening. First on Geralt's tongue, then moving on to any number of other tools that the Witcher happened to have on hand.

The night before Jaskier had been placed on his back, nearly folded in half with his knees near his ears arms wrapped around each ofnhis own thighs holding himself open and exposed. Geralt used a funnel and inflatable tubing to deposit a potion into Jaskier. 

The tubbing had been made from pig bladder, and while it had only started out as thin as one of his own fingers it had expanded, filling him so deeply and fully that his own belly had soon blocked his view from his awkward position. 

He'd been so relieved to have the tubing pulled free that he hadn't known to brace for the potion itself expanding. An intimidating amount of slimy lubricant had filled him. 

Jaskier had passed out last night with his distended belly rocking back and forth jostled by Geralt thrusting to completion once again between his thighs.

Today's position was equally uncomfortable but at least once Jaskier came he'd be able to rest his sore belly.

Geralt rearranged the prone figure infront of him. Pushing Jaskier's legs even further apart tilting his pelvis back, putting a deep curve into the bards lower spine, everything is on display.

It only takes a little pressure before Jaskier's hole opens up and he can push his middle finger in deep, pushing the anal beads deeper. He gently pets around Jaskier's rim, barely pressing the tip of another finger in, stroking the skin around it with his other ones.

Geralt moves up to a second and third finger quickly. Picking up speed, jostling the anal beads, setting them to click against each other and vibrate up against the boy's prostate. Agitating the liquid locked behind.

As soon as it feels like Jaskier is close, walls fluttering erratically, Geralt yanks his fingers and then the beads out.

The rim of Jaskier's ass blooms and clentches rapidly as each bead is wrenched free, the thick lubricant sealed behind them exploding out. 

Jaskier tripped over into a punishing climax, overwhelmed, spent and lax after all of the stimulation.

Jaskier's unconscious body twitched and his hole spasmed.

Geralt fed three of his fingers back into the unconscious body.

Even as the sound of rhythmic squelching filled the clearing the Witcher was applying the slick dripping from Jaskier to his reawakened erection.

There's enough slimy lube that the bardling feels wet inside, like a pussy but, even after their first grueling session of the day, so much tighter.

But finally not too tight.

He'll wake Jaskier up already impaled on the thick girth of his cock. Geralt can't wait to fuck the hole he's had so much fun training. He could have had the kid bouncing on his cock the first day, but after having lived as long as he has he knows the value of drawing pleasure out. 

He can't wait to further bruise that peach ass by slamming into it with his hip bones, finally hilted deep all the way into the space he'd painstakingly carved out for himself.

Jaskier doesn't know that he won't be starting at Oxenfurt in the fall. 

Geralt is extending his boys gap year and taking him with him back to Kaer Morhen for the winter.

He did after all promise to bring that years entertainment for his fellow Witchers.

[nat-roman0ff]

saturday, wait

the here and now; sequel to another certain time and place (read the full series in my masterlist)

ii. saturday, wait the one where time starts to catch up wc: 2454 warnings: mentions of depression, bad words, and fluff

---

The skies of Toronto opened up Saturday morning at about 5am. She only knew this because there was a gutter that ran above the window on their bedroom balcony door that constantly overfilled. The steady drip drip woke her up from a very lovely dream to a cold and lonely bed. 

 Shawn had been gone for just over a month now and the loneliness was beginning to set in. He’d insisted she move into the condo before he left, so they scattered at the last second to bring all her things over in time for him to take off on the last leg of tour. She rolls over to stare at Shawn’s unmade side of the bed and sighs. There’s not a single wrinkle in the white of his duvet. The condo still didn’t feel like it was quite theirs; but more like she was on an extended house sitting visit. She played through the motions (oftentimes accidentally setting off his stereo system that she still didn’t know how to work) and kept the household going. 

 She watches the fat drops of water slam and streak down the glass of the balcony door. The skies seem to hang low today, and everything is covered in a sheet of gray. She grabs her phone to confirm the time and rolls her face into her pillow to scream in frustration. 

There’s an itch she can’t quite scratch. It’s the weekend - which means she doesn’t have to do anything. But she can’t stand staying at the condo, it’s a constant reminder that Shawn isn’t here and she is. It’s like a tomb of memories that she can never escape, every step is a reminder that he’s on the road and she’s not waking up in his arms every morning. But, she lacks the energy to actually do anything. Plans with friends go cancelled and never rescheduled, and as the days pass she becomes increasingly homebound, despite the pain it causes her. 

 Tossing and turning, she ends up staring at the ceiling. She watches the memories project onto the ceiling like old school films, playing over and over, just there to remind her of her loneliness. There’s no escape from him here, but her brain and heavy heart tell her to just stay in bed.

 Just get up and pee, go make yourself some toast, pour a cup of coffee, anything. She begs to herself but its like she’s chained to the bed and without the responsibilities of work (on the days she’d actually shown up lately), she can’t seem to make herself move.

 Around six thirty her phone buzzes. Her eyes blink lazily. She knows it’s Shawn but she’s not in a rush to answer. Despite missing him at the depths of her core she’s not desperate for him. She doesn't want FaceTime or phone calls, she doesn’t want a goodnight text or a morning meme. She wants him here, next to her in this empty fucking bed. 

 Her hand reaches onto the bedside table and grabs her phone. Of course it’s a message from Shawn as she suspected. It’s a simple one;

 good morning, gremlin. i know you’re probably still snoozing but i wanted you to have something to wake up to. day off today, so call me when you get up and we can facetime a bit. love youuuuuuuuuuuu.

 It almost hurts to smile, it’s been a while. 

 hi bub. feeling down this morning and could stand to hear your voice. call me when you’re able to, i’m just laying in bed.

 The phone rings almost instantly, “hi baby,” Shawn says, his voice low, still groggy with sleep.

 “Hi,” she manages, her own voice cracking. 

 “What’s got you up so early?” He asks. 

 “Rain.” 

 Shawn laughs, “that damn gutter, huh?” 

 “Yeah.” 

 He notices her shortness and knows it’s not from tiredness but tells himself so anyways. He doesn’t want to be a thousand miles away worried about his girlfriend back at home. Maybe he’ll call his mom later to pop over and check on her or call a mutual friend to take her out for lunch. Shawn knows she’s taken it hard, it was a different type of goodbye now than before when they were just friends. 

 “Do you have any plans this weekend?” Shawn asks.

 She yawns, “not really. Maybe read a book or do some laundry.” 

 “Oh,” he pips, “I could have my mum come over and visit for a bit.” 

 “You don’t have to do that Shawn,” it comes out almost venomous. 

 He sighs, “I’m just worried. People have been telling me you’re not going out much, cancelling on them last minute. Are you okay, baby?” 

 She breathes in deep and lets out a long single breath, “no.” 

 There’s no stopping the floodgate of tears that happens then. It’s not just him being gone, either. Work is exhausting and uninspiring and she feels herself slipping away from the things she loved to do, and the people she loved to do things with. 

 “Fuck, I wish I could come home,” Shawn breathes. 

 He doesn’t make her talk, he doesn’t ask questions. He just lets her cry and it takes everything in his power not to cry with her because he can feel his heart shattering as she gasps for breaths between sobs and he hates himself for not being there and holding her in his arms.

 When she’s finished, she’s silent. Neither of them speak for a while and she waits until her breathing has returned to normal and her face is wiped dry of tears to speak, “I’m sorry.” 

 “W-what?” Shawn sputters, “baby, do not apologize. I want to make sure you’re alright. I’m gonna come home. I don’t care if it’s for an hour. I’m coming home. If I leave for the airport now there’s a flight that will get me there this afternoon. Can you pick me up at the airport at three?” 

 “Shawn that’s crazy, you’re going to be so tired. I’ll go see your parents or something. I’ll be fine, I’m just in a funk,” she pleads. The last thing she wants to do is cause issues and force him home just because she’s sad. 

 Well, she’s more than just sad she thinks. She’s depressed, and she knows it. And the sooner she accepts it, the better off she’ll probably be. Depression is a slippery and nonlinear slope. At first she trips into it, noticing she’s more disengaged than usual, then the anxiety and overthinking kicks in, followed up with isolation until eventually the days blend so fluidly together she can’t tell if it’s June or Saturday.

 She can never pinpoint exactly when it happens, at least not until she’s drowning in her own sorrow and can’t get herself out. When bed is the only place she wants to be and she hasn’t eaten or drank in thirty-six hours. 

 “No, I’m coming home or I’m bringing you to me. Take your pick.” 

 She sighs, “just come home.” 

 ---

 Her thumb nervously taps the steering wheel as she waits outside the arrivals terminal at Toronto Pearson. She’s chewed her lower lip in to bits and it’s sore and chapped. She hadn’t bothered to get dressed, and wore one of Shawn’s teeshirts and a pair of leggings for the occasion. There’s a metallic taste when she chews on her nail beds, adding to the already scabbed hangnails that adorned her fingertips.

 Shawn spots her first and runs towards the Jeep. He throws open the passenger’s side door and wraps his arms around her, his elbow hitting the horn and scaring them both. He pulls back and her face feels heavy in his hand. A tired and empathetic, “baby,” is all he can say. 

 They drive home in silence, their fingers interlaced. Shawn peppers kisses on the back of her hand and up her arm but sparks no reaction. His heart sinks into his stomach. It’s so fucking painful to see her like this, so radically unlike herself. There’s no sarcastic quip, or banter or even fucking speck of his usual girl in there and that terrfies him. 

 “What do you want to do for dinner?” He asks, rubbing the back of her hand with his thumb.

 She shrugs, “don’t know.” 

 “When’s the last time you ate?” 

 She shrugs again, “can’t remember.” 

 Shawn’s head rests on her shoulder and he lets out a sigh, “will you please come back with me?”

 She can feel the tears bubbling up again. She wants to say yes, she wants to say yes so fucking bad. But she knows Shawn and being with Shawn will not be the end all cure all. The thing about depression is, it doesn’t just go away with a change of scenery. It’ll go dormant for a while, sure; weeks, months, years even, if you’re lucky. And then all of a sudden it shows up again out of nowhere like a bad rash and it’s back to square one all over again. 

 “I don’t think that’ll help, Shawn,” she says as they pull into the parking garage at the condo. 

 He treads lightly, “I don’t want to start an argument with you baby, I just want you to feel your best again. At least if we’re together you aren’t alone.” 

 Her hand leaves his and she puts the Jeep into park, shuts off the ignition and unclicks her seatbelt. She thinks, hard. It’s the hardest she’s thought in a while and she forgets the feeling of trying to rationally mull something over. Her forehead tingles a little, and she weighs the options that Shawn has presented to her;

 One; stay home. Stay home at the condo, wake up Monday through Friday and work a job where she’s disrespected, underappreciated, but is making connections that will hopefully help her in the future of her career.

 Two; leave with Shawn. Go on tour with Shawn and live on a stinky tour bus with two other boys and wake up in a new city every day. But at least they were together.

 “I’ll do it.” 

 Shawn doesn’t think he’s ever smiled so big in his life.

 “Really?” 

 She nods.

 “Well let’s go get you packed then.” 

 ---

 An hour later the bedroom is strewn about with clothes and an open suitcase lying in the middle of their king sized bed. She folds, unfolds, and refolds everything. Nothing seems to fit and it’s making her teeth itch. Shawn just keeps digging through the closet, holding up a random item of clothing and saying ‘this’? When he does it for what seems like the thousandth time, she snaps.

 “Shawn just go in the fucking living room and I’ll finish packing, okay! You’re messing everything up, throwing my shit all around. Just let me finish the packing!” 

 He tries not to let it hurt him. It’s the most emotion he’s gotten out of her in weeks and he supposes it’s a step in the right direction. It’s better than the alternative. Shawn closes the gap between them in a few long strides and kisses her forehead.

 “That’s fine. Just let me know if you need anything and I’ll go book our flight for the morning, alright? I’ll order some dinner and we can take a shower together?” He kisses her temple, and then her chin, and then her jaw. 

 “Okay,” she starts, “and I’m sorry for yelling.” 

 Shawn kisses the top of her head, “it’s alright. I love you.” 

 When he leaves the room she sits on the edge of the bed, staring at the half packed suitcase beside her. She realizes her decision was rash, she’ll have to call her boss on Monday morning and tell her she’s not coming back...like ever, tell her friends that she'll be gone for basically the rest of the year, and her brain was still searching for a way to explain all of this to her mother. But the last part was for another day when her brain wasn’t feeling so scattered. 

 It’s remarkable how quickly she finishes packing when Shawn is out of the room. She finds him in the kitchen making two drinks and dancing around, singing under his breath as he grabs his ingredients from around the room. She has to hide her chuckle when he spots her, covering her mouth with her hand. Shawn reaches his hand out for her to come dance with him.

 The moment her hand is in his, he pulls her close, letting their bodies bump together. He cups her face and gives her a kiss and feels her relax against him, “I missed you,” he says, brushing his nose against hers for an eskimo kiss. 

 “Can we take that shower now?” She asks, kissing his chin. 

 Shawn laces their fingers together and leads them across the condo to the bathroom. She sits on the counter and watches him fuss with the knobs to find the perfect temperature. He wipes his wet hand on his jeans and turns back to her. They undress each other slowly. It’s not sexual in the slightest, but a caring gesture. She steps in first, letting the rainfall showerhead cascade over her. 

 It feels so impossibly good. It’s revitalizing and awakening. Her senses come to and she’s suddenly hyper aware of Shawn standing at the corner of the stall. He waves and she grabs his hand to pull him under the water with her. He turns her body facing away from him, pressing himself against her back and wrapping an arm around her waist. He peppers wet kisses down her shoulders and across her back. 

 “Can I wash your hair?” Shawn asks, his fingertips tracing across her belly.

 She answers as a chill runs through her, it had been so long since she felt his fingertips pressed into her, “yes.” 

 Shawn smirks and grabs the shampoo bottle from the shelf, squirting way too much into his hand and globbing it into her hair. His fingers move without much precision and there’s fits of giggles as he tries to style her heavy hair into various hairstyles. It feels good to laugh and she’s sure the feeling won’t last long, but she’s happy to be back in her cotton candy cloud for a little while.

 When they finish they just hold each other for a while under the warm stream of water. It was terrifying and exciting all at once and it was the first time in too long that she actually felt anything more than an exhausting, draining sadness. Even though they’d been friends for years, the relationship is still so new. 

 Will we grow tired of each other? She thinks. 

 And she doesn’t have that answer right now, and she won’t have that answer until much later.

[serenlyss]

It Takes Courage

Rating: G Relationships: emma&ray&norman Summary:  After reuniting with Norman, Emma starts to realize just how much all three of them have grown. Crossposted to AO3: It Takes Courage

---

As far as dramatic and tear-filled reunions go, this one hadn’t exactly been on her list. Certain ones had been guaranteed in her mind; Phil and the other kids, for example, and Musica, who she’s been looking forward to seeing again for a long while. This, though? She never could have hoped for it in a thousand, no, a million years.

One moment, she’s standing at Ray’s side, walking into the hideout that presumably belongs to William Minerva and the humans he’s managed to save, and the next, she’s falling into the arms of Norman, of all people, unable to even see his face clearly through her own grateful tears. For just a single night, it had been as though the last few years of fighting had been nothing more than a dream, pushed to the back of her mind in favor of big family meals and chess games and the sound of their own laughter.

She remembers staying up late playing chess in the center of the dormitory, squished up against Norman’s side while Ray glared at him from across the board, but she’d fallen asleep partway through the game and hadn’t gotten to see how it had ended or what had happened earlier. Vaguely, she remembers Ray crossing the board to come sit alongside them, and the sound of the two boys talking quietly, but she must have drifted off again, because she can’t recall what they’d talked about.

When she wakes next, it’s to the fluorescent light from outside the door shining into her eyes. She has no idea what time it is, but she feels groggy still, her limbs weighed down comfortably and her body pleasantly warm. It takes her a moment to realize that she’s in the same position she’d fallen asleep in, leaned against Norman’s side with her head nestled into the crook of his neck. The two of them are propped up against the end of one of the dormitory beds, Norman’s head tipped slightly over its edge and his mouth partially open from the angle of it.

On his other side, Emma spots Ray in a similar position as herself, slumped against Norman’s side with one arm thrown over his torso and his head leaned against his other shoulder. There’s a heavy blanket tucked around all three of them, she realizes belatedly, drawn up to their shoulders to keep out the cold, and it shifts off of her and falls around her waist when she raises a hand to her eyes to rub away the sleep from them. She almost doesn’t want to move with how comfortable their position is; It’s been too long since they’d last gotten to spend this kind of time together, and just the memory of the previous evening makes her chest warm with affection and brings a smile to her face.

She lets herself lay quietly for a moment longer, her eyes wandering around the empty, quiet dorm for a moment. Wait, quiet? Empty? Her siblings are almost never quiet, and if the room is empty, then that can only mean--

“Oh, shit,” she curses, jumping to her feet with a clamber of boots on the hardwood floor beneath them, “we overslept!”

As she stumbles clumsily to her feet and untangles herself from the blanket that had been strewn over them, Norman and Ray begin to stir as well, the former covering his mouth to stifle a yawn and the latter already glaring up at Emma with a familiarly irritated gaze.

“What’re you making so much noise for?” Ray grumbles, pushing himself up from his position against Norman’s side and running his fingers through his wild hair as though to tame his unpredictable strands.

Emma hastily sets to work packing up the abandoned chess set--there are a handful of pieces still on the board, but most are scattered on the floor in colored piles from where Norman and Ray’s game must’ve left off the previous night--and repeats, “We overslept! Everyone’s gone on without us.”

This seems to jolt Norman out of his sleep-induced reverie. “No one woke us up?” he wonders aloud, leaning forward to help Emma set the chess pieces back in their rightful places. “That’s unusual. Typically Barbara or Cislo would come to find me if I’m not in my office this late in the morning.” Despite his obvious concerns, he maintains an outward appearance of calmness, methodically cleaning up as quickly as he can.

Ray stands and dusts off his pants, straightening his sleep-wrinkled shirt briefly. “Calm down, if it was anything urgent, they would have woken us up,” he assures, laying a hand briefly on Emma’s head as if to slow her down himself before moving to scoop his discarded scarf up off the floor.

Emma closes the lid to the chess set and pushes herself to her feet, setting it aside on the bed for a moment while she moves to the mirror at the end of the room to smooth her rumpled clothing and re-tie the uniform bow around her neck. “Still, we shouldn’t keep them all waiting too long,” she insists, though she does noticeably slow herself down in response to Ray’s gentle scolding.

Ray comes to stand just behind her, giving himself a quick once-over in the mirror to make sure he’s presentable, and Emma finds herself stalling. She hasn’t really noticed before now, but Ray’s grown--so has she, of course, but not as much as Ray has. He’s noticeably taller than Emma is now, having gained at least a few inches on her since their escape from Gracefield nearly two years ago. It isn’t just his height, either; he’s broader in the shoulders, now, and his face has lost some of its childhood roundness from a combination of unstable food sources and the general aging process. She isn’t sure how she’s missed it this entire time, but when she looks at him now, she can see the differences so clearly that it’s almost like picturing night and day.

“What are you staring for?” Ray asks, breaking Emma’s chain of thought with his gruff interruption. He shifts on his feet restlessly, the barest hint of a blush on his face giving away his embarrassment.

Emma blinks, momentarily surprised to be addressed, and then her face melts into a nostalgic smile. “It’s nothing, I was just thinking that you’ve grown a lot since leaving Gracefield,” she replies. “You’re taller than me, now. I think it’s the first time this has ever happened. We were always around the same height back at the House.”

Ray just shrugs, draping his scarf over his arm rather than putting it back on. “Of course I did, dummy, did you only just notice?” he asks, mouth quirking up into a ghost of a smile. “Though, if you want to talk about people who really grew, you should be looking at Norman. Surely you can’t have missed that?” He jerks his thumb in Norman’s direction, who’s replacing the chess board on a shelf at the other end of the room.

She had noticed, of course. It would be impossible not to; the Norman from two years ago looks like an infant when compared to the one she sees now. He’s surpassed even Ray in height, towering above the both of them in a way he never has before. Emma wonders, briefly, if his genes are just that strong, or if the experimentation he’d endured at Lambda was responsible for his sudden growth spurt. “Of course I didn’t miss it,” she insists, pouting at Ray over her shoulder as he starts to move away from the mirror and toward the dorm room’s door.

He says something to Norman on the way out that Emma can’t quite hear, then turns to shoot another glance at Emma, quickly calling, “I’m going to go check up on everyone else. Come join us when you’re ready,” before stepping fluidly outside and shutting the door behind him.

Emma smoothes her hands over the front of her shirt briefly before deeming herself presentable, then goes to join Norman where he’s waiting for her at the other end of the room.

“Ready to go?” he asks, turning to look down at her with a gentle smile.

Emma nods her head, then pauses, eyes lingering on Norman’s collar. It’s sticking up on one side, obviously in disarray after being slept in overnight. His tie is crooked, too, laying not quite flat between his vest and button-up shirt. She reaches up to straighten it impulsively, tugging on the knot so that it lays straight and crisp once more. “It’s kind of weird to have to stretch to reach you now,” she comments with a little giggle, moving to turn down his popped collar next. “You’ve gotten so tall… and with this suit on, you almost look like an adult. Both you and Ray have grown up so much in these last few years. It’s strange, but kind of exciting, too, you know?” She flashes Norman a grin for good measure, then takes a step back once her work is finished.

Norman’s gone stock-still in the face of Emma’s impulsiveness, apparently surprised by her sudden approach, and it makes her wonder briefly how long it’s been since he’s received this kind of affectionate touch, the kind he used to get daily from Mama and herself and the other children constantly around him back at the House. Still, he’s quick to relax, a smile tugging at his lips. “You’ve grown a lot too,” he responds, amusement in his gaze as she steps back from him. “Not just physically, either, though you’re definitely taller. You’re a lot more mature than I remember. You used to be a bit of a ditz.”

“Hey! Is that any way to talk to your friend?” Emma retorts with a pout, reaching out to give him a gentle smack on his forearm. “Besides, I think I’d be more concerned if I hadn’t changed at all! I’ve been through a lot, you know!”

Norman chuckles, but there’s sadness and regret in his eyes and in his ever-present smile that bleed through his carefully calm demeanor. “I know you have. You’ve been really brave to come so far, you and Ray both… it can’t have been easy to make your way here.”

Emma nods her head, falling solemn for a moment, and her gaze falls downward. “We did the best we could. I just wish we could have brought everyone,” she replies softly. “We had to leave behind the rest of the House who were too young to come with us, and even then, there were people that I met that I wasn’t able to save.” Her throat feels tight from the admission, a confession of the ways in which she feels she’s failed. “I wanted them to see this, too,” she adds, stumbling over her breath. Her vision begins to blur, and she realizes belatedly that she’s begun to cry when a tear slips down her cheek and runs along her chin.

She hastily reaches up to wipe it away, more surprised than embarrassed, and as she does, Norman reaches out and lays his hands on her shoulders, drawing her gaze up to meet his again. “I know how you feel,” he says sincerely, “we all do. Everyone here has lost someone, but we’re all dedicated to moving forward for their sakes. That’s how I know you haven’t given up on Gracefield yet. I know you’ll go back for the rest of our family, and when that happens, Ray and I will be right there with you.” Lifting one hand, he thumbs away a tear from the corner of Emma’s eye, and offers her a soft, kind smile. “So no more crying, okay? I’ve missed your smile a lot since I left the House.”

Emma lets a small smile of her own slip, leaning forward and wrapping her arms around Norman’s middle to give him a quick hug. “Okay,” she agrees.

Norman squeezes her tightly back, reveling in the feeling of being able to hug his friend again. “C’mon, we shouldn’t keep Ray and the others waiting,” he says after a few seconds, pulling back far enough to reach for the door and push it open. “Ready to go?”

Her tears dried and smile back in place, Emma nods. “Yeah, let’s get going,” she agrees, and leads the way out the open door while Norman holds it for her. He follows close behind, pulling it closed behind him with a soft click as they make their way to the dining hall to meet up with their family.

[robininthelabyrinth]

Eyestealer 3 - ao3 link

Fandom: Naruto Pairing: Senju Hashirama & Senju Tobirama (mostly gen, hints of other relationships later)

Summary: Hashirama really doesn’t approve of the thoughtful way his father looks at his younger brother’s bright red eyes. He’s sure it doesn’t mean anything good for anyone.

He’s right.

A/N: a quick (but sadly short) update for @blackberreh-art, who needs something to read on the flight

——————————————————————————————

The one ability of Tobirama that their father seems to actually respect is the strength of his sensor abilities.

"No Uchiha could have reached that far," Butsuma says begrudgingly when Tobirama reports comings and goings from the edge of his extremely impressive range.

It may be the nicest thing he's ever said to Tobirama, who is all but walking on air for the next week, even if no one who isn’t Hashirama or Kawarama or little Itama would be able to tell. He doubles down on training that ability thereafter, broadening his range even further and increasing his precision to focus on additional details.

He gets very, very good at it, too. Hashirama has found that when Tobirama puts his mind to something, really puts his mind to something, there's very little he can't do.

(This is, sometimes, a problem - Tobirama is extremely creative, smart and unorthodox, but unfortunately he, like their father, is a brilliant tactician. Fantastic for battle, absolutely fantastic; wonderful in the short term and, at least for Tobirama, sometimes in the medium term, but when it comes to thinking long term...ugh.

Seriously, sometimes Hashirama wishes he wasn't born as good a strategist as he is because he's pretty sure he's going to be driven up the wall by the fact that he can so clearly see future consequences that no one else ever seems to think about. At least Tobirama is learning, even if he still hasn't quite figured out that just because you can invent something doesn't always mean you should.)

Still, as much as Tobirama wants to make their father proud, as much as he loves him, he hasn’t lost his reason or his sense of caution. He tells his father anything that might be helpful, practical useful things, but Hashirama is the only one who knows the true extent of his sensing: how sensitive he is to the nuances of others' chakra, how he can all but replicate exact details even from a distance, how much it hurts sometimes -

How he's always sensing, always, whether he's asleep or drained of chakra.

Even though he's grown up well past the usual dangerous age, Tobirama's chakra still has a way of draining far too fast sometimes, no matter how little he's doing. Recently they discovered, through some impromptu games of hide and seek with little Itama, a happy soul, that it helped a little if he kept his eyes closed. Ever since then, Tobirama has spends increasingly more of his time in his private quarters wearing a blindfold, purportedly as a means of further training his situational awareness - not that he needs it, given that he learns to move around fluidly without his sight within the course of a few weeks.

Outside the home, where walking around with a blindfold would be more embarrassing and require more explanation, he takes to adding a happuri to his armor so that he can draw it down over his eyes whenever he has a moment to rest.

Things are going well.

Hashirama starts to feel happy: Tobirama's sensor abilities are a blessing, something he can be cheered for throughout the clan. Finally, he thinks, there was something that Tobirama could do that would bring him only joy.

(He should have known better than to tempt fate.)

It happens in public, at a formal clan dinner with all the elders and their father sitting there, and no one knows that Tobirama's senses are still working but Hashirama.

But because Hashirama is the only one who knows, he's the only one who has even the slightest idea what's happening when Tobirama suddenly drops his bowl, his expression twisting in horror, and throws himself out the window without a word a second later.

"Please excuse us," Hashirama says on his behalf to the outraged elders and their father, then follows him out before they have a chance to respond.

He doesn't know exactly what it was that Tobirama sensed that so overwhelmed him, but that expression means it's nothing good.

There are very few things Tobirama cares about that would make him willing to so breach the rules of etiquette so thoroughly beaten into him -

- and Kawarama is out of the compound on a courier mission.

Hashirama's already resigned by the time they're out in the forest, running faster than thought but still not fast enough, but Tobirama shrieks as though he was the one who was stabbed, his too-powerful senses showing him all the details he would never be able to excise from his too-perfect memory, staggering and beginning to fall even as he reaches the clearing that should have been safety, having exhausted himself in speed and left nothing for fighting.

Hashirama is just moments behind him, though, and he reaches out with the forest to try to strangle his brother's killers.

He gets two of the squad, mangling their bodies beyond recognition without the slightest ounce of pity, leaving them only identifiable as Uchiha by the scraps of fabic that flutter to the ground, but three others manage to evade him, disappearing in a flurry of leaves and shadow.

When he turns back, Tobirama is on his knees, sobbing and tugging futilely at the swords and kunai that pierce Kawarama's body. "I should've been faster," he says, voice broken. "I should have kept better watch - I should have been faster, I could've helped if I'd only been faster - Hashirama, help me! I don’t have the chakra reserves to heal him!"

Hashirama comes to stand by his shoulder. His heart hurts, seeing his brother's body like this, but not the way Tobirama's does. Tobirama was the one who raiased Kawarama, raised Itama, not Hashirama; Hashirama loves them dearly, but they're his brothers - to Tobirama, they might as well be his sons.

(And if some part of Hashirama bitterly remembers that Kawarama is their father's favorite, neither his disobedient eldest nor his despised second, and thinks of how despite Hashirama’s best efforts he had begun to absorb some of Butsuma’s more pernicious beliefs, repeating vile things about Tobirama when the other was absent even though it was Tobirama who loved him more than anything - well. That part of him doesn't need to see the surface.)

So it hurts and he grieves, but he also knows that it’s not as bad a blow as it could have been - not as bad a blow as it is to Tobirama.

"We'll take him back for a burial," Hashirama says, because there's nothing before them but a corpse.

Tobirama moans in despair, horrible grief making his voice grate terribly, like the sound of splintering wood, and then suddenly his hands fly up to his face, his chakra levels suddenly draining at an alarming rate.

"Tobirama!" Hashirama exclaims, moving forward at once. "What - a trap? Tell me what hurts!"

He continued his lessons as a healer long after the medic taught him those few techniques and insisted that Tobirama learn, too, counting on his brother's genius mind to start coming up with new combinations almost at once, which he had. They were both very good at it now.

"My eyes," Tobirama moans. "Something's wrong with my eyes."

Hashirama's scanning frantically, looking for the damage, but nothing's coming up as wrong. As far as Tobirama's body is concerned, it's working as designed.

Except Tobirama's chakra is still draining away like he somehow sprung a leak, which means there must be a wound - a trap - a seal - something - but where could it be? With enough expertise, a trap seal could be drawn on any surface, solid or liquid: on skin, hair, tongue, eyes –

Eyes.

"Hold still," he tells Tobirama, more or less futilely because Tobirama is barely even twitching anymore. "I'm going to pop out your lenses."

He hasn't seen Tobirama without his lenses in years, nothing but the brief glimpses when he helped him in the mornings, but he still remembers what they look like under there - what they should look like, that is.

And the second the lenses are off, there it is, whatever it is that's hurting his brother: the black flecks in Tobirama's eyes have changed, turning instead into a pinwheel made of little black waves.

(It's almost like the Uchiha symbols he's seen scribbled on old scrolls, but that makes sense, doesn't it, that the Uchiha would leave an Uchiha trap on a freshly-killed corpse, meant to catch the unwary.)

"Tobirama, I think I've figured it out where the trap is - Tobirama - no, don't pass out - Tobirama! Stay with me...!"

Hashirama doesn't want to leave Kawarama's body behind, but he would do it in a heartbeat if he thought the medics back home would be of any help. He would throw himself on the nonexistent mercy of the Uchiha themselves if that's what it took to save Tobirama’s life, but he knows that they won’t help either.

It’s up to him.

He sits there all night, between the corpse of one brother and the comatose body of another, ignoring everything he’s ever learned about healing in favor of brute-forcing as much of his chakra into Tobirama as either of them can tolerate and a little beyond, and he thinks he might go a little insane in the process.

(Sometimes Tobirama's eyes look as if they themselves have drained of all color, an almost pale lavender with rippling concentric rings around the pupil, but Hashirama manages to convince himself it's a trick of the light and with an concerted effort it goes back to the more familiar red.)

Morning comes.

Tobirama opens his eyes.

They’ve gone back to the normal red-and-black-flecks, Hashirama is relieved to see, and his chakra appears to have stabilized.

“Anija,” Tobirama croaks, his voice cracking. “Tell me –”

But he falls silent.

Hashirama knows what he wants to ask, knows why Tobirama didn’t ask it, and curses yet again his brother’s memory.

He wishes, more than anything, that he could tell him that it had only been a dream.

“Let’s go home,” he says instead. “Get on my back.”

Tobirama’s eyes flicker and change – pinwheels again, and his chakra swells as though he were using some sort of powerful jutsu – but then they return to normal as he forces himself to calm, willpower overcoming his emotions as it has had to do far too many times before.

Looks like whatever the Uchiha did to him, it's not going away anytime soon.

Fine, whatever. It doesn't matter. Hashirama will find a way to make sure Tobirama survives whatever this is - survives and thrives. He will.

He won't let him down again.

“I remember them,” Tobirama says quietly, interrupting Hashirama's thoughts.

“Them?”

“The three you missed. I know what they look like. The next time we go up against the Uchiha, I’ll kill them.”

Hashirama knows Tobirama means it, too; he’s killed before already. If anything, he’s killed more often than Hashirama has, for all that Hashirama’s power is the more deadly – Tobirama knows how much Hashirama hates to strike the finishing blow, so he does it for him when he can, Hashirama finding often enough the shinobi he’s grabbed in the roots of the Mokuton have their throats slit or their lungs filled up with water before he’s forced to crush them.

“Well,” he says, shrugging. “That should make Butsuma happy, at least.”

(It doesn’t save Tobirama from being punished when he gets home, though, and Hashirama’s fists clench so tightly that his palms begin to bleed.)

[hazzasgayvodka]

23 * THE WAY I DO * 23

Impact: Chapter 23

Chapter title song: The Way I Do - Bishop Briggs

JESS

I walk back in the door from class and drop my bag on the couch. The house is nearly silent, but the mustang is parked in the driveway. I make myself another cup of coffee despite it being nearly noon knowing that it'll be a late night tonight. I hear a noise coming from down the hall from a room I've never been inside, the room that used to be Louis's before he moved into my dorm. I grab my coffee and follow the noise, the inconsistent thuds growing louder with every step. I push the door open and my eyes land on him, his back facing me. There's a black punching bag hanging from a hook drilled into the ceiling. It swings back and forth every time he hits it, making the unstable hook shake.

He has earbuds in his ears and his knuckles are wrapped with white tape rather than boxing gloves. His hair is pulled up in a bun under a hood from the jacket over his shoulders. It's steaming hot in here from the heat pouring through the vents, but he's still dressed in a hoodie and long sweat pants. His forehead is dripping with sweat.

It's mesmerizing to watch him, the way he creates a rhythm of hits between his hands and feet. He moves fluidly, kicking his knees up easily and making the bag rock harshly back and forth. I turn to leave before I hear his voice. I face him again and he throws his hood off, tugging the earbuds out of his ears.

"Hey baby, what's wrong?" He pants, wiping the back of his hand across his forehead.

"Nothing," I say, moving back towards the door, "I was just wondering where the noise was coming from."

"Oh, sorry." He says, reaching down to grab a bottle of water and chug some of it down.

"It's okay," I nod, "Aren't you hot?" I ask gesturing to his outfit.

"Yeah, all the time." He smirks smugly.

"Not what I meant." I sigh, shoving him as he comes closer.

He unzips his hoodie and throws it off his shoulders, letting it fall to the ground. His entire chest is dripping with sweat and bruises still cover his torso, looking almost worse today than they looked yesterday. The bandage is no longer across the bridge of his nose, only a large bruise remaining. There's pads taped to his stomach with wires attached, leading to the pocket of his pants. They look like electroshock pads, suction cupped to his skin. He wraps his sweaty arms around me, his veins bulging from his forearms.

"What is this?" I ask, touching one of the pads.

"Electroshock therapy," He breathes, still clearly out of breath, "They help with the soreness."

I nod, my eyes scanning over his chest and stomach where five of the pads are all stuck. I wonder if it hurts, especially with the bruises covering him.

"Are you okay?" He asks, tilting my chin up to meet his concerned eyes.

"Yeah," I sigh, not wanting him to stress about me, "I'm just worried about you, and tonight."

His eyes break away from mine as he stares at the wall behind me, gritting his jaw. I know the last thing he wants to be reminded of is the fact that I have to go to this fight tonight, but I can't seem to get the thought out of my mind.

"It's gonna be okay," He assures me, giving my arms a squeeze, 'I'm not going to let anything happen to you."

"I'm not worried about me, I'm worried about you," I say seriously, reaching my hand to his cheek and rubbing my thumb lightly over the bruise on his jaw, "How bad do you have to lose for everyone to believe it?"

"I'll be okay," He says lightly, "I've been in some bad fights, this isn't even the worst I've been roughed up, dollface."

I frown, moving my hand from behind his ear to his split lip, running my thumb along his bottom lip and making him wince. I wonder how many times he's torn the same skin. I miss the ring that used to sit in the corner of his mouth, he took it out for the fight and it hasn't returned since.

"How many times?" I ask, my voice coming out in a whisper.

"What?" He asks, his eyes searching mine for any indication of what I mean.

"How many times have you split your lip?"

He sighs, looking to the ceiling with squinting eyes. I see him mumbling to himself, his lips moving only slightly as he counts in his head.

"Probably about twelve?" He says, but it comes out sounding more like a question.

"What else?" I ask him, taking his hand in mine.

"I've broken my nose twice and my hand four times, but I've only had one concussion and it was a really long time ago."

I can feel my face fall as he goes on. What if it happens tonight? What if he breaks his hand and he can't write at work or his nose and he's in the hospital to get it fixed. What if he gets knocked out to the point of a concussion and he's unable to do anything for weeks? My mind flickers to Zack's mischievous grin and the unsettled feeling in my stomach grows. I have a horrible feeling about this, about all of this. I know that there's more to this, something I haven't been told.

"Don't let that happen tonight," I say, wrapping my arms around him, "Please."

He pulls me into his chest and sets his head on top of mine as I feel the tears piercing against the corners of my eyes. He holds me tightly against him, I can hear his heartbeat echoing in my ears and his chest heaving as he breathes.

"I'm gonna be fine, baby," He says, running his hand up and down my back, "We're gonna be fine, I promise."

HARRY

Ryland shows up in a black range rover around nine o'clock. He parks it outside and comes to the door with the same guys from dinner trailing behind him. He looks scared out of his mind and it makes my heart beat faster in my chest. His eyes are wide as he walks inside, and I can't tell if he's trying to communicate something to me or not.

Jess comes out from my bedroom dressed in another pair of jeans and my old track and field jacket. Her hair is still curly, just barely touching her shoulders. I love the way it looks when she doesn't straighten it, untamed and fiery, curling around her face and ears. I can't help but laugh as I look at the hoodie she's dressed in. She turns around and I realize why she chose it, although it appears to be a plain black jacket from the front Styles is printed in bold letters across the back like a jersey. She takes my hand in hers and gives it a reassuring squeeze. I grab my duffle bag and throw it over my shoulder as we follow the two guys outside to the car. They stuff us in the far back, Ryland and the brunette sitting in the immediate backseat and the blonde driving.

When we pass by Berkeley Hall, my heartrate skyrockets. He changed the location. No promised texts from Ryland and no notifications from the ring. It can't be a closed match, it defeats the entire purpose, but he wants me in the dark, he's left me out of the details on purpose. He wants me to walk in completely blind.

The car pulls up in front of an abandoned shopping center and stops. All of the store fronts are barren, forgotten 20% off signs still hanging in a few windows. The Kmart logo still stands, only two of the letters actually lit up. Ryland pulls the door open and folds his seat up, ushering us out quickly and across the parking lot to the front doors. The car screeches as it backs up and turns roughly, speeding back towards the road we came from.

As soon as we're being shoved through the glass doors, Jess grabs a hold of my hand tightly, pulling herself into my side as we walk across the concrete floored empty space. It's eerily quiet but as we're walked closer to the back, I can hear the muffled sounds of screaming.

"Where are we? I thought we were going to Berkeley Hall?" She asks quietly, leaning up to whisper in my ear.

"I don't know," I quip, keeping my voice low as I speak through my teeth, "Stay next to me."

She breathes heavily, grabbing onto my forearm with her other hand. I know she's scared, I can hear her heartbeat in the deathly quiet space. We finally reach a door at the back of the store and Ryland pushes past us with a key to unlock it. He turns the knob and kicks it open, shoving both of us through it before closing it back behind us and locking it again.

Suddenly we're standing in a pitch-black room, the screams nearly deafening. Music is coming from somewhere, bass pumping loud enough to rattle the walls. Ryland walks us down the black corridor and into a tiny room at the end. My duffle is already sitting on the couch against the wall and I realize the two henchmen from the car must have come in a different way and left it here.

He slams the door closed behind us and tells me to get ready through the door. Jess is shaking in my arms, her heart beating rapidly in her chest as she stares at the room around us. The walls are painted a dark red and the couch in the corner looks like it's had its fair share of use. There's a mini fridge in the corner, plugged into the wall on the other side of the room from an extension cord. I release her and walk over to it, kicking it open to see it stocked with beers and water. I grab one of the water bottles and hand it to her hoping that it will help calm her down.

I want to say something but the only words that will come to the tip of my tongue is I'm sorry. How could I do this? How could I get her so wrapped up in this so quickly? Because of me, she's standing in an abandoned Kmart on the verge of tears. I know that she's scared, she has every reason to be. The fear is creeping into me too, the louder the screams get the more my blood runs cold in my veins.

She sits on the couch, her body caving in on itself. I grab my duffle from beside her and start to dig through it for my tape. I take it out and unwind it, placing it over my knuckles and wrapping it around them to keep them stiff. She stands from the couch and takes my fist in her shaking hands, finishing wrapping the tape around my knuckles and ripping the tape with her teeth.

She looks up at me expectantly as she starts to wrap the tape around my other hand, waiting for me to say something. She finishes and rips the tape again, pressing it against my skin. I flex my hands, balling them into fists and relaxing them to make sure the tape doesn't affect my range of motion.

"Perfect." I sigh, both of our eyes staring at my roughed-up knuckles.

Ryland walks back in, kicking the door open with his boot, "Five minutes." He barks, shutting the door again.

She grabs onto me suddenly, burying her face into my chest. I can feel her heart racing under her sweashirt. Her hands reach to my neck and thread through the back of my hair before reaching to cup my face. I can tell she's trying to hold it together, she's scared shitless and it's entirely my fault. I wrap my arms around her securely and press my lips to her forehead, wiping my thumbs under her eyes to rid her cheeks of tears.

"Baby, don't cry," I say quietly, knowing I need to get ready but I can't bring myself to leave her right now, "Please don't cry."

"You need to go, put on your gloves and stuff." She breathes, sniffling as she pulls away from me and hastily wipes her eyes.

I walk over to the couch and slide my hands into my gloves, velcroing them across my wrist as tightly as I can handle. I grab my mouth guard and shove it in the pocket of my shorts until I need it. She watches me with close eyes, already bouncing on the balls of my feet to get into the mindset. I have to lose, but I'm not going down without a fight.

The door swings open once again, and Ryland appears behind it much less enthusiastic than he was the last time. He holds it open and nods to me, gesturing outside.

"Game time." He says halfheartedly and the solemn look in his eyes makes me nervous.

I step behind her and walk her in front of me, resting my glove against her lower back to lead her outside. It's then that I see Zack beside him, standing with crossed arms and a wicked grin on his face. He puts his arm in front of Jess, stopping her from walking any further.

"Sorry babe, this is as far as you go." He smirks, reaching to pull me past her.

"No!" I shout, shoving him off me, "She comes with me or I don't go."

His grin grows wider, making the hair on the back of my neck stand up. He seems to be in contemplation, looking between the two of us.

"Fine, you want her in the ring Styles?" He asks, expecting me to say no.

"Yes, in my chair, the whole time." I say through gritted teeth, wrapping my arm around her waist.

She leans into me, her body still shaking. I tense my jaw against my cheek as he keeps walking, leading us through the continuous hallway of corridors until we reach a black double door at the end.

"Break a leg." Zack grins, patting me on the back as he turns back the way we came.

As soon as he's out of earshot I turn to Ryland and have to restrain myself from shoving him against the door and knocking him out as a practice run.

"Who am I fighting?" I ask.

"I-I can't-"He stutters.

I grab him by the shirt and shove him against the wall behind him. He turns his face away from me, pressing against the wall behind him and waiting for my fist to make contact with his head.

"I said who am I fighting, Ryland?" I shout, shoving him harder against the wall with every word.

The double doors are thrown open and I'm nearly blinded by the flash of light coming from the next room after being in the dark hallways for so long. I walk out onto the vinyl floor, dropping Ryland abruptly, my eyes adjusting to the burst of color around me. It takes me a minute to take it all in; the crowd and the lights and the ropes. I look all around me and realize I'm standing in a real boxing ring, an elevated square surrounded by rubber ropes and a crowd of people three times the size I'm used to.

I turn to look at Jess and her mouth is gaping, everyone's eyes on us as we're thrown into the ring. Ryland grabs my shoulders and drags me across to my corner where a metal chair sits next to three bottles of water and two towels.

"Ryland, what the hell-"

"He wanted to make it big, broaden the publicity."

"What publicity? It's an underground ring!" I shout, shoving him.

"He said it's a new wave, he doesn't want the ring to be exclusive anymore-"

He's cut off by the screams of the crowd as Zack enters the ring, his arms spread wide and his usual smile on his face. He has a microphone in his hand and his voice booms through the speakers on all four corners of the ring.

"Good evening!" He grins, "Is everyone ready for a fight?"

The screams in reply are deafening. Jess covers her ears and looks around, still just as confused as I am about the entire spectacle.

"Good, because we have a great match for you tonight!" He smirks, turning to me with that smug expression on his face, "In this corner, Harry "Mayhem" Styles!"

The crowd shouts a chorus of cheers and boos evenly mixed. I step to the center of the ring, leaving Jess behind in the metal chair. I can feel her eyes on me as I face the crowd beside Zack.

"And in this corner," Zack says, turning to the opposite side, "Jackson Jacobs!"

My head snaps to the other side of the ring when the name booms throughout the concrete room. I lock eyes with him as he walks out into the ring, his fists raised in the air. He feeds off the crowd's energy, getting too caught up in the hype as he skips around the ring, raising his hands and joining the crowd as they start chanting his name.

He turns back to me and meets me in the center of the ring. Of course, he would agree to this, he probably jumped at the chance to tell everyone he beat me in a match. He would never have the balls to go against me if he didn't already know I was predestined to lose.

"Would you look who it is," He snaps, narrowing his eyes at me, "Big bad, Styles."

"Shut up, Jackson." I huff, restraining myself from beating his face in.

Zack shoves between us, looking us both over excitedly. I'm sure he's loving this, putting me against someone I could beat in three seconds but forcing me to lose. They share the same wicked look in their eyes as Zack walks back to the front to address the crowd.

"Are we ready?" He shouts, and the crowd lets out a sonic boom of sound that makes the ringing in my ears intensify, "Bump gloves, gentleman."

I lock eyes with Jackson to see him already narrowing his at me. He walks toward me, nodding his head over to Jess sat in my corner.

"So, I was right, wasn't I? About you and little miss party animal?" He smirks, stepping in front of me.

"Shut up, Jackson." I warn him again, tensing my jaw against my cheek as I reach out and bump his gloves with my own.

"How is it? Fucking her? I bet she likes to give, doesn't she?"

I tune his words out, focusing on Zack's voice in the background. I watch his mouth move, not daring to listen to a word coming out of his mouth. I can't let him get to me, not now. I know what he's doing.

"In three-" Zack shouts, counting slowly to build tension.

"She's a real slut isn't she? I mean going between two guys? Sleeping at your house and dating that Miles guy. I bet she's wild isn't she, she's a screamer-"

"Two...one, fight!"

As soon as the words are out of Zack's mouth I'm charging him. I take him to the ground in seconds, sitting on top of his chest and constricting his air flow. He's coughing, the wind completely knocked out of him as my gloves repeatedly pummel his face. I watch as his eyes grow redder and swollen with every hit, his nose starts to bleed, smearing against my white gloves. I repeat his words over and over in my head and the room starts to spin. I can't hit him enough, nothing can put the words back in his mouth. I hear shouts around me as I split his lip and his nose starts to deform, clearly broken. Suddenly, hands are grabbing me and pulling me away, lifting me off of him and dragging me towards my corner. I'm still swinging, my arms won't cease until my eyes land on him from a distance. His body is unmoving and bloodied, his entire face and the vinyl floor around him smothered in it. Ryland drops me in the chair, screaming in my face but I can't comprehend any of his words. I only see his mouth moving and his eyes wide as he points at Jackson being picked up and dragged out of the ring, completely unconscious. The whole world feels fuzzy and the sounds around me are underwater. I shake my head, trying to clear my head and get his voice out of my mind. I shut my eyes tight and open them again to see her in front of me. My eyes flicker to her lips and I watch her mouth the one word I would be able to recognize from a mile away.

"Harry."

She wraps her arms around my shoulders and presses her face into my neck. I want to hold her, but I can't get my arms to move. I can feel the world slowly coming back to itself, my numbness disappearing and the sounds around me starting to make sense. She pulls away from me and meets my eyes, her own watering with tears.

"Harry! What the fuck? He's going to kill you!" Ryland shouts, grabbing my shoulders and shaking me.

Suddenly, I'm ripped from my sedated state. The sounds around me turn back on full volume and my head is throbbing. I'm painfully aware of the soreness of my arms and the blood splattered on my skin. I feel like I can breathe again, hear again, see again. Ryland reaches up and smacks me in the face, getting my attention.

"Are you even fucking listening? Zack is going to kill you!" He shouts, my eyes finally meeting his.

He's livid, acting insane. He's shouting and throwing his arms in the air and shoving me up from the chair. When I stand I look into the crowd and my eyes land on his tall figure sat in the front row. The rest of the crowd is alive, jumping and screaming but he's still. He's stood with his arms across his chest, his cold blue eyes trained on me. I can tell he's not happy, his eyes are narrowed and menacing. Before I say anything, Ryland is shoving me and Jess back into the corridor of hallways. She grabs my hand and my body jolts with electricity, knocking me from my daze.

"Harry, come on!" She cries, tugging me towards her and running back down the halls following Ryland.

I catch on, breaking into a run beside her and never letting go of her hand. She's keeping me tethered to the present, my anchor from my dazed state where the world is red. Ryland stops once we're outside, hunching over to catch his breath. He stands back up and grabs me by the shoulders, shoving me backwards.

"What the fuck were you thinking?" He shouts.

"I wasn't." I breathe, running a hand through my hair.

"Yeah, no shit!" He barks, turning away from me and grabbing his hair in his fists in frustration, "My god, Harry, you fucked up so bad! He'll have you back driving to make up for this one by next week!"

"I thought you were supposed to lose?" She asks, taking my face in her hands and making me look at her.

"I was, I don't know, he just kept saying," I can't bring myself to tell her that it's because of her that I knocked him out, "He kept talking shit and my temper gave out."

Ryland paces in front of me, shaking his head as he tries to think things over, "Your temper gave out? That's it? Harry you almost killed the guy! He tapped out ages before you got off of him!"

"Listen Ryland it's over, it happened, now I need to get her out of here before shit gets ugly!" I shout, shoving him away from me as I finally return to myself.

He grimaces, turning away from me and looking around the corner of the building. I should have put up a bigger fight about being driven here, now how am I supposed to get us home?

"You still remember how to hot wire a car?" He asks, turning back around.

"Well, if it's anything like riding a bike-"

"What? We are not hot wiring a car!" Jess huffs, looking between us incredulously.

"Baby listen," I say, taking her by the shoulders, "We need to get out of here, I'm sorry, just trust me, do you trust me?"

She nods her head, her eyebrows pulling together as she tries to read my face. I can tell she wants me to tell her what's going on, she hates being on the outside of everything, but I've already dragged her in this deep and I don't want to drown her.

I take her hand tightly in mine and follow Ryland around the back of the building to the range rover we came here in. I try the door handle to find it locked and heave out a sigh.

"Ryland-"

I hardly get his name out of my mouth before he's passing me his locksmith kit from his jacket pocket. I shuffle through the tools inside until I wrap my hand around a screwdriver. I place it in the space between the doors and shuffle it in as far as I can before roughly snapping it to the right. I hear the car-lock click and grab the handle again. The door opens, and I hit the unlock button inside so Jess can climb in.

She sits down beside me with wide eyes as I toss the kit into the cupholder between us before leaning down to get a look at the steering column. I knock off the plastic cover and toss it back to Ryland as he hands me his phone with the flashlight on.

"Jess, hold this towards the steering wheel." I instruct, handing her the phone.

She takes it from me in her shaking hands and I start looking for the wiring harness connecter. I duck my head, trying to get a better look to see where each bundle of wires connects to. I grab the group in the middle that lead straight up the steering column and disconnect the two red wires. I put the ends of both wires in my mouth and strip the plastic from around them with my teeth, about an inch down, and twist the now visible metal together.

I can hear Jess' breath puffing out beside me as I do so, the light of the flashlight still shaking due to her shaking hands. I grab the last red wire and connect it to the green ignition wire, twisting them together. The dash lights turn on and I heave out a breath of relief at the same that Jess swears under her breath. Ryland passes me his multitool and I strip the starter wire carefully, holding it as far away from me as I can.

"Lean that way." I tell Jess, nodding to the window behind her.

She shrinks back into the corner of her seat and watches me warily as I touch the end of the starter wire to the two connected battery wires. It sparks, and the car comes to life. I drop the wires and rev the engine quickly, so we don't stall out and have to start from square one. She stares at me in awe or in disgust I'm not sure but the feeling of her looking at me like that makes my stomach turn.

"Thanks Ry." I say, passing him his phone and he smiles.

He closes the door, shutting us in and I put the car in drive, taking off through the parking lot. I can feel the tension between us, she wants to speak up, but she doesn't know what to say. I try to decide where to drive, I can't take her to my apartment, they know where I live, and they'll be knocking on my door before tomorrow morning even hits.

"You know how to break in and hotwire a car," She says uneasily, her voice shaking, "You fight people for a living-"

"I know what it sounds like, my god I know, I didn't want you to be in any of this, I swear." I say, cutting her off and shifting my gaze between her and the road as I try to determine how freaked out she is.

"Harry you just hotwired a car!" She shouts, her calm demeanor finally shattering and her panic taking over, "We just stole a car!"

"We didn't steal a car, I'll give it back, but I have to make sure you're safe first." I assure her, trying to get my bearings as I drive after not knowing where we were.

"Who cares if I'm safe, they're not mad at me! Ryland said he's going to kill you, Harry!" She shouts.

She's hysterical as I pull into her dorm building. She's not crying, only screaming at me. She has my hand in a death grip as I finally stop the car in the parking lot. She's tears her eyes away from me to look around.

"Why are we here?" She asks, her voice finally relaxing.

"You can't stay with me tonight, they know where I live, and I don't want you there when they show up." I explain, rubbing my hand up and down her arm.

"So, they'll come after you, you need to stay here too." She says, grabbing my face in her hands.

I place my hand over hers, holding my cheek. Her whole body is shaking and it's all because of me. It makes me feel sick to my stomach knowing that I caused this, that despite promising to myself that I wouldn't fuck up like this, I did just that.

"I'll be okay, I promise." I assure her.

She meets my eyes, hers watery and glassy from being on the verge of tears. The feeling of not knowing and worrying about me is encompassing her. I want to take her in my arms and tell her that everything will be alright, but I don't know if I'd be telling her the truth or not. She brings my face to hers, pressing her lips to mine and my entire body relaxes with the feeling of her mouth against mine. She pulls away much too fast, letting her forehead lay against mine as she breathes, trying to calm her racing heartbeat.

"I don't want to stay here." She says lowly.

"Come on, let's get you inside." I say, running my hand through her hair and pretending like I didn't hear her.

I move away from her and open my door before running around to grab hers. She steps out of the car and barely glances at me as she walks to the front door. I grab ahold of my jacket over her shoulders, but she shakes me off, pushing past me.

"Jess," I groan, reaching for her hand, "Please don't be like this."

"No, you can't say that," She says, raising her voice as she finally turns around to face me, "I will be however the fuck I want because you expect me to just sit here and wait for you to call me to tell me you're fucking alive later tonight!"

She rips her hand away from my grasp and storms towards the door, not even bothering to glance at me over her shoulder. My chest feels like it may nearly give out, the wind knocked out of me from her words.

"I just want to keep you safe." I whisper just as the door slams and suddenly I'm surrounded in silence.

JESS

I walk in the door to see Sam already waiting inside for me. She runs a hand through her hair before opening her arms wide and it's then that I feel the warm tears burning my eyes. She instantly wraps her arms around me and lays her chin on top of my head. I expect her to ask a million questions and demand that I tell her why I'm crying but she stays still and silent and I sigh with relief.

Her hands are wound tight around my torso, holding me to her, cradling my head in the space between her chest and her neck. She rubs up and down my back with one hand as the tears start coming faster.

"Sam I-"

"I know, he texted me." She says, saving me from explaining myself.

I close my eyes tight and wish I could take everything back. I wish I never told Niall to take me to the fight, I wish I never moved in with him. As soon as I mind starts to whisper I wish I never met him, I stop. It's not true, none of it is. I could never regret running into him at that shitty party, I could never regret all of the car rides flooded with music and mornings wrapped in his arms or kisses across the console of his car.

"So, it's him," She speaks up, continuing to rub my back, "I always knew it would be him, from the minute you walked in the door complaining about him."

"What do you mean?" I ask, standing up to meet her eyes.

"It's him, out of all your wild cards." She says, chuckling a bit to lighten the mood around us.

"What if," I sigh, looking away from her, "What if I don't want it to be him?"

"It doesn't really work like that," She explains, running her hand through my hair, "You don't get to choose, but it's different with him, I can tell. You don't feel the same way about him as you do that Miles kid, I see the way you look at him and the way you look at Harry."

I wish I could shove the words back in her mouth as the tears start to run down my cheeks once again. They repeat themselves over and over in my mind until they're nearly engraved. My head is in a hundred places but ninety-nine of them are Harry. He frustrates me so much. He changes from hot to cold in a matter of seconds, making it impossible to ever keep up with him. He acts stone cold when in reality he's like a blazing inferno, taking everything in his path down with him. He pretends to not have emotions although they're always raging, encompassing him in a whirling of mood swings and rash decisions. He's insane, but maybe I'm insane too. Maybe we make each other insane.

HARRY

As soon as she's inside I get back into the car and pull out of the parking lot before it stalls out. I know she's right, I know it's not fair to her and she's just worried about me, but I've already dragged her too far into this part of my life. I never wanted her to know that it existed, let alone for her to be a part of it.

As I drive back towards my house, anger fills me. They've ruined everything. Zack always seems to come around at the least opportune times and fuck up whatever I have going for me and Ryland has been his right-hand man for as long as I can remember. I've paid my debts to them both and I'm finished running in circles for them. I couldn't fight my way through this if my life depended on it and something tells me that if I tried to slip my way out of this one, that's exactly what I'd be left to do.

Suddenly, I'm driving towards Ryland's house where I'm sure Zack is staying. Why should I wait when I can come to them? I pull up in front of his apartment building and get out, finally disconnecting the wires and letting the rover come to a stop. I take out my phone and text Louis to meet me here in ten minutes. I walk into the building and ride the elevator up to his floor. When I come to his door, I slide my key inside and let myself in.

I'm instantly greeted with a thick sluggish haze that invades my nostrils. It reeks of marijuana and sweat, the smell of gluttony and laziness. Instantly I'm thrown back to age nineteen spending nights in Ryland's bike shop on old striped couches with spliffs in both hands blowing spoke rings in the basement. We'd laugh at nothing, our brains wasting away in the wallowing self-hatred we exuded and welcomed with open arms. We'd listen to our favorite songs, always mellow and much too sweet for my taste. We'd drink until we couldn't remember when we started. We'd dance until we fell on our ass in a pile of our own vomit or worse. We were...happy? I thought it was happy. I thought that was what happy felt like, but then I met her. She makes my face light up in a way I didn't know it could, she makes me want to dance in the living room and sing in the shower. She's my ray of sunshine and I won't let her be dragged into the hurricane I'm living in.

I grab the door handle and swing it open with such force it hits the wall behind it with a loud crack, the sound of a new hole in his dry wall. He comes barreling out of his bedroom, his eyes bloodshot, dressed in nothing but boxers.

"Harry? What the hell are you-"

"Where's Zack?" I ask through gritted teeth.

"Zack? Get the fuck out of here before he hears you!" He whispers harshly, shoving me back towards the door.

I push him off of me and walk further into the apartment, looking around in the dimly lit living room. He's still trying to get me to leave but I'm not going anywhere without finishing this.

"Zack! Get out here and let's get this over with!" I shout, waiting for him to come out of hiding.

"Oh, Harry, I thought you'd never ask." He smirks, strolling into the living room from the other hallway and switching on a lamp.

"I want out," I huff, my heart pumping as I try to look around me to make sure no one else is here, "I'm done fighting."

"Oh, has little miss priss wrapped you around her finger already?" He teases, his eyes menacing in the limited light.

"No," I quip, "I'm doing this for me, I'm done playing these games and being your fucking puppet, now just give me my money and I'll go."

"Your money?" He laughs, raising his eyebrows, "I'm sorry but you were supposed to lose tonight! You're costing me thousands with this fight! After seeing you take down Jackson in all of five seconds, no one is going to volunteer to fight you for weeks!" He seethes.

I watch his two henchmen appear from the opposite corners of the house and I wonder if I could actually take them. They're at least twice my size and it would be two against one, the odds are the furthest from being in my favor.

"This is your thing, you're Harry "Mayhem" Styles! You're going to throw that all away for some girl?" He laughs.

"She's not some girl!" I shout, taking a step closer to him.

Suddenly, the henchmen are springing into action. They grab my arms behind my back and twist them in ways I didn't know joints could allow. I'm struggling against them, my heart beating in my chest as I remember the last time I pissed Zack off. Zack walks up to me and grabs a fist full of my hair, yanking my head up to meet his eyes. There's pain piercing my scalp, but I don't let it phase me, I only let my eyes drill into his.

"What is it about her that makes you soft? Have you let her get too close, Styles?" He chuckles.

"I'm not soft, I'm the same person I was before her," I scoff, "You're just mad that I've moved on, realized that I'm better than all this."

He laughs, letting go of my hair and pacing in front of me. He holds his chin in his hand as he thinks over my words in careful contemplation.

"Better than all this? Is that so? Well by all means then, go, be better." He chuckles, waving his men off and they disappear back down the hall into separate rooms.

I look at him incredulously. It can't be this easy. Last time I could hardly pick myself up off the ground when he was done with me and now he's going to let me walk right out the door?

"She must really be special for you to drop everything for her," He smirks, his words not matching the mischievous grin on his face, "I can't imagine what a girl could do to make me do that, maybe someday, you can let her change me too."

I don't have control of my body as I tackle him against the wall, shoving his head against the dry wall, my breathing already ragged with adrenaline. He laughs as I hold his head back against the wall by his throat.

"I knew it," He chokes out, his throat constricted, "I knew you fell for her."

"Shut the fuck up, Zack!" I shout, my hand tightening around his throat.

"Why? Because I'm right?" He laughs, his eyes maniacal, "I knew she was your trigger, you can't control yourself when she's involved."

"You're not right! I'm done! Just give me my money and fuck off!"

He smirks again, his head rolling back in laughter, his whole body going limp against the wall behind him. He looks actually fucking crazy as he laughs to himself, my hand around his throat.

"You see, this is where we're different Harry," He chuckles, his eyes rolling back to mine, "I'm not scared of anything because I have nothing to lose but you have her, she's your Achilles heel Styles, and one day she's going to realize what you are, and she'll be gone."

I don't realize what I've done until he's on the wood floors clutching his stomach. He's still laughing, rolling on the ground and bleeding from his mouth. He's choking on his words when I leave, writhing on the ground as his maniacal laughter bounces off the walls of the giant apartment. My eyes meet Ryland's as I leave, his are wide even in the dim lighting of the room. I wait for the twin tanks to reappear, but they stay down the hall, leaving Zack coughing up blood.

"You're going to regret this, Styles! This isn't over!"

JESS

"You're thinking about him," Sam sighs, "Right now."

I quickly look up to meet her solemn eyes, slipping from her comfortable embrace. My stomach flips at the thought of him and it's then that I know she's right. I know that I won't relax until I'm in his tattooed arms with his lip ring against the corner of my lips, his warm hands cupping my cheeks, his forehead pressed against mine as I stare into his dark viridian eyes. My heart swells just thinking about it, the thump of my heartbeat already quickening as his face appears in my head.

"I need to go." I think aloud, turning back towards the door.

"I know you do." She says, nodding her head.

I give her a small smile and thank her for being there for me. I open the front door and run down the steps, the cold air hitting me but making me feel alive rather than making me shiver. I turn back towards the street and break into a run. I know his apartment is at least ten minutes away if I'm running but I don't care. The air is cold on my face and I can see my breath puffing out of my mouth, but I keep on running. My heart is racing in my chest with the thought of seeing him and my knees are already weak.

I'm frozen to the bone when I see his apartment around the bend, but it instills a different kind of energy in me and I run even faster. I pass his car in the parking lot and memories of music and driving around at midnight flood my mind and make my heart swell. I reach the door with shaking hands and numbing fingers. I grab the door handle and swing the door open, walking inside.

He comes around the corner from the kitchen with angry eyes until they land on me. His eyebrows lift, a small smile now turning up one corner of his mouth. I look down to his hands where he's holding a rag to them, dabbing at his knuckles.

"Jess, what are you doing here?" He asks.

"What happened?" I ask, disregarding his question and taking his hands in mine.

I look over his busted knuckles and take the rag from him, dabbing against them myself. He sucks in a breath as I do so, and I can tell he's in pain.

"I went over to Ryland's and took care of Zack," He sighs, "I told him I'm done fighting."

I look up to meet his eyes to see him smiling at me. It's a sad smile, I can tell he feels bad about everything but just knowing that he's safe and it's over is enough.

"I'm sorry, god I'm so sorry dollface, I didn't mean to drag you into all of this-"

I close the gap between us, taking his face in my hands and pulling him impossibly close to me. I can feel his smile against my lips as I press my mouth to his. His arms wrap around my waist almost instantly, holding me to him and encompassing me in his warmth.

"Jess, you're freezing." He mumbles against my cheek, pulling away to look at me.

A flood of relief courses through me when I pull away and look into his emerald eyes. I can feel the smile on my face and the lightness of my heart as I drink him in, taking in every aspect of his handsome face. He may be bruised and scraped but he's gorgeous and he's mine.

"Why don't we warm up then?" I suggest, tossing the wet rag behind me and throwing my arms around his neck.

He laughs, wrapping his arms around my waist and pulling me closer to him. I can finally breathe when I see him smiling, really smiling, the kind of smile that reaches his eyes and makes them sparkle. He grins as he picks me up by the back of the thighs and my arms wrap around his neck. I twirl his curls in my hands as his lips move against mine. He walks us around a corner that I know all too well, kicking the door of his bedroom open and carrying me inside.  

Suddenly he's laying my back against a bed and crawling on top of me. His smile never leaves his face as he leans back down to me, his eyes looking more magnificent than ever with the light of the moon being the only light shining in the room.

He brushes his lips against mine, his hands rubbing up and down my arms as they have many times before. I bite my lip when I feel the chill of his lip ring against my cheek and I'm reminded that I really am here with him.

"Are you warming up yet?" He laughs, running his fingers through my hair.

I nod my head, taking his warm hands in mine and placing them just beneath the hem of my shirt. He presses a lingering kiss to my lips as his hands continue to rub small circles into my hips. I feel the electricity in my veins as soon as his hands are on me, the fiery inferno we create in each other, the constant energy bouncing off each other and never resting.

"Tell me when you want me to stop." He breathes, letting his head fall to my shoulder.

I keep my hands ruffling through his hair as his mouth works its way down my neck and his hands massage my torso in ways that I never knew could feel so sensual. His hands are so careful and slow as he lifts my shirt off my body and slides my jeans down my legs. He takes his time, always looking up to me to make sure that I'm okay but I know that I couldn't wipe this smile off my face if I wanted to.

[largehearts]

welcome home, my heart. // @madefate​ gave me feelings again, can you believe?

      Time has started passing again. Adam isn’t completely sure what that moment was when it felt like everything stopped, before – the plunge? Realizing he would not heal, would not fly again? No – that doesn’t seem right. He doesn’t really know why he keeps thinking about this, other than the fact that this, out of everything else, is what keeps him up at night, sitting curled around his knees in bed, the blanket pooled at his ankles as he stares at the silhouette of Takashi sleeping next to him.

      Oh. There’s his answer – and, really, should he be surprised? It’s always come down to him, hasn’t it? It’s Takashi, after all.

      Adam remembers that moment crystal clear: learning Takashi was lost in space, most likely dead, years ago – that’s when his life drained of colour and most meaning. It’s an overwhelming realization now, that such a long time was spent like that, not even truly realizing how many empty hollows he was carrying behind his ribs, and how they bled and melted into each other as time went by, until it felt like Adam himself was an empty space where he should have been filled out with feelings, all sharpness and edges where once he was soft.

      He’s been trying to sand them down again, but it is a time-consuming process, especially doing it in tandem with the physical recovery he finally plunged himself into – though one could not have happened without the other, he knows, for both of these things needed one thing first and foremost: allowing himself to hope.

      It is a good thing hope itself, impersonated, was brought back into his life – the man next to him, sprawled on his back, breathing deep and peaceful – how can something so mundane tighten Adam’s throat to such an incredible extent?

      It has been weeks – months, actually, Adam realizes, momentarily startled; when has the restarted time sped up so much? – since he’s been able to breathe again. It brings other things; an arm that can now be lifted overhead, palms brought together with a mildly uncomfortable sensation that no longer rams knives into his back, two-armed embraces. And of course, outside their little sphere of existence, it has brought disappearing rubble from streets, restarting Academy programs, recuperating survivors, liquidation of the remaining work camps, the continuation of taking to pieces everything that remains from the enemy, like the robot Atlas and Voltron fought, as well as Sendak’s arm and consciousness.

      But these are not the things Adam wants to think about as he lies back down. He tries to be cautious, but Takashi still stirs – unsurprising, all soldiers are light sleepers – and rather than feeling guilty or trying to backtrack, Adam frees the corners of the blanket so he can slide underneath and press himself to the other, as many points of contact as he can manage. Vindicatingly, Takashi’s arm sneaks around his waist immediately, his face pressing into Adam’s collarbone enough that he can barely make out the question, “Bad dream?”

      “Nah,” he replies softly, smiling as he takes a moment to run his fingers through the other’s hair. “Just thinking.”

      “’Bout?”

      Adam thinks for another moment, of everything the passing of time has enabled them to do that they couldn’t before. He draws a gentle trace with his lips from Takashi’s forehead down to the tip of his ear shell, and murmurs in a way that raises goosebumps on the other’s arm, “Date ideas. I’ll tell you in the morning.”

      Takashi’s soft laughter still rings in his ears when he falls asleep, tangled tightly into each other’s hold.

      “Are you sure you’re not too tired?”

      “As sure of it as of the fact that you’ll get punched if you ask me that one more time.”

      Adam flashes a quick grin at Takashi to soften the edge of the words. Yeah, some corners still stick out, sometimes he still needs that sandpaper. However, the sentiment is just as genuine as it was the first time he told the other he didn’t want him to treat him like porcelain, back when they met at the hospital, seeing each other for the first time after the fight was over.

      He gives the other’s left hand a reassuring squeeze, perhaps a little stronger than normal, using the firmness of the grip to show he still has more than enough strength left, even after such an exhausting session of physical therapy.

      But then, that’s part of the reason why they are here in the first place. After all, isn’t it high time he reaps some of the benefits of his hard work and blood and sweat and tears? Isn’t it high time Takashi does, after how he’s been there right next to Adam literally every step of the way?

      Dinner (because of course there is dinner, Adam would not do this any other way than properly) is fairly quiet and overall pleasant, though Adam can tell Takashi’s attention is partially diverted by what they can see of the floor and the couples on it. Finding the opportune lull in their conversation, Adam spears a piece of meat with his fork while allowing his mouth to tug into one of his lopsided smiles, he remarks gently, “Besides, we have to practice.”

      He cannot resist laughing at the splendidly bright redness that spreads all the way across Takashi’s cheeks, reaching up to cover even his ears.

      A few splotches of it are still there (or are they returning?) by the time they stand from the table, and Adam holds a hand out. It’s a little bit like electricity running through him from head to toe, the way he feels the thrill of expectation and excitement as the other takes it, wrapping their fingers together. At the next moment, though, the pinprickly sensation is washed away by the sheer warmth of skin on skin at their joined fingers, as well as the utter look of adoration in Takashi’s eyes that still, even now, catches Adam off guard, like he isn’t even entirely sure it’s him Takashi is looking at.

      He could make a joke about it, he thinks, if he wanted to try. It would likely not be far from what Takashi is expecting, either, if the way his look shifts a little is any indication. (It strikes him, then, too, just how well the both of them can read each other – somehow, it feels both like a miracle and the most natural thing in the world at the same time.) But somehow, it dies in his throat, turns into something completely different – something that wants to respond to what he is receiving exactly in kind, and that something turns humour into candour, twists the amused spark in Adam’s gaze into something hot, soft and sincere. Into a something that pulls at his insides with urgency until they stop among the others, turn to face each other, and before anything else, Adam brings their joined hands up to press the softest of kisses to the back of Takashi’s fingers with reverence in his gaze that he does not take off of the other’s face.

      (Among other things, the blush deepening confirms what Adam knew already; that he didn’t need the joke at all.)

      They’ve done this, before. Very differently – so much younger and more carefree, neither truly knowing war other than from the textbooks they’d studied and then taught, taking it as something that would not ever reach them, and taking this far more as a joke than they do now. Adam remembers the fumbling, the sometimes accidental and then sometimes deliberate fumbling; he seems to remember how he was flat-footed and graceless, and how Takashi was even then full of a charm he himself was completely unaware of.

      Well, some of it hasn’t changed, at least – Takashi is still looking at him like Adam is the best thing he’s ever seen, and as they finally find each other’s shoulders and a rhythm in which they can step fluidly, Adam knows his own face must also be burning. It’s fine – he may do his best to keep most people at arm’s length, even if they rarely notice, he wants Takashi to know the effect he has on him – in all honesty, he more than deserves to, anyway.

      At some point, as the music shifts into something slower and softer, Adam finds them gravitating towards each other, until it’s a proper slow dance, with feet stepping in between each other and chins settled against shoulders – even the lights dimming a little around them, and for a few moments of utter bliss, Adam isn’t even sure if it really did happen, or if he really is just so thoroughly focused on Takashi and nothing else, that the world outside the bubble that contains the pair of them has momentarily ceased to exist. It would be unsurprising, and not at all objectionable – right here, in this moment, this is all Adam cares about in existence: Takashi in his arms, the warmth of his body as their chests press against each other, his soft breathing that brushes against Adam’s hair over his ear, the silk-like feeling of his hand in Adam’s, his grip tightening just for a moment in response to the way Adam runs a small circle with his thumb over it.

      As far as existence goes, this bubble is fairly small, and for a split second that Adam doesn’t allow to expand into anything that would overshadow the moment, he does wonder if there is a discrepancy somewhere, that he is so happy with something so small, when Takashi has always dreamed of things vast and far away. But it doesn’t seem all that immediate now; it feels like it can’t do harm to allow the moment to become overwhelming; to just let any other thought go, as if all other desires and futures are inconsequential. Because, as much as Adam has always hoped – as much as it was impossible not to feel hope next to Takashi – he suddenly realizes there is belief backing it now, too, that this could be enough.

      That, even if it’s only for tonight (though somehow, Adam knows it isn’t anymore), both of them want the same thing. Just this, as Takashi said back at the hospital, clinging to him even as Adam told him he wants him to be free, wants him to have everything he desires, even if some of those things are so impossibly far away from Adam himself. He is unsure, now, how big a part of him really wanted Takashi to take him up on that offer, even if it was made genuinely, and how much of him would have, in turn, shattered completely if he did.

      But that was before Takashi said yes to him, and that thought alone is enough for Adam to be able to switch off the rest of it, everything that makes him wonder or worry, and focus all the attention he has into the present, with the love of his life in his arms.

      When, after another faster number, they finally walk back to the table, Adam notes with satisfaction that his request was heeded – but even so, he is caught off guard by the way Takashi’s eyes seem to glaze over for just a moment at the sight of the single red rose left by his plate. “Incredible, he says as they sit down, Takashi picking up the flower and twirling it once cautiously between his fingers, and laughing when the other looks up at him, startled.

      “What?”

      “How much of a dork you are,” Adam says, his eyes shining with the barely withheld mirth, which only grows as Takashi rolls his eyes. “Apparently, I’m stuck with it now, though.”

      “Apparently,” Takashi says, his voice deadpan, but his eyes filled with an amount of tenderness Adam keeps forgetting can even exist, and maybe, maybe he’s also just the slightest bit misty by the time he is pulled into a deep kiss.

      As far as the passing of time is concerned, Adam is more than fine spending the rest of his life this way.

[holdyourbreathuntilyouseelight]

Hands to Myself - Part II

Summary: After Alec comes out to his family, Jace drags Alec to an LGBT friendly strip club so he can ‘expand his horizons’ since he hasn’t even attempted to date or meet anybody new. Alec reluctantly agrees only because he’s grateful Jace is so supportive. While there, his eyes land on an intoxicating man whose body moves so fluidly Alec can’t keep his eyes off of him. Once Magnus is alone with him, he, too, finds himself enraptured by the younger man.

Rating: MA

Genre: Smut, Romance, Friendship, Everyone is Human AU

Author: dylanobrienstyler

A/N: I did my best to be as realistic and accurate as possible so please forgive anything lacking in that department. Please be aware I upped the rating on AO3 from Mature to Explicit FOR A VERY GOOD REASON. The smuttiest, gayest thing I’ve ever posted on here, dear god I’m trash for these smitten kittens.

Title inspired from Selena Gomez’ song of the same name. This is the final part of the two-part series. Feedback of all kinds is very welcome!!

Also can be read on AO3!

Part I on Tumblr can be found here.

Chapter Two - Corruption

Magnus had left Alec alone in the room hours ago, yet he swore he had left a piece of himself behind too.

He had gone back to work, trying to compartmentalize his thoughts as he usually did so he could focus on putting on the best show he could, but his mind drifted against his wishes. He certainly hadn't expected anything that ended up transpiring in that room when he first heard he had been requested for a private dance.

His eyes found the man he had just soloed for shortly after his return to stage, Alec meeting up with a blonde man around his age at the bar and heading out of the door immediately. He felt his heart sink at the concerned looks shared between the blonde and the bartender, knowing both were questioning what had upset the boy.

Magnus swallowed his pride and concentrated on the music, effectively pushing Alec to the back of his mind now that he had left the building for good.

Thankfully, his shift was only a couple hours longer and finally closing time came around. Magnus rushed towards the back room, ready to gather his things and get the hell out of there. He wanted to be alone with his thoughts; he'd clean up and take off his make-up at home.

"Everything okay with you, Mags? Maia said you stole someone's puppy earlier." his coworker and long-time friend Dot said as she sat down next to him.

"I did what?" he couldn't help but ask, bewildered by the statement.

Dot smiled a little. "One of your private requests. She said he left looking like someone stole his puppy. Did you reject him or something? Turn down a marriage proposal?"

Although it wouldn't be the first time he would've had to do so, at least the former, Magnus shook his head. "No, nothing like that. Just a little… sexual awakening for the young man, I think. Always a little rough."

Dot nodded sympathetically. "You've just seemed off since then too. Anything you want to talk about?"

Magnus cast his eyes around to see they were alone, some of the others already gone and the few still around away in the showers.

He wasn't sure if he was ready to talk about it though. Despite spending a lot of the night thinking about it, it wasn't exactly something prideful he was looking to admit.

Unfortunately for him, she didn't miss the guilt settling on his face. "Uh oh. I know that look. Something happened. What did you do?"

"Now, why would you assume I'm at fault here?" he said, hand on his chest in mock-incredulity.

"Because I know you, Magnus. What happened?"

Sensing defeat, he sighed. "I… I may have made a mistake with him. Broke a big rule."

Dot's eyes went round. "Magnus!" she whisper-shouted. "Raphael will kill you!"

"Not if he doesn't find out." he said, rolling his eyes at her dramatics. "Plus, he owes me a lot. I practically raised him."

"I don't think babysitting him every time his parents went away counts as raising him."

"It does when they were as absent from his life as they were."

Dot poked him in the shoulder. "Stop changing the subject. What. Did. You. Do."

Magnus exhaled, thinking back to the raven-haired boy. "Well, things were going well. Everything panning out as expected. He was shy and nervous but overly respectful, if anything. And then, to my surprise, in one heated moment, he leaned forward and kissed me."

His friend watched him carefully, seeming wary by his answer, as if waiting for more. "O-kay… here I thought it was a big deal. Sheesh, Mags, you know we've all had the odd one do that. Just because you didn't rat him out doesn't mean you're the devil. I mean, you said he was young, right? It was probably just a first timer mistake. It's not that wrong to let it slide."

He looked down, knowing he couldn't look his friend in the eye during his true confession. "Well, he pulled back in a panic, apologizing profusely, but I… I was the one who kissed him again."

This time Dot's jaw hit the floor. "Magnus!"

"I know, I know." he groaned. "But, Dot, I can't explain it. Something about him has me feeling a way I haven't in a long, long time. I haven't been able to get him out of my head all night. It's like he shoved all of my rationality and professionalism aside and nestled in like a stray cat."

Dot took his hands in hers, pulling out her best maternal intimidation look. "Magnus… you can't be doing things like that. Raph would lose his shit if he knew you were letting yourself fall for a client, and, more importantly, acting on it while you're working."

"I know." he said softly.

She squeezed his hands. "I'm sorry. I know you don't need the reminder. Are you going to see him again? See if something's really there?"

He blew out a breath. "Doubtful. I think I scared him off for good. That's what I get for freaking out after things finished up."

Dot nodded sympathetically. "Well, go home. Try to get some sleep. Maybe things will look better tomorrow."

Magnus half-shrugged, not even bothering to try to put his heart into her false optimism. "Goodnight, love."

"Goodnight."

Magnus threw his bag over his shoulder and exited out the back door, cutting through the alleyway in the hope of getting home faster.

He needed to get home, wash off, and hopefully rid his mind of the young man who had managed to reduce him to an adolescent with a crush.

"Hey, sexy. Did you come down here just for me?" a slurring voice came, browning teeth shining through a drunken grin as the man stepped out of the shadows.

Magnus felt his stomach clench. The last thing he could handle was one of the men from the club asking for more from him that he was giving. It wouldn't be the first altercation he had, and surely not the last, but tonight was not the night.

His jaw set. "No, I didn't. I'm just passing through. Excuse me."

Magnus made to rush by him, but the older man snagged him by the strap of his bag, pulling him back.

"Oh come on. I've seen the way you dance. You know how to give me what I want. And I want it now."

"You're going to have to look elsewhere." Magnus growled, wrenched his bag back.

The blow to his face took him by surprise, and Magnus found himself sprawled across the pavement before what happened caught up with him.

His arm stung and his hand reached up to touch his cheekbone, an angry mark no doubt forming from the hit he just received.

Instead of verbally responding, Magnus leapt to his feet with surprising speed and spun into a kick that hit the sleazy man directly in the chest, sending him soaring into a pile of garbage bags with a grunt.

"I have those moves because I do martial arts, prick." he spat at the man who was groaning, the wind knocked out of him.

Magnus rushed out of the alley and down the street. He was not going to wait around for him to gain his wits back.

God, he just needed to get home. Separate himself from human beings for a while. This night was just getting worse and worse. If one more thing happened, he swore—

But he was so distracted by his panic, he ended up running headlong into something solid, and, for the second time that night, he found himself falling backwards to the ground.

"Jesus, I'm so sorry. I didn't see you." a worried voice came, and Magnus looked up.

He couldn't control his jaw from dropping.

The man above him seemed to recognize him in the same moment and froze.

"It's not your fault. It's mine. I wasn't watching where I was going. Thank you, Alexander." he murmured as Alec helped him to his feet.

"I… um…. Are you okay?" Alec suddenly asked, catching on that the no doubt bruise forming on his face was not from running into Alec's chest, however solid it may be. "You're bleeding!"

Magnus looked down at his forearm, where he had scraped it after he fell the first time, and forced a smile. "Oh it's nothing. I just ran into somebody who was asking for more than I was giving, and, you know, he didn't like hearing the word no. It's not the first time. Price of the business and all." he rambled, not even sure what he was saying anymore.

Alec's eyes narrowed in concern as he swept his gaze over the Asian man. "Can I walk you home?"

Magnus wasn't sure what to say. On one hand, he'd be breaking about the biggest rule in the business ever. You don't ever let a client know personal details about you, especially your home address. It couldn't have been a more stupid thing to do. Dot would kill him before Raphael even had a chance.

But something about Alec, from the beginning, made him trust that he was a good soul, so Magnus simply nodded, feeling the moisture push at his eyelids at the man's sweetness.

Once at his loft, the walk home virtually silent, Magnus dumped his stuff by the door and gestured Alec to make himself at home. Instead, Alec headed to the bathroom and managed to locate his first aid kit, before instructing Magnus to sit down and working on cleaning up his wounds.

"You don't have to do this." Magnus couldn't help but say as he sat pathetically before the man he hadn't stopped thinking about all night.

"I don't remember you forcing me into it, so I think it's safe to assume I want to." Alec teased gently, grimacing as Magnus' arm twitched when he applied alcohol to his skin. "Sorry."

Magnus shook his head to excuse his apology but didn't speak.

Once his scraped arm was cleaned up and looking less gruesome, one of Alec's big hands cupped Magnus' cheek to angle his face so he could get a better look at the mark.

"Whoever they were, they hit you pretty hard. You probably want to ice that to manage the swelling, but otherwise, I'm afraid you'll just have to wait for it to disappear on its own."

Magnus nodded, his eyes on the floor now, but Alec caught the drop of water that slipped from his cheek, and more followed against his will like a leaking roof.

Without a second thought, Alec moved to pull him into a hug, Magnus burying his face in Alec's shoulder.

"Shh, you're okay. You're fine. You're safe now." Alec murmured, stroking up and down Magnus' back, sliding up to nestle his fingers in his dark hair.

Magnus let himself be comforted. He knew he shouldn't, knew that it wasn't right to ask this of a stranger, but he hadn't felt this vulnerable in a long time. And he felt he could trust Alec somehow. He felt safe with him somehow.

It was part of the reason why he had screwed up so spectacularly at the club before. Alec had kissed him with such surprising gentleness that Magnus found himself completely lost in him and was kissing him again before his brain could catch up. And then Alec held his face in his hands like it was the most precious thing in the world. Even when he was free to touch him, a half-naked man he was clearly very attracted to, Alec stuck with gentle, tender strokes. Strokes that made Magnus feel worshipped, loved even. It was such a contrast to the usual groping and pawing he normally endured that he completely forgot that he hadn't openly volunteered to be alone with Alec of his own accord.

And then Alec spent so much time watching his eyes, not peering at his body like some sort of ogling ape. Magnus was literally gyrating in his lap and Alec was completely entranced watching his face, holding eye contact. It was so intimate it had made Magnus shiver. He had never experienced anything of the sort in the business. He had no idea what to make of the man.

Normally, he had a pretty good sense when a man was about to climax. There were signs of course, especially when you were as close as Magnus was to Alec at the time. He had felt the shortened breaths, the loss of rhythm in his hips, the hardness of his arousal pressing against him. He had known when he was close, even without Alec's whispered warning. In a typical scenario, Magnus wasn't one to wait it out, instead ending things before they got to the point of no return. Sometimes he didn't have a chance to break things up, but he'd at least move away to make sure they didn't soil him too. But with Alec, he wanted to feel him cum. He wanted to experience him climaxing, to feel him spasm in his arms. Alec had been so dignified when he came, the way he sang Magnus' name out like a prayer, the way his body arced and shuddered through every last spasm. He was beautiful. He was downright glorious.

Once the euphoria of bliss passed, Magnus realized he had messed up. That he shouldn't have done such things. And the guilt for taking somewhat advantage of the young man ate at him. Alec had signed up for a private dance, sure, but he didn't sign up for someone to reverse their agreement to watch him come undone. The show was supposed to be Magnus, not Alec.

So he folded in on himself, cursing his actions. He was the experienced, mature professional. He was the one supposed to be the one setting and maintaining the boundaries. And then the familiar look of shame had settled into Alec's features, and he remembered how inexperienced the boy was. He knew the look, knew the shame coating his skin was the fault of the fact that Magnus was a man who invoked such sexual pleasure that he climaxed right then and there. So Magnus crossed the room and praised the boy for his bravery, because he was brave. He not only gave himself over to a stranger, let himself be so vulnerable, but he had come to the club in the first place, agreed to something terrifying, and managed to do it all with great dignity and maturity despite his intense nerves. He knew many in a similar position who handled things entirely different and he couldn't help but admire him for it. He was on the difficult road to acceptance and part of that was the rocky pathway of enduring scary experiences like giving up control so you could feel what you really feel. He had a feeling Alec wasn't one to give up control easily either.

Magnus managed to get a hold of himself and pulled back from the kind man, blushing now. He wasn't sure it was noticeable given the mark on his face and his naturally darker skin tone, but he didn't want to meet Alec's eyes to find out.

"Hang on. I'll be right back." Alec murmured, disappearing again.

Magnus didn't really feel like moving anyways, the weight of the day pressing on him, and Alec returned a moment later with a bottle of make-up remover and some cotton facial pads.

Magnus felt the briefest of smiles ghost across his lips as Alec got to work cleaning off his face from the smudged, tear-stained make-up he was currently sporting. Well, if he was hoping to impress Alec on their next meeting, he was doing a bang-up job.

Alec worked silently, his brow furrowed in concentration as he worked, and Magnus tried not to find it endearing. He had a feeling Alec was sort of the intense type.

"Better." he said after a few minutes, leaning back to admire his handiwork.

Magnus certainly felt cleaner. He stood gingerly.

"Thank you. I'm just going to jump in the shower really quick. You know, try to wash off that creep."

Alec nodded and Magnus disappeared into the bathroom, hoping the water would clear his head.

Alec sat on the couch after cleaning up everything he had dragged out there, drumming his fingers against his thigh. The way Magnus had stated it, he assumed he was expecting Alec to be there after he got out. Or should he leave? He wasn't really sure what the protocol was. Was there a guidebook for what to do when you walk your stripper home after he's been attacked and you gave him first aid?

Alec let his eyes drift around the room. He couldn't help but be amused at how Magnus-like the loft was. Eccentric, elegant décor and a lot of bold colours and choices. A lot like how Magnus dressed at the club. Alec figured the bold side to him wasn't an act.

Alec noticed some mail on the coffee table. They were addressed to Magnus Bane. So Magnus was his real name? For some reason, the confirmation made him smile.

The identified man returned after a few minutes in just a silk robe, hair damp but looking much more like himself, sans make-up. He sat next to Alec, sending him a tender smile.

"Thank you, Alexander. For everything. You didn't have to come to my aid like that. I appreciate your concern, however, and that you helped me in my time of need."

"It was nothing." Alec said, rising to his feet. This was sounding like a polite farewell, and he figured he should take the hint and get going.

Magnus watched him inquisitively. "What were you doing roaming around alone at that hour anyways?"

Alec corrected his throat, not meeting the older man's eyes. "I, uh, couldn't sleep. So I went for a walk."

"You do know New York can be a dangerous city to wander alone in, right?"

"Well if I didn't before, I certainly know now." Alec reminded him, a sly smirk resting at the corner of his mouth.

Magnus tried to hide a smile and failed. "Something troubling you, Alexander?"

Alec didn't know what to say. It was sort of awkward to admit that he had been so wrapped up in thoughts about Magnus that he hadn't been able to sleep. He lay in bed for a couple hours before giving up, even the alcohol he consumed not helping encourage slumber.

"Just… couldn't shut my brain off, I guess." he said with a shrug.

Magnus stood to meet him, noticing now the height difference between them despite having walked next to him earlier. Alec had been sitting for most of the night before that, so he hadn't quite seen it for himself, but he didn't mind it at all.

"You have nothing to be ashamed of, you know. Feeling how you feel." Magnus stated.

Alec wondered in a panic if he could somehow read his thoughts, understand that Alec had developed stupid feelings for the man he barely knew in a very short period of time. But then he continued.

"I see it a lot at Pandemonium. Some people are comfortable with their sexuality, some are still battling some inner demons despite accepting it in some ways, and others are merely questioning. You seem to have mostly accepted yourself."

Alec nodded. "I, uh, come from a strict family who weren't exactly thrilled at the revelation. It's been… tough. Trying to balance being myself and being the son my parents want."

Magnus' eyes grew sorrowful. "I'm sorry."

"It's okay. I have really supportive siblings. Hence my reason for meeting you tonight in the first place."

"Ahh, your friend at the club?"

He nodded. "My brother Jace. Adoptive, technically, but he's been family long enough it feels the same."

"Any other siblings?"

"Two. My younger sister Isabelle and my little brother Max."

"So you're the oldest."

He nodded.

Magnus smiled, understanding the man before him a little more already. He had a certain level of expectations put on him, likely by his parents but no doubt by his own hands as well. Wanting to be a role model for his siblings, wanting to please his parents' wishes. Being gay under a strict household with all of those expectations hanging over your head would certainly be tough.

"What about you?"

Magnus shrugged one shoulder slightly. "Just myself, I'm afraid. My parents are long gone as well."

Alec's expression changed. "I'm sorry."

Magnus waved a hand, dismissing his concern. "It was a long time ago. I've done fine on my own."

After the words left his mouth, he wondered if Alec would agree, considering where they met. Not everyone supported the lifestyle he lived. He knew it could be tough to swallow.

And then of course, there was the way he behaved during their private session.

He took a deep breath. Now was as good a time as any, since the opportunity had presented itself. "I feel like I owe you an apology."

A line formed between Alec's brows, confusion etched on his face. "Why?"

"For what happened earlier tonight. At the club."

Alec felt his skin burn hot in embarrassment. Oh god, Magnus had read his mind and he was going to let him down gently. Apologize for leading him on. Tell him about the psychological facts behind clients falling for strippers, throw statistics at him so he didn't feel like a complete freak.

He should just run. Just run straight out of there and never look back.

But he was glued to his spot, eyes completely locked on Magnus.

"I… I crossed the professional line with you. It was my mistake. I shouldn't have taken things as far as I did. It started catching up to me after we finished up that I was taking advantage of you…"

But Alec cut in. "Taking advantage of me how? I kissed you first, remember?"

"That was just you, being caught in the moment…" Magnus dismissed. "I was the one who took things further."

"Did you hear me complaining?" Alec asked, flaring up a little at the idea of Magnus beating himself up over the best part of his night. "Magnus, I literally got off while you kissed me because I enjoyed it so much. Do you honestly think I hadn't been wanting to do that all night? I wanted a lot more than that, but I didn't want to push and get kicked out or get you in trouble and I thought it was all me and you were just being good at your job… I couldn't sleep tonight because my mind kept drifting back to you, wondering if I upset you or grossed you out when I came in my pants like a pubescent schoolboy…"

Magnus didn't even realize he had stepped closer until he felt Alec's body heat bleed into the thin layer of his silk robe. He clued in rather quickly how undressed he was.

Alec was standing before him, chest rising and falling rapidly from his passionate argument, and Magnus felt longing light up his spine.

"Alexander…"

Alec looked down, seeming to try to gather his thoughts. "Look, it's fine that you don't feel this… connection to me that I feel to you. I get it. I'm young, I'm inexperienced, and I'm the last thing someone like you would be interested in. But don't try to push the blame onto yourself for the sake of my dignity. I know I screwed up. I'm sorry for that. I signed off on that stupid rule list and I still managed to mess up. But I know it was one-sided and you were just being nice, to make me feel less stupid. So don't… don't try to spare my feelings by blaming yourself."

Magnus was finding himself stepping closer, straightening up his posture to level with the man better, his air entering and exiting his lungs quicker too. He couldn't believe the blasphemy coming from the younger one. Did he really have no idea how captivating he was?

"Quite the contrary. Feeling you get off nearly set me off too, or could you not feel how aroused I was? My job, normally, is the very opposite of arousing, despite what it might seem. It's all groping hands and emotionless exchanges, faking smiles and attraction while going off to gag about it later." He turned away in shame. "But then I'm with you and I'm ready to climb you like a tree… The things I want to do to you, Alexander…"

And that was all he could take. He wasn't even conscious of his actions. All Alec knew was that he was suddenly crushing Magnus against his chest, lips descended on his as he kissed him fiercely on the mouth.

Magnus faltered a little, surprised, before groaning and knotting his fingers in his black hair, kissing him back just as hard.

This was the kind of passion he had been missing from the boy earlier—the guttural lust that he was acting on now made it clear he was as deep in as Magnus was. He loved the tender, gentle side too, but his attraction to the man before him left his desire running the show.

Alec was backing him up to the couch, causing Magnus to perch on the edge of the arm rest, stretching desperately to reach him. Alec's hands tucked under Magnus' thighs and guided him to wrap his legs around his waist. Magnus wasted no time in acquiescing, tugging his locked legs so their pelvises could meet deliciously. Alec wasn't the only one who whimpered at the friction. There were so few layers between them, but somehow too many at the same time.

For someone inexperienced, Alec certainly appeared to know what he was doing. His hands had found Magnus' lower back and was helping to support each thrust his hips pushed forward. Magnus' fingers tugged on the hem of Alec's shirt impatiently, and Alec yanked it over his head as if clothing was the most inconvenient thing invented. It almost made Magnus laugh right then, despite the heat forming between them.

But then Alec's mouth was placing scorching, open-mouthed kisses along his throat and he could barely concentrate on anything else. His fingers scratched at Alec's scalp, encouraging his motions, tightening his legs around his waist so he knew he very much liked what he was doing.

Alec's lips closed around his Adam's apple, smirking a little at the way it bobbed in retaliation, and then he switched to nibbling at the junction between his neck and collarbone, his hot tongue lathering over the spot as some sort of sensual finale.

All Magnus knew was this had to be one of the hottest make-out sessions he had had, and he wasn't exactly an innocent when it came to lovers.

His fingers found Alec's waistband and he worked on getting his zipper down and freeing the hardness he could feel beneath the material. His mind was so clouded with arousal he didn't even think to stop and ask if it was okay, his mind completely forgetting that Alec was less experienced despite his expertise showing otherwise.

But Alec seemed just as desperate, stepping back from his tight hold so he could push the pants over his hips. He kicked them away irritably before going back to what he was doing.

Magnus distracted him by finding his mouth with his own again, his nails scraping through Alec's chest hair and down to his toned abdomen. He'd have to ask him about his workout regime later because Alec could very easily blend in at Pandemonium with the incredible body he had. Magnus' hands could barely find a spot to stay, wanting to touch all of him, to fully consume the man before him.

There was a happy trail of dark hair leading to below his boxer brief's waistband, where the bulge of arousal was pressing against Magnus. He finally gained enough oxygen to fuel his brain cells into speaking coherent English.

"Alexander… are you sure you want to keep going? This feels like it's heading in a very specific direction and I don't want you to feel like you have to do this to keep me interested. Trust me, I'm interested. In more than just your body."

Alec was panting hard now, leaning his weight into Magnus to keep himself steady. His hair was mussed, lips plump and dark, and Magnus was a little proud at how thoroughly corrupted he looked. He looked like walking sex.

"I know. I am for you too." he said, and Magnus shivered at the husky quality to his tone. "But this… feels oddly right. I don't know how to explain it, but I've felt magnetized to you all night… It feels like this, me and you, was inevitable."

Magnus' eyes widened at the proclamation, surprised at the confession that coincided with his own feelings. He had felt a pull to Alec almost instantly and he too felt as though there was something stronger dragging them together.

"Okay. But you tell me, no matter how far things get, if you want to stop at any time, okay?"

Alec nodded, pulling him into another deep kiss to distract him before he jolted his own hips to help gain leverage to lift Magnus up into his arms. Magnus whined into his mouth, pressing his body flush against his lover's, and Alec attempted to find the bedroom without separating them too much.

"We could've done things out there, you know. I wouldn't have minded." Magnus teased against his ear as Alec climbed on top of him on the silk sheets.

Alec rolled his eyes. "Forgive me for wanting to be a gentleman."

The look of adoration Alec had caught at the club earlier in the night shone through Magnus' eyes again, and this time Alec leaned down to kiss him softer, slower, taking his time to tumble his lips over the other man's.

Magnus immediately met his pace, hands sliding languidly down Alec's muscular back, skimming across his ass and back up again.

He didn't miss the little twitch his intimate touch invoked, and his lips curled up in a smile against Alec's mouth.

"Shut up." Alec grumbled.

Magnus laughed, effectively breaking the kiss. "I didn't say anything."

Alec chose not to respond, instead zoning his eyes on the gaping robe. So far it was only giving him a good view of the expanse of Magnus' chest, but he knew it was hiding more. More that he couldn't wait to reveal.

But of course, his nerves were beginning to settle in. It was only natural now that his adrenaline was dying down. His instinct had taken over when he was fueled by frustration and pent up sexual tension, but now, as things settled into a more comfortable rhythm between them, his anxiety found time to awaken.

Magnus seemed to catch on, his eyes reading the change in expression. Alec had been completely dominant and in control when his body was leading things, but now it seemed his mind was battling to overthrow it.

"Hey. We can take things slow." Magnus reminded him.

Alec breathed through his nose. "I just… haven't really done… much of anything. I wish I knew how to avoid disappointing you."

Sensing his emotions catching up with him, similar to at the club, Magnus tugged so Alec was lying next to him, switching to his side so he could look at him properly.

"Alexander. Don't psyche yourself out. I may be experienced, but this is my first time with you, which makes me vulnerable too. I don't know your preferences, or what you like. It's about discovering each other, and sometimes it can be a bumpy road. We just need to communicate with each other and try to relax and enjoy it."

Alec remembered a similar spiel at the club before his private dance and exhaled slowly. He was right, of course. Alec just had a hard time convincing the rest of him to stop thinking and let himself go.

Magnus reached out to touch his face, rubbing his thumb across Alec's cheekbone. "The only way you will disappoint me is if you don't speak up when you're uncomfortable in any way, okay?"

Alec finally found his lungs working on their own better and nodded.

Sensing a win, at least for now, Magnus crossed the distance between them and began kissing him again.

Alec forced himself to relax and focus on the feel of Magnus' mouth on his own, moving closer as Magnus' tongue licked its way inside his mouth.

He hooked an arm around Magnus' waist and lifted him so he was lying on top of his chest, causing Magnus to twitch his hips in reaction.

"What?" Alec couldn't stop himself from asking, wondering why Magnus seemed to enjoy that quite a bit.

He rolled his eyes to the heavens. "I'd explain, but then you'd probably argue with me for ten minutes, and I'd rather get naked with you."

Alec's body was the one who reacted that time, his bulge of arousal nudging against Magnus' growing erection.

He moved forward to kiss him again, and, with newfound confidence, began slipping Magnus' robe down his arms and off the bed in a graceful swoop.

Finding the strength to open his eyes, he let his eyes roam down the length of Magnus' body, and just as quickly threw his head back against the pillow in anguish.

Magnus tried to keep his amusement at bay, instead kissing along Alec's neck at an attempt at a distraction.

"Like what you see?"

Alec turned his head and made a muffled groan into the side of the pillow. "I'm most definitely gay. Didn't really doubt it before but there's no denying it now."

Magnus grinned, and Alec couldn't help but smile as he gazed back at him. It was still pretty surreal that he was in bed with the magnificent man that he was. That Magnus wanted him too.

Determined not to waste a minute of it, he cradled a hand behind Magnus' head and pulled him into a heated kiss, hissing in desire as Magnus deliberately rubbed his hardness into Alec's clothed one.

Alec bit his lip as he wriggled underneath Magnus, slipping a hand between them to push his underwear down.

Magnus caught on quickly and helped him remove it, giving a similar noise of appreciation Alec had allowed his nakedness.

Both bare-skinned and exposed, Alec wasn't really sure what to do next. He knew this was sort of the beginning, and he knew from his own personal education on the matter about the logistics to get to the end, but the middle where things got built up to reach that end, he wasn't so sure.

Thankfully, Magnus knew was he was doing and stretched above him to get at his night table drawer.

He slipped a bottle out of the wreckage and left it to the side as he crawled up to meet their mouths again.

"I'm going to touch you, okay?"

Alec made an unintelligible sound but nodded quickly, bracing himself for the oncoming pleasure so he didn't lose complete control. Still, when Magnus' slicked hand made contact with his sensitive flesh, his hips bucked upwards into the closed fist against his wishes.

Magnus didn't let it slow his motions though, his strokes starting out slow and lengthy before picking up pace.

"Magnus…" Alec moaned, arching his back to get himself closer to the tightness surrounding him.

He was gorgeous like this, Magnus couldn't help musing, as Alec gripped the silk sheets in his fists, his skin flush and his body in complete control again. Seeing him losing himself to his pleasure was intoxicating.

Alec's hand clawing at his arm caught his attention and he slowed his hand's movements.

"It's too good… I don't want this to end so soon…" Alec mumbled, his voice catching when Magnus' wrist twisted a little as he removed his hand.

Once he had a hold of himself, Alec propped up on one elbow and scooted over to where Magnus was lying. He wasn't really sure what he should do next, but he knew he wanted to try being a more active participant. The only thing was that he had never tried anything sexual on anyone else before, so he wasn't exactly confident in how to get Magnus to the overly pleased mess he had managed to get him to twice in one day.

However, what Alec lacked in experience, he made up for in determination, and he was damn well determined to make Magnus feel even half as good as he had made him.

"Can I touch you too?" Alec murmured, the idea already making his skin shiver.

"Of course." Magnus replied, fingers teasing at Alec's dark locks. He seemed so very at ease, and the comforting feeling of his hand in his hair gave Alec an idea.

Shimmying down the length of the bed, Alec got comfortable on his knees on the rug. He made sure to pull the lube down to his end and spread his hands up the tops of Magnus' thighs.

Magnus seemed to catch on to where he was going since he exhaled heavily, his body curling up on itself in preparation of what was to come.

Alec ran his thumbs up his inner thighs, spreading his legs a little more and trying to figure out how to best situate his lover's body. He hadn't ever had something of this nature done to himself but had seen plenty of visual evidence during his time alone, so he guided Magnus' legs over his shoulders and nestled himself closer to the heated flesh before him.

He was happy to see his own pleasure had had an effect on the older one's anatomy, and he grasped the firm appendage in his hand. With a drizzle of lube on his palm, he slid his hand down to the base, somewhat fascinated by the neatly trimmed hair around there. He supposed Magnus' lifestyle sort of dictated things like that, but he'd be lying if he said it didn't lessen some of the intimidation of taking him deep into his mouth.

Magnus had only twitched under his touch, remaining quiet so far, and Alec had a feeling it was to avoid scaring him off. He was practically equivalent to a skittish deer; one wrong move or slightest of noises, and off he would run, never to look back.

However, once Alec let his lips surround the head, Magnus let out a guttural moan that sounded near primal in nature. It made it very hard for Alec not to grin in pride.

Instead, Alec ventured further, using his hand to massage the opposite end as he kitten-licked at the tip and along the length. He tested different techniques, using different pressures and amount of tongue, soft kisses and hard sucks along the skin and behind to where his other sensitive flesh lay, but the best was the most obvious—when he took Magnus fully in his mouth.

Magnus keened once he was fully enveloped in Alec's mouth, his fingers raking through his hair in encouragement. He was trying to control his hips from thrusting forward into the wet heat, knowing that that would be too much too fast, but it was extremely difficult, especially when he sat up to see the twinkle of utter excitement in Alec's eyes.

Alec sucked deeper, breathing better through his nose now that he was starting to get the hang of what he was doing and the nerves were subsiding, and he tried his best to apply pressure with his tongue to the vein pulsing beneath the shaft. The weight of Magnus in his mouth was oddly satisfying, Alec gradually taking in extra length as he tipped his chin to let more of him in, and Magnus' shaky petting to his hair alerted him that he was doing just fine.

After a few enjoyable moments, Alec pulled back, mostly to gulp in oxygen, but he let the tip of his tongue slide between the glistening slit at his head, and Magnus' whining gasp was proof that his instincts were better than he anticipated.

He couldn't stop the proud beam from gracing his face and he climbed up the length of Magnus' body, pressing kisses all along the definition of his torso as he ascended and then across the expanse of Magnus' handsome face. He was especially tender over the sore spot on his cheekbone, wanting to leave a different reminder on the painful skin.

Before Alec could ask about borrowing a toothbrush, Magnus pulled him into a heady kiss, knocking Alec breathless for another time that night. He didn't seem to care where his mouth had been, more focused on making his gratitude known.

"I want to try something else. If you're up for it." Alec explained quietly, once they had managed to separate.

Magnus, intrigued, slipped his fingers between Alec's, interlocking their hands. He squeezed reassuringly. "What's on your mind?"

Alec bit his lip, not really sure how to voice what he was thinking without stumbling on the words in embarrassment. He wasn't one to expose himself so bare, despite what his current attire dictated.

His tongue wet his lips before he spoke. "I wanted to… try taking things… one step further." He peeked up to read Magnus' expression, hoping he'd understand what he was getting at.

It seemed to dawn on him a moment later, eyebrows jumping in surprise.

"Alexander… You know penetration isn't the only way to have sex, right? That's a heteronormative idea that's outdated. What we've been doing, what other ways we can give each other pleasure… all of that can fall under the same realm as intercourse."

Alec nodded. "I know. I just… I'm curious." he mumbled, feeling the blood rushing to his cheeks now. "I'm sorry. We don't have to. If you don't want to, it's fine—"

Magnus cupped his face with one hand to turn his face to him. "I didn't say that." he said softly. "I just don't want you to feel like we have to hit every item on a checklist tonight. I don't want you to be a one-night stand, Alexander. I want to get to know you more, inside and outside the bedroom. But if you're eager to try more tonight… well, I'm up for that too."

Alec's eyes went round. "Really?"

Magnus chuckled. "You are really oblivious to your allure, my dear."

Magnus sat up, crawling down to where the lube was and slicking his own hand up with it. Alec was confused at first before Magnus lay back and spread his legs, and then, well, he was rather distracted watching Magnus touch himself where he couldn't see.

Magnus spoke as if he wasn't intimately engaged in his own foreplay. "Did you have preference on position? I figure it'll be easier due to my past experience if you top this time around."

Alec nodded quickly, trying not to jump out of his skin. It was already so much. He was secretly grateful Magnus was taking care of things himself, as he wasn't sure he could handle it after how incredible the night had already been. The fact that he held it together so far was a tough feat.

"I probably won't last long." Alec admitted, wondering if he was setting Magnus up for something he couldn't see through to the end.

Magnus tugged his hand in his own so he moved closer. "That's okay, love. I'm enjoying just being with you."

Alec smiled into their kiss, finding it easy to relax when Magnus was kissing him so tenderly. Even in the more heated kisses, there seemed to be some hidden gentleness behind each brush of his lips, as if marking him with affection every time their lips met. It was tantalizing, getting lost in the warmth of Magnus' mouth, his tongue, the feel of his hot breath intermingling with his own. Alec almost forgot what was yet to come until Magnus was moving his legs to encircle Alec's waist.

Alec got to his knees on the bed, looking down at his lover, who was glistening with a light sheen of sweat due to the night they had had already. Strands of hair were sticking to his forehead, his swollen lips between his teeth, but his eyes were bright and sparkling with something he couldn't quite put his finger on.

"I've opened myself up some. It may take some time but my body should adapt once you're inside me." Magnus explained, fidgeting on the bed so he was at a better angle.

Alec felt his legs quake, unable to believe what was happening. How the hell did he even get here?

Magnus held up a hand and stretched to dig into his drawer again, producing a foil packet.

“Magnus, I’ve never… been with anyone else. And I trust you.” Alec told him, eyes darting away a little in bashfulness.

Magnus smiled as he helped him put it on. “I trust you too, Alexander. And Raphael forces us to get monthly screening tests, even if it hadn’t been ages since I’ve been with anyone. But it also makes for an easier clean-up, you know.”

Not able to argue with that, Alec waited until he removed his hands before he concentrated on the task at hand.

Inhaling a deep breath, he pushed himself closer, grasping onto Magnus' thighs to help guide his body correctly to where it needed to go.

The first nudge into the ring of muscle nearly made him collapse onto Magnus' chest, it being too long in the evening since he had been touched there, and Magnus reached up to press encouraging kisses to his chest.

Breathing in again, Alec rocked his hips forward, and this time it was Magnus who reacted, his back curling as he dug his head into the mattress.

A spark of confidence lit inside Alec's chest, and he gripped Magnus' thighs tighter as he did his first proper thrust.

Another groan sounded from the man beneath him, and Alec wasn't sure if it was pleasure or pain, or maybe a mix of both.

"Keep going." Magnus rasped, clutching at Alec's back now for something to anchor himself to.

Alec obeyed, rolling his hips again, and again, and Magnus was soon meeting them with a thrust of his own. The tight fist that had grasped Alec earlier was barely preparation for the feeling of Magnus' taking him in. The hot clenching around his arousal was making his breaths come out in short spurts, feeling the fire lighting his spine like a flame getting out of hand.

Alec clasped one of Magnus' hands in his, fingers interlaced, digging their locked fist into the mattress as his other arm supported him above him as he snapped his hips up into his lover earnestly, chasing the burning that was finding his nerve endings. He hoped Magnus was as close as he was.

Magnus was a writhing mess below him, having left scratches on every bit of skin of Alec's he could grab, clawing at his back with his free hand as Alec found his sweet spot.

It seemed he knew as soon as he had, since he moved a hand to tug up Magnus' thighs so he could hit it again, and Magnus was seeing stars behind his eyes as he wheezed Alec's name like a plea.

And then Alec was falling, hips losing all rhythm and control, legs quaking as his back bowed in defeat while his orgasm ripped through him like a grenade. He was burying his face in Magnus' chest, higher octave whines slipping through his lips as he endured the best high of his life.

Magnus was spilling through his own shortly after, sucking in bursts of air as his body rumbled through the current of white hot pleasure.

Alec stayed inside him for an extra moment, reveling in how intimately close he felt with another human and one so special, before freeing them both and flopping in a heap next to Magnus.

He removed the used contraceptive, tying it in a makeshift knot before sending it sailing into the garbage bin next to the night table.

Once back to earth, Magnus leaned over the edge of the bed and used a fallen throw blanket to clean them both up some. Then his hand settled into Alec's damp hair, teasing the strands while Alec caught his breath.

Alec finally rose his head to take in his expression.

All he was met with was a lazy, loving smile and he couldn't help but return one of his own.

"Sleepy yet?" Magnus murmured, settling back into the pillows.

Alec simply grumbled like a moody cat and nuzzled into his side, curling his leg around Magnus' thigh and listening to the steadying of Magnus' heart as it calmed into a slower pace. Magnus' knuckles ran light strokes over his back, until they too slowed and sunk to a simple, loving hold.

Once Magnus was safely in dreamland, Alec realized he hadn't exactly told anyone where he was going earlier when it was simply a night walk through the city, as the last thing he expected to happen was to be falling asleep in the arms of a man he was crazy about.

Managing to find his phone in his discarded clothes while still holding on to Magnus with one arm, Alec sent a quick text to his brother.

Hey, so, you know how I said I wouldn't find my romantic awakening at a strip club? Yeah… about that... How do you think Mom and Dad will take me dating a stripper?

[fabrowrites]

Loss

Alternatively: “The Author Should Not be Writing at This Time Because Her Brain Only Produces Shitty Ideas at 1 am”.  Unbetad and quickly written in the spanned of a half hour, mainly to try and make myself write everyday.  Cry.

“Could you hand me that screwdriver?”

Kai watches the tool float into outstretched hand.  The inventor bends over his work.  But where cheerful chatter filled the air there now is prolonged silence.  

He hates it.  He hates to watch his teammate work himself to death, and yet- he understands.  He understands, and the thought makes him uncomfortable.  How many times has he thrown himself into work to escape reality?  To refocus his mind, to pretend all is well?  

He knows not all is well.  It’s a far cry off.  He feels his soul aching, throbbing, reaching out for the one he protects and is unable to protect.  Some say romantic bonds trump everything, but Kai knows just how strong platonic ones are.  His soulmate is in danger, and his soul screams, and Kai sees flickers at the corners of his eyes, and he’s terrified.  Terrified that he’ll die.  Terrified that he’ll turn to look and find his soulmate instead of the wisps.  

But this hasn’t happened yet, and he does his best to only send encouraging thoughts through the bond.   They’ve already lost so much.  They’ve lost him.  Their teammate- teammates, one gone and the other suffering.  

He thinks he knows, but he doesn’t ask.  The inventor doesn’t tell.  

She worries for him.  

She worries, because he’s isolated himself and become reclusive and she knows that is not what he needs.  He needs to speak, and speak to more than the dead.  

She’s the only one he’s told.  It was a night long before, as they lay on the deck and stared at the stars and ignored life’s problems.  They had been mere children, young and unscarred and still hopeful of a brighter future.

“I think he’s my soulmate,” he confided.

She remembers how he reacted at the junkyard, that fateful day when the children within them withered and died.  She only looked, she wasn’t going to act!  She knew how much he meant -he means- to him.  And yet-

“You betrayed me!” he hisses, tears slipping down his face.  It’s a wet anger, angry tears and red-rimmed eyes, and she feels helpless as he breaks down in front of her.  "You knew I liked him, and yet you did this!“

She’ll never forget the haunted look in his eyes, the wary glances shot towards her, even after they’ve reconciled and he has his friend back.  

She doesn’t forget now, as he shrinks into himself and babbles to empty air.  

Zane thinks he’s known the longest.  His thermal energy readers are top notch, and they have no trouble in picking up the spot of cold that so often trails after Jay.  

And so he observes, listens, pieces together the clues.  He knows it’s too much of a coincidence to ignore.  

The concept of soulmates isn’t one of Zane’s fortes, but he knows the basics.  You won’t know your soulmate until they die, when they remain to haunt you until you both may pass on to the higher realms.  

He watches now, watches the interactions between him and his bonded.  The fluidly of their conversation, the familiarity, the sad laughter that sometimes bubbles in Jay’s throat.  

And he has his answer.

He’d never known that when they’d lost one teammate, they’d actually lost two.