#they exist now!!! wowza!!!!

[scribble-dee-vee]

Announcing to the void that it is 12/4, and I have written THIRTEEN THOUSAND WORDS since the start of this month. That’s the update. Just wanted to share bc this is ostensibly a writing blog aksjfkdkfj

[comradecowplant]

something something upper/middle class settler queers something something weaponized victim complex something something............................................................................

[silvery-stars]

those posts saying that nobody should ever make inaccurate headcanons or write fanfics even a little bit out of character are crazy. oh my bad for doing what i want with fictional characters. what are you gonna do get mad at me? boo hoo ☹️

[kairiscorner]

is this the start of a new series?

(reblogs are greatly appreciated, it helps get my content out there! if you guys like what you see, please reblog it too <:D)

miggy and his feelings for you (after an argument).

a/n: ok so this is kind of an extension of the "miggy's sole friend" fic, but you can read this as-is.

summary: you had an argument with miguel, and this time, you did something unexpected of you: you walked out on him. instead of getting mad at you, he got scared. he knew you all his life and could never remember a time when he didn't know you. he wants to apologize and admit to you once and for all how he feels about you, what you make him feel now that you've left him for the time being, and how he's... oh, is he really saying it? how sorry he is about his shitty attitude towards you.

word count: 2,440 (wowza)

it was certainly an experience being miguel o'hara's... only friend ever since, well, forever. you had other friends of your own, but the one who you knew the best and who knew you best was none other than miguel. you two knew each other pretty well, like the back of each other's hands. you two knew everything there was to know about the other; be it a favorite color, their 7th birthday, that time they broke their right arm in two places, the name of the second pet they owned, where your beauty marks were most prominent, and just about every other little detail there was to remark about each other.

you lauded yourself as an observant person, as someone who could look at something and see a thousand unnoticed details that a lot of other people never looked twice at, or even caught at first glance. it was due to this aptitude of yours to be able to know where to look and what to for that you became friends with miguel, even when he was a difficult little brat when you first met him.

his snarkiness and sarcasm was palpable and irritating, he mouthed off anyone he pleased, which was not for pleasure; he hated having to point out everyone else's incompetencies--but rather out of an insecurity of himself, a sort of allusion to how he wanted people to understand him, but how he struggles with understanding himself in the first place. he did it to feel safe, and you could see right through him when a lot of other people were turning away from the poor boy.

little did you know that your decision to befriend him would be the decision that saved miguel from himself. you saved him from his loneliness, you became the sole person in his life to make the first move and stick with him, no matter how difficult he became towards you or how aggressive he was at times.

of course, you two never saw eye-to-eye all the time; but you two genuinely got along a lot. you two would complain to each other, compliment each other, taunt and make banter with each other, you two were each other's companion, never complete without the other. but you two would also have disagreements, and when you had disagreements, miguel would be convinced he was right. at least, he used to think he was always right.

but one time, you storm out and got out of his face after an argument. he thought to himself he did nothing wrong, you were wrong. you were always the one thinking you were right, that you knew everything there was to know about a person, that you could do no wrong, that... you were the only person in his life that really understood him.

...this feeling is shit.

he had never felt that feeling before, of being walked out on, being left alone for being difficult and demanding. he knew the world couldn't give him everything, but he just wished, this once, that he could restrain himself and quell his ego for once so you wouldn't get sick of him.

oh, please, please don't be sick of him. he was a grown adult, he could take rejection in the face by anyone but you. he was frightened of what would happen if you one day stopped seeing him, stopped talking to him, or worse, managed to forget he even existed.

the gnawing feeling of despondency and probing the thought of you leaving him alone when you were the only, only person who understood him. lyla didn't count, she was made by him; the people of the spider society didn't count either, they were either scared shitless of him or understood his need for order and justice--not the person who believed in those ideals.

you did save him from his loneliness, but that didn't mean he was doing fine without you. if miguel could put a label on the feelings you gave him when he was without you, it'd be, "an utter, soul-crushing weight on my chest that grows the longer you're gone". and if he was without you because of his own actions, it'd be, "an immense regret of having ever done that to you, and if i could go back in time to punch myself to stop me from doing it, i would. in a heartbeat, i would".

miguel couldn't focus right throughout the day, every time he would try to listen to a report or look through the multiverse's canon events and occurences, his mind would always shift his attention the other way, to that nagging, unrelenting voice in his head that keeps screaming at him, "i need to talk to them. i need them back here, i'm... scared. i'm scared without them."

miguel had a hubris, and as often as he denied it, it always showed ceaselessly; but he attempted to put it aside for a minute and think of what to say to get you to stay with him for a few seconds longer, see you again even if you didn't want to see him; he just really wanted you right then and there with him, and he was so sorry he let himself get to you with his stupid, stupid pride.

"lyla," he called for the ai assistant. "now before you tell me to call them up so you can keep screaming, count me out. as a virtual assistant, i have rights." she said as she pulled up a monitor. miguel shook his head. "no, i'm not gonna yell anymore, no screaming, i just... wanna talk to them, in a civil manner." he emphasized the latter parts, with lyla slowly nodding in a sarcastic manner.

"well, have you ever thought that maybe they don't want to hear from you right now?" she asked miguel, looking at him quizzically. he sighed. "i've thought about it. and i'm done letting my thoughts dictate what i do." he said as lyla called you, miguel's thoughts racing in his mind, contesting against one another and contradicting each other. all the apologies he wants to tell you because he never told you before, all the genuine compliments he wants to tell you because he doesn't think you've heard enough of them in your life, let alone from him--all the thanks he has for you saving him the day you approached him and stood your ground in your desire to befriend him...

he wants you to know more than the "everything" you swore to have known about him, from the good and the bad, from the beautiful to the ugly; this is the one thing you and your astuteness never caught.

"what? i'm--" you began as you appeared on the other side of the screen, visibly irritated at miguel's impromptu call, but miguel cut you off.

"i'm in love with you." he blurted out without hesitation. the minute he saw you, the minute his breath was hitched in his throat as he caught sight of the most perfect person in the world, the one who toughed out every single time he was being a hard-headed bastard... he had to tell you how he felt. or at least, the only words that have so much meaning, yet so many meanings no matter how often it is uttered or how it is said.

"i'm... in love with you." he repeated, in a slower voice, a voice that wanted to take you gently by the hand and lead you through each syllable and pause as if it were like teaching one how to walk after being debilitated and bed-ridden. he ran a hand through his hair and placed his other hand on his waist as you remained silent, waiting to hear if he was roped into some prank by the knuckleheaded fools in the spider society somehow, if this was his "canon event" or whatever else he spouted out as a mandate through his authority as the leader of this "elite force of heroes".

you soon broke the silence when he didn't say anything with a cough.

he stared up at you, your face presented on the monitors in an larger ratio. he opened his mouth to speak, but he took a few seconds to collect his thoughts. "i... realized i've been selfish, i've been a bossy, arrogant, self-absorbed... pendejo." he finished with a deep breath in as he sighed. he knew that he was a bastard to you, has been and... probably will always be, even if he doesn't want to.

he wants to change, but he's painfully aware that his admission to all the things he's been called over the years didn't only hurt his pride, it hurt you because you knew he hardly changed from before. "okay." you said as you angled the camera of your phone better to get a good look at him. "so what?" you asked, trying to sound angry after he let his pride down just to see how true this change in attitude really was.

he scratched the back of his neck and peered up at you as his head was hung. "so i, uh... i wanted to admit it. estoy enamorado de ti. i'm... dammit." he said softly as he lost what he was going to say, just letting loose that spanish phrase he's wanted to tell you ever since you won him over with your beautiful smile, that ceaselessly sweet charisma of yours, and that patience and strength you had when it came to bearing with him and everything he puts you through.

"...i know, i don't deserve you. you don't deserve this overly dependent manchild you probably think of--" he continued, but you cut him off with a sarcastic chuckle. "oh it's not just probably, you are a manchild." you corrected, to which he nodded along. "right, right, i suppose you're..." he trailed off, not wanting to relent at that appraisal of his true, uninhibited nature. "...you're right." he finally admitted.

"but the matter of fact is that i am completely in love with you and want nothing more than for you to know i am so, so sorry for my idiocy, my inadequacy, my... every kind of 'cy i've lacked and... should be making up to you in ways that aren't just limited to calling you when you're clearly busy with work." he said in a quieted voice as he went on.

"i'm nothing without you, and i know i come off as dramatic, needy, or just straight up pathetic as shit, but it's the truth. i need you like i need air, you understand me when i can't even understand myself. i need you, so much, and i'd do anything to just keep you remembering me, even just one last time before you decide to cut me off from your life fore-- why are you laughing?" he asked as he heard a few chuckles escape your pursed lips as the corners of your mouth quivered, trying to conceal your laugh, to stifle it so he doesn't notice, but he does.

"you're just so extra, you know that?" you point out with a fit of giggles as miguel sighs, a small smile forming on his face. "well what can i say? it's the truth, and nothing but the truth. you deserve so much more, and i understand if you don't want me, too, but i..." he cuts himself off again as he hears the doors to his office open, looking at your video feed and noting the background looked exactly like the layout of his office. from the dimness of the light to the small, intricate carvings on the walls--it was an exact replica of his office. soon, he connected the dots together, and realized a little too late you were in the room, smiling slyly to yourself the whole time as he looked from the monitors to your face that was now close to his.

"and i can be a little extra with my entrance, too." you quipped as you leaned over and gave him a hug. "even if you're a hardass pendejo like you say you are... i'll never forget you. and i won't leave you, not like that. not when i'm..." you drifted off as you looked up at him, holding him tighter as his breath hitched in his throat, admiring how small you appeared below him, how warm and loving your touch was, how... delicately you held him, as if you didn't plan on hurting him despite how you had every right to get angry with him for being so conceited and prideful.

"...not when i'm in love with you, too." you admitted as you buried your face in his chest, leaving in your wake a blushing, heated mess of a man as you nuzzled yourself further into him. "i just wanted to hear you admit it, first." you said with a chuckle as he slowly carded your hair in his hands, wondering to himself if this moment was real, was supposed to happen, was going to happen all along? all the events that led to this very euphoric, heavenly moment; and he wouldn't waste a second.

he leaned over to you, and as you pulled away from his chest, he brushed his nose over yours in an attempt to seize your soft, plush lips which he yearned for too damn long. he kissed you, and you found yourself kissing him back. he savored your taste, the feeling of your lips on his was too perfect, too right; he could do this for the rest of his life if you were up for it, kissing you until you knew just how much he loved you--which not even he could tell you, either, not with you constantly stealing his heart and attention all the time.

"i'll work on not being so unbearable all the time... i just want to, to hold you like this," he said as he reciprocated your touch and wrapped his arms around your waist gently, pulling you closer to him as he felt your racing heartbeat, and you felt his own in yours.

your hearts beating together in perfect harmony, as if each of your hearts responded to the other. "if it means i can keep you for eternity, i'd stop being a prideful bastard and admit i'm wrong, admit you're the greatest, that you're amazing, you're... perfect." he finished as he kissed your forehead, apologizing still for all that he did, with you giggling and telling him it's okay, but he has a whole lot to do to make up for it.

luckily for you... he's always up for a challenge.

a/n: man i fr thought i had writer's block while making this, it was a bluff, i just got tired and lazy LMAO but hoping y'all enjoyed :> TYSM TO @jrrantss FOR THE HELP IN THE SPANISH TRANSLATION, it's so fucking romantic, ako'y kinikilig super tyyy <333

tags !! @thecoolerdor @miguelswifey04 @jrrantss @luvstarrstruck

[starlit-typewriter]

Genshin SAGAU, Creator of Teyvat, but not Humanity Part 7

WOwza, this one took a while!

Thank you so much to everyone who liked and commented, literally makes my day whenever you read them. I love them so much!

Sorry not sorry for the cliffhanger last time ;) In return you guys get this massive chapter. It's the biggest so far I think.

Warning for mild dissociative thoughts

Warning for Spoilers up to 4.6

Masterlist | Prev Part | Next Part

~~~

Funny thing about the brain is that it actually helps you filter out a lot of sensations. 

For example, you can always see your nose. Always, but you don’t notice it because your brain filters it out.

Or the fact that your toes are always touching each other, you can always feel your toes.

It’s actually really important that the brain does all this, because if it didn’t you probably wouldn’t be able to get stuff done.

You’d just lay there.

Like a potato, unable to do anything because you’re too busy feeling.

Do you know why I know that?

It’s because I’m feeling it, right now.

Every inch of my body, I can feel.

The gentlest of breezes, the slightest brush of fabric, the pounding of the heart, the light touches of my eyelashes hitting my face.

I just laid there, breathing.

Feeling the air going in and out of my body.

You’re not sure where you are.

Or why you’re here.

You just, are.

Inhale,

Exhale,

Inhale,

Exhale,

The act of moving seemed torturous in your mind.

You can already feel so much, how could you even dare think about feeling other stuff.

You just,

Didn’t want to feel anymore.

Every sensation, every movement feels overwhelming.

Like a tsunami of things to focus on. 

You don't even know where to start or what to do.

You just lay there.

Existing

You squeeze your eyes closed tighter, desperately trying to ignore the light that still permeated through your eyelids.

Hoping that the quiet peace of sleep will overtake you.

It doesn’t

You can’t sleep.

It’s just waves upon waves of noises and feelings. 

It’s awful

You hate it

You hate it so much.

You want to rip off the blankets and sheets and get out of this bed and scream, but you know that doing that would just introduce more unpleasant sensations which would be even worse than what you’re experiencing right now.

Even though you know that your brain is still demanding you get rid of the things that are touching you and instead of doing anything, you just stay there and stew in your bubbling resentment and irritation at everything and anything.

You’re just stuck in this cycle of hating everything and wanting it to be different, but fearing that difference and also being too tired to do anything about it.

That just gets worse and worse and the burning anger and frustration just keeps building in your chest and you’re helpless to stop it.

You know it’s not rational and it’s dumb, but it’s still there and you just feel like a helpless shell that’s about to burst with the amount of things that you’re feeling and you hate it and that just makes it worse.

You’re so caught up with everything you’re feeling that you don’t even notice the shaking of the floors, nor the frantic footsteps and the slamming open of the door.

All you can focus on is the pressure and anger and rage and helplessness that’s building inside of you.

Then it stops.

Distantly you can feel some foreign energy pressing against you.

It’s unpleasant, but in a soothing manner.

You can feel all that resentment and anger slowly shrink.

It doesn’t go away, it’s still there, sitting as a small lump inside you, noticeable at every move.

But it’s not overwhelming.

An artificial calm washes over you, relaxing your limbs and making you sleepy.

You can hardly remember why you were so irritated in the first place.

You’re just tired,

You want to sleep,

So you do.

~

The Adeptus breathes a huge sigh of relief as the ground stops shaking.

Even with the strongest of sealing spells placed around this domain, the power of the creator is still one to behold.

Thankfully the calming spell Cloud Retainer gave him works in soothing the sleeping deity.

She said it was one that she had used to calm Shenhe’s bloodlust back when she was younger. It became much less effective over time and as her disciple grew in age, but it works as a temporary measure. 

The Yaksha had many doubts in using the spell, after all Shenhe was only human, how could using this on her even compare to using that on a god, nevermind the creator of the world.

But it did,

Somehow.

As much as Lord Lapis assured him that the creator had been weakened greatly, Xiao still had his doubts.

After all, even in a half conscious state, they managed to crack the barriers placed upon this domain to seal in their power and resentment.

Not that he’s particularly happy that these barriers have been placed there.

He sighed, feeling every single one of his centuries.

As much as the Traveler teased him for looking young, he was one of the senior Adepti and the years to prove it.

He knew many of the tales about the creator of Teyvat, not as much as Lord Lapis of course , but much more than even the most learned of human scholars.

He knew of their actions, their allies, their feats.

And their downfall.

It was not quick, nor was it pretty or honorable. 

But it was how Celestia conquered Teyvat.

It would be of no surprise to anyone had the creator returned with rage and blood.

If they’d come with a thirst for vengeance.

With intent to destroy their creation that had been turned against them.

But they did not.

Or 

At least,

Their ∎∎∎∎ didn’t

The elusive outlander that appeared upon the borders of Liyue, dripping with the energy of the creator.

It wasn't that no one noticed their energy.

Simply that no one could recognize it.

After all, the only living being left who’s met the creator is the very same that defeated and sealed them away.

That he knew of mind you.

There is a good chance that there are those who’ve been around since the age of dragons still lurking in the dark corners of Teyvat.

However, they’ve made their presence scarce. Posing no real threat to Liyue, as such they were of no concern to him.

The soft clicking of shoes took him out of his thoughts.

The Traveler poked their head in, eyes drawing to the unconscious figure on the bed.

They then flickered over to him, silently asking for permission to enter.

He nods, stepping to the side, as to not disturb the sleeping deity.

“So how are they?” they asked quietly,

Xiao couldn’t hold back a sigh at that question. 

It’s been several days now since they found the creator at the site of Azhdaha’s sealing. 

Several days of going in and out of consciousness, all with dubious control over their powers.

“I apologize for the inconvenience,” he starts, feeling guilty at how slow things are progressing. It was the Traveler after all that had volunteered their own home, teapot, as a base of operations.

More so out of convenience, since at the time they had no idea when deity would awaken next, nor their condition, so taking them somewhere where any potential power leakage would not result in casualties was the first order of affairs.

As far as he knew, Lord Lapis had been working with many other of the Adepti to create a hidden domain where it would be safer to keep the creator, should the worst happen.

The Yaksha felt guilty that Lord Lapis had to step in and take control when he should be rightfully enjoying his retirement.

But in this case, he can’t say he’s not thankful for his steady presence.

Having to battle Osial without the steady support and presence of his Archion was a harrowing experience. Whilst he’s lost many companions in the field of battle, the Lord of Geo was always the steady presence that everyone believed in. 

The person that would always overcome the enemy.

Losing him was like losing the very ground he walked on. 

It was only the reminder of his duty and contracts that he was able to shoulder on. 

Thankfully that was just a test, and one which they passed with the aid of the Traveler and the Qixing.

Whilst the Traveler is lending their aid in this endeavor, the Qixing.

Some affairs are not for mortals.

Even the idea of explaining the full, true history of Teyvat and how humans came to be is a burdensome task.

No,

It was best to leave this to the Adepti.

And the Traveler.

He snuck a look at the outlander standing beside him.

Well, standing is a strong word, they were leaning against the wall after all.

Their golden eyes flickered over to him, noticing his stare.

He resisted the urge to look away from their striking gaze, “Do you want me to get a chair?”

“I’ll keep watch,” They offered in response. The two having silently agreed not to leave the creator alone, or unguarded.

Trusting the Traveler with the task, Xiao headed out of the room.

He never spent much time in Adeptal abodes, despite having one tucked away somewhere is Juyun Karst, he seldom uses it.

It was far too removed from Guili Plains, where he tends to patrol the most. In all honesty, Wangshu Inn is probably his closest equivalent to an abode. 

Not that he’s willing to admit it, he is well aware of the Qixing meddling with the Inn in question, how they’ve set it up to be a safe haven for him should he need one.

A kind but foolish sentiment. Should he ever require a safe haven, an inn full of humans will be the last place he’d go.

That doesn’t stop him from wanting to go there from time to time, especially if the chef is in.

He was getting distracted.

Xiao entered one of the rooms.

Ah, chairs.

It seemed the Traveler wasn’t the biggest fan in interior design.

Not that they were bad at it. When they put their mind to it, the rooms were elegantly decorated with good quality furniture.

When it wasn’t,

Well.

He stared at the piles of furniture, haphazardly stacked around the room.

At least it was clean?

The Yaksha grabbed two of the closest chairs and started moving back towards the guest bedroom.

Whilst he was making his way there, he heard the sound of the front door opening.

Peeking over the banister, he saw Lord Lapis enter, adjusting his sleeves slightly.

He moved over to catch his eye, he bowed, as much he could with his cargo, which was really more of an exaggerated nod.

The retired Archon climbed the stairs to join him in his journey.

In hindsight he should’ve grabbed an extra chair.

Or even a table.

Well it’ll look weird if he went back now.

As the two walked, Lord- Zhongli, filled him in on the happenings outside the teapot.

Some of the other Adepti were assisting in his workload as much as they were able.

Something he was grateful for.

And the domain for the creator was almost complete. 

Now it was simply the task of moving them to it, without disturbing them.

Whilst Xiao took no pleasure in his duties of extinguishing the spirits of fallen gods, rarely has he wished to be out on patrol as much as he does right now.

He knew exactly why he was being set on guarding duty.

Even if he wasn’t fond of that fact.

Steadfastly ignoring the flickering spark inside his chest, he set the chairs down by the Traveler, who smiled in response.

Lo- Zhongli strode past the two of them to examine the condition of the unconscious deity.

The figure, stirred at his presence, their energy rising as a result of that.

He sighed, backing off, gesturing at Xiao.

That’s when the Yaksha reluctantly approached the creator.

They stayed calm.

For him.

It was of great surprise to him when he was blessed.

To everyone really.

He was the first properly documented case after all.

Not that he was the first to be blessed, he believed that honor lay with some Mondstatian knight, nor was he the first Liyuan, he suspects some human may have received the blessing before him.

But for a period of time.

He was the only one they knew of.

That could recognize the blessing at least.

He was greatly favored for a period of time as well.

His skill grew at a rate it hadn’t since the days of the Archon war. Back when growing was the difference between life and death.

His karmic debt,

Was also greatly lessened.

To this day, the pain has never increased past the day he was blessed.

There were days where he felt the full force of his karmic debt.

And days where he felt light as a feather.

He hated those days.

Grateful

But also hateful.

Because it would never last.

It was only ever a glimpse of peace.

A flicker of freedom.

Sometimes hope could be crueler than pain.

Pain he knew, he understood.

A sharp blunt hammer of agony bearing into his soul.

He was used to that.

But hope,

Hope is like a weed,

Ever growing and persistent.

You can get used to pain. He did after all.

You can’t get used to hope.

Hope is greedy.

It always wants more.

He was getting distracted.

Xiao approached the sleeping creator.

They didn’t stir, their energy, a shifting cloud around their figure, accepted him into its embrace.

It swirled around him, suppressing his karmic debt, rejuvenating his energy and soothing aches and pains he didn’t know he had.

It’s addicting

He hates it.

Stepping forward, he gently lifts the creator.

Cradling them in his arms, as one would a damsel or so Cloud Retainer would say.

Many good things came with her moving to the Harbor.

Her interest in Inazumen light novels was not one of them.

Apparently she gained some ideas regarding his relationship with the Traveler.

Ideas that he thought he stomped out when he first got blessed.

There was once a theory that the Traveler was the one who gave out the blessings. 

And that the strength of the blessing was directly correlated with the strength of one’s relationships with them.

It was wrong.

Unfortunately the ideas that stemmed from that theory did not die the same death the theory did.

He respected the Traveler greatly.

That’s all.

“Xiao,”

He didn’t jump at their soft voice.

He didn’t 

Thankfully the sleeping deity didn’t stir,

Much

He also resisted the urge to bristle when the Traveler placed their hand on his back.

This is only to get out of the teapot, he reminded himself as the two teleported out of the teapot.

Their hand was warm.

He could still feel its imprint well after they let go.

Lord L- Zhongli appeared beside him soon after. 

“Where to?” He asked.

~

It,

It wasn’t far,

Not in the grand scheme of things,

Liyue is huge after all, it would take a mortal days to traverse on foot.

Except well,

They didn’t have days,

Who knew the next time the creator’s energy would lash out.

This time without layers of sealing spells surrounding them, he didn’t want to think of the carnage.

It was only a couple hours of travel.

Made much faster by Lo- Zhongli’s foresight in clearing the way of both enemies and cough inconvenient walking terrain.

Not that any errant enemies would dare approach. Considering the sheer amount of energy dripping off of the creator, any creature with even a shred of self preservation would know not to attack them.

The three walked in silence.

Not out of awkwardness, it was a comfortable silence all things considered.

Well, as comfortable as can be considering how dangerous the passenger in his arms was.

Thankfully, they didn’t stir throughout the entire journey, their head resting peacefully on his chest. 

It wasn’t long before they made it to the domain.

It was between Mt Hulao and Mt Xuanlian

A deceptively peaceful area, with a secret domain hidden behind a waterfall.

The three made their way inside. 

Out of the corner of his eye, he spotted Cloud retainer, or well Xianyun in this form, as she double checked some of the seals by the entrance.

 He quickly made his way to the center of the domain, a large circular room, with layer upon layer of sealing spells and barriers set up. 

A simple bed, placed in the center of it all.

He put them down gently, only to tense as their energy flared. 

The Traveler and Lord Lapis tensed too, preparing for their awakening.

Only for it to settle down.

Xiao breathed a sigh of relief, teleporting out of the circle and nodding to Rex Lapis, who activated the barriers.

The room lit up with golden sigils. A beautiful display of Geo power, creating sparkling barriers around the center of the room.

The plain stone walls looked as if they were inlaid with gold. The barriers are akin to the finest of silk, thinner than spiderwebs, doming around the sleeping figure.

“Now, all that’s left is for them to wake up,” Lord Lapis announced solemnly.

He looked tired.

Understandably so, 

No one expected this to happen, a deity of this scale is one that Celestia would struggle against, never mind a lone retired Archon.

Xiao knew his strength, he knew Lord Lapis’s strength, but he also knew of the feats of the creator.

He knew that should they truly wish to escape, these barriers would be naught but paper walls for them to tear through.

All the Yaksha could hope for was their continued slumber.

As the three trailed out of the domain, sealing the paths behind them as they went.

The slumbering figure trapped inside shifted.

The heavy layers of Geo energy crushing themself against their body made themselves known.

It was heavy,

Crushing,

Solid,

Familiar,

A familiar energy,

One of an old enemy.

Flashed of a man, a beast.

A figure of brown and gold, with a white hood.

A warm hand extending out.

The gift of vision, of light.

Of time of companionship.

Of joy.

Of battle.

Of war.

Of loss.

Of grief.

Of Anger and hate.

Hate and fear and anger.

Confusing feelings of hate and love, of joy and sorrow.

You remember who these memories belong to.

You remember his form.

His face,

His name.

Azhdaha.

In the dark cave, hidden behind layers of rock and seals and a waterfall.

Glowing slitted eyes, snap open.

~~~

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Oops, looks like I forgot to fix up that cliff hanger huh?

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[st4rsinthenight]

Hello, stranger on the internet

I really enjoyed reading the headcanons you wrote about the turtles finding a borrower and I was wondering if you could write one for Leo (/nf)

★gasps. erh. hypervanlites werh. fumking di. fucking supernovaes - supernovaes /pos !!

werhhh wha. what now- oh headcanon. g/t headcanon time, yippie★

— rise!leonardo hamato finding a borrower / tiny !!

!! — contents: giant/tiny, borrower/t!character, g!leonardo, non-con touching (brief, non-sexual), headcanons, repetitive words / phrases, occ stuff ( maybeee.. =\\ )

✧ — pre-meeting

★ — First off, this dude. this dude would suspect that something's off in the lair after noticing that his brothers stuff have recently been going missing and such. Maybe at first, he wouldn't think much of it. Maybe he just believed that his brothers were just misplacing their stuff and just teased them 'bout it for a while. That would later on lead to his brothers accusing the red eared slider of stealing their stuff as a way to fuck with them- which Leonardo denies, being a bit dramatic about it as well..

★ — That is though, until his stuff- or parts of them at least, begun mysteriously disappearing and getting misplaced. Y'know, parts of his comics being ripped off- action figures being either knocked over or shuffled a little to the side. Stuff like that.

★ — At first, he'll accuse his brothers of taking and damaging his items as a form of 'revenge', but just like him- they all were pretty fumkin confused as to what he was talking about. While he was skeptical about idea of anyone else snatching his equipment, other than his brothers that is, he couldn't help but shimmer that 'oh, something is wrong'.

★ — And from there, he'll start getting more observant with his surroundings. Listening in for any odd sounds or looking around sharply to find out what or- in the worst case scenario- who is messing around in the lair. And during that period of time, he'll pick up on shuffling noises, notice odd messes and prints on counter tops- heck even see the running silhouette of a little.. something, from the corner of his eye.

★ — The logical part of him says that it's just a rat that found it self in the lair, but rats don't tear paper - or leave behind.. tiny- human like hand prints ?? Yea, that pretty much sums it up. Something is in the lair.

★— Also insert a scene where Leo shares his suspicions and conspiracies about something living with them in the lair with his fam, and they all think he's either lost it, messing with them, or that he is not getting enough sleep just to make the next part make sense or something somethin - explodes.

✧ — meeting

★ — Upon finding the borrower, erm. A mixed bag of emotions honestly. While he may triumph and feel all smug about being proven right about another presence being in the lair, he is also baffled about their existence. Like, a tiny human, yokai- whatever in the lair ?? wowza. That's erhh.. a bit weird to think about, yet also a little cool ?? Yet the, fact that this little creature has stolen from his family- from him, gets him to come off as a little petty towards the borrower.

★ — So yea, I'm stuck in between of whether Leo would be salty towards them, holding a grudge about them stealing. while being stealthy with his approach as to catch them off guard, or get all smug and be obnoxious about being on the right.

★ — I like to think that he would greet the borrower with a little remark, a teasing one as he looks down at them with a small, shit-eating grin. However, I don't doubt that he would be curious about them- and honestly a little impressed by them. They've been living in the lair with five ninja-mutants for- how long ?? And they just now got noticed ?? Respecttt.. kinda.

★ — Would definitely portal them right in front of him if they try to run away, not being very mindful to the borrower's rather vulnerable form. No, he'll just make a portal appear- let them fall through and watch as they plop back onto the counter top. He would also prop them up by their arm or something, and again, he may not be as gentle as he should with them, either because he doesn't realise it or because he just wants to mess with- or to just get back at them for stealing from him.

★ — That would also be followed by a small series of questions- like an interrogation, an almost condescending one at that. He would blame them for his fam's missing equipment, and address the fact that due to their thieving antics, he was accused for theft by his own brothers !! Yea, he would be all dramatic and salty about it, which could either be comical, or intimidating to the little borrower.

★ — Though, in spite of his salty, almost obnoxious behaviour towards them- he would get a bit more curious about them after learning that them 'thieving', is actually the only way for them to survive.

★ — He may feel further impressed by their commitment and struggle they have to go through to get access to basic everyday material- even if it's limited. And while part of him just wants to present his victory in the whole 'someone-is-in-the-lair: dilemma, to rub it in his bros faces, the borrower's rather afraid look on their face is convincing him otherwise. Plus, he would then have to live with the responsibility of potentially scarring this little guy sooo..

★ — Still, Leonardo isn't one to let go of grudges easily- and though the little thing has earned some of his respect (as well as amazement), he still takes the liberty to toy and mess with them- making up little nicknames for them such as 'little kleptomaniac', giving them little prods here and there, making a few height-difference puns when they are around. erh yea. stuff like that.

[discokicks]

BAD IDEAS (ON THE SAME PAGE) — JAMIE TARTT

a fic inspired by bad idea right by olivia rodrigo!

masterlist! song inspo! AO3!

pairing: jamie tartt x fem!reader (no use of y/n!)

summary: football star jamie tartt is an asshole. he’s the one ex of yours that your friends always hated, one that you now all joke about, and one you haven’t spoken to in four years. however, after a chance encounter, the two of you reconnect, and he leaves you with his new number and a hundred questions about his reformed personality. but seeing him tonight would be a bad idea, right?

word count & rating: 11k (wowza), M! (18+! minors get away or i’ll narc on you to your guardians)

warnings: SMUUUUUUT, porn with plot, lots of suggestive language, oral sex (f receiving), fingering, sprinkling of a handjob, unprotected p in v (wrap it up kids), angst, mentions of alcohol, probable secondhand embarrassment, exes reuniting (it needs a warning sometimes), jamie tartt was an asshole and is now just a prick (in the best way possible), reader is a physio, major fluff, and swearing. also reader is american (bc the author is too. sorry </3)

authors note: well. i wrote it. olivia wrote this song for teenage girls in their twenties (me) only and i immediately thought of this fic the second i heard it. i'm calling this an exercise in smut writing before i embark on my aces (my roy kent series for my new friends) eventual-smut-adventure, so this evolved into something i wasn’t expecting but i had so much fucking fun writing it. god, i love jamie tartt. also! this is my first smut fic at this type of level, so go easy on me. hope you all enjoy. love you all tons! -mags

There are two universal truths in life. 

The first is that the coffee shop you frequent on your way to work will and will always have the best cold brew you’ve ever tasted. The second is that Jamie Tartt will and will always be a massive fucking prick, and you’ll never see him again for as long as you live.

These are two things you live by, and while they may seem rather mundane or petty in the grand scheme of things, they are the only truths you can count on these days. Especially when everything else is so up in the air.

However, the universe doesn’t seem to believe in these things as blindly as you do, and this becomes evident the moment that you step into the shop on a gloomy Wednesday morning. Because these two truths (well, they’re fucking bald-faced lies now aren’t they, huh?) are broken within approximately two minutes of each other with seven words.

It began when you greeted Natalia, the barista who was here every Monday, Wednesday, and Friday before your shift at the clinic with a wide smile. As soon as she saw your face, her expression turned apologetic, albeit a bit dazed.

“You’re gonna hate me,” she says, putting her hands on either side of the register. Your brows shot up at her words. “We just ran out of cold brew.”

Your face falls. “You’re kidding.”

“We were low on it this morning,” she starts to explain, “our stupid night-shifters didn’t prep enough last night. And it’s been selling like crazy today.”

“Seriously?” you nearly whine. “I might cry.”

“I’m sorry, Doc,” she apologizes, but she doesn’t sound too apologetic. Natalia’s eyes keep shifting to your left, the dazed look in her eye never faltering. Then, she says the fated seven words. “But he took the last of it.”

You turn your head in the direction she’s been looking, and your blood runs completely cold. You think you could drop dead and go to hell at this very moment, and it’d be a better existence than what awaits you in the next five minutes. And while this all may sound dramatic, you don’t care. 

You don’t care because Jamie fucking Tartt is standing across from you, newly long hair peeking out from beneath his hood. He’s engrossed in whatever’s on his phone, fingers flying back and forth like he’s texting. 

You think you could run. You’re pretty sure you could successfully make a break for it and leave Natalia high and dry without him seeing you. It’d be an easy exit, and you’d never have to see him again.

But then, as if he can feel your eyes on him, he looks up. And the second he meets your gaze, his face falls in what you can imagine was a similar fashion to yours. 

Fuck.

Luckily, Natalia is none the wiser. She barely notices your expression, and with Jamie by the pick-up area, she can’t see the way he’s looking at you. So, instead of questioning you, she straight-up giggles.

“I know,” she practically squeals. “I was totally going to save you the last of it, but he asked for it. And I mean, c’mon. It’s Jamie Tartt. I couldn’t possibly say no to him.”

You tragically know that feeling all too well. Knowing you probably would have had a snappier, more cutting response to that if you weren’t in the most debilitating phase of shock, you settle for a quiet, “It’s okay.” You nod at her, brushing it off in an attempt to be casual. “I can settle for an espresso today.”

Natalia nods, tapping it into her register. “Same size as usual?”

“Yeah,” you say, not completely sure what you’re agreeing to. You glance over again at Jamie and find that he’s still standing there, staring at you, and you immediately blink away. “That’s fine.”

The rest of the transaction feels as though it takes a millennium and three seconds all at once. You’re still caught off guard by the time Natalia gives you your receipt with a dazed look in your eye that now matches hers. 

However, yours isn’t because you just saw your favorite Richmond player or your favorite reality show villain. It’s because you’ve just seen your ex-boyfriend and you’re about to walk over and stand next to him for a prolonged period of time.

Nothing about this scenario feels real. You hadn’t seen him in four years. Not since things ended as ugly as they had, with him leaving you sobbing outside of a club at three in the morning, letting you know that things were over between you two. And he hadn’t even given you a reason. It was just that he wasn’t ‘feeling’ it anymore.

You saw in a tabloid about three months later that he was now seeing Keeley Jones (yeah, having to compete with that did not sit well with you at all) and had drawn your assumptions from there. Whether or not he’d been seeing her behind your back or had broken up with you to be with her, you didn’t know. You didn’t care. You were in your anger stage of the break-up and only knew one thing.

Jamie Tartt was a massive fucking prick, and you’d sooner walk on a bed of nails before you saw him again.

But now here he was. And there were no nails to be found.

You avoid eye contact as you pass him to wait for your coffee. There’s a piece of you that wants to say hi and play it cool, just to put on a show for him about how unaffected you were by everything that had happened. The other piece of you hopes that not a word is said for your entire time here.

Unfortunately, neither of those happen.

Jamie slides over to be near you, awkwardly rocking back and forth on his heels. His hands are stuffed in his sweatshirt pocket, and you wait for him to say something. Anything. But he doesn’t.

Instead, you can feel the ‘play it cool’ part of you rise up to the surface. You could do this. You could feign indifference. Fuck him, you could be cool.

You glance over at him and see that he’s pressing his lips together, eyes shifting around the coffee shop. It’s crazy how familiar you still are with his tells to know he’s desperately looking for a way to say something. 

You say it for him. “Hi,” you say simply. Cool and unaffected.

It’s as if the one word alone makes him flinch. He clearly wasn’t expecting you to say anything. “Hi—” He clears his throat after his greeting comes out cracked, and he stuffs his hands further in his pockets. “Hey.”

The awkwardness of this moment is killing you, and it’s taking everything in you to pretend like it's not. As you search for something else to say, you land on, “You took my cold brew.”

You can see his brows shoot up out of the corner of your eye. “Oh, fuck, did I?” 

You nod slowly. “Yeah,” you tell him. “I come in here every morning. Friends with the barista. Said she was going to save me the last of it, but…” You trail off and finally look at him. “She couldn’t say no to Jamie Tartt, apparently.”

You want to jump up and down about how well you’re doing right now. Maybe you are over him. Maybe you’ve finally moved past this shit, and seeing him once more is all you needed to solidify that. Maybe—

The second he chuckles softly with an apologetic smile, your confidence in those things shoots down. “I’m sorry,” he says.

“Since when do you drink cold brew, anyway?” you ask, frustrated with the fact that he’s fucking laughing in front of you. “You were always a like, caramel macchiato or frappuccino asshole.”

The names make him laugh harder, shaking his head. “Don’t like those anymore,” he responds. “Sugar hurts me teeth. Tryin’ somethin’ new.”

“Yeah,” you mutter. “My fucking coffee.”

That chuckle continues with a shrug. “I’m sorry.” he says again. Then he pauses. “But it’s not like your name was on it, or anythin’.”

Your face draws blank, and immediately, Jamie can tell he’s made a misstep. And it’s not that you’re angry about the joke, it’s just the… everything. Him. The situation. Everything you can remember that you wonder if he bothers to remember too.

Before you can walk away, you feel his hand on your arm. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” he repeats for a third time, turning you so that you’ll look at him. Your pissed-off expression meets his easy smile and it only fuels your anger more. “I was jokin’. I’m sorry I took your coffee. We can get ‘em to put your name on it if you want.”

“Whatever,” you mutter. It’s not the most mature thing you could have said, but frankly, you don’t care. You just want to get your consolation espresso and get the hell out of here. “What are you even doing over here anyway?”

You’re not sure why you ask it. You don’t know why you keep the conversation going. Jamie looks just as surprised as you are. “I moved over here a couple weeks ago,” he answers. “Got sick of the old place.”

“Can’t imagine why,” you reply. By the way that Jamie snorts, you know he recalls just how much you hated his apartment when you knew him. It screamed twenty-two-year-old AFC-money shithead and you would tease him about it constantly. “Was the empty beer bottle sculpture finally giving you mold poisoning?”

He chuckles again. “That came down shortly after we stopped talking.”

“Oh, so I was just lucky enough to see it in its final days?”

“Oi,” he says, pointing at you. “That thing was fuckin’ impressive and you know it.”

“Impressive in a dorm,” you shoot back. “Not a seven million pound flat.”

He bows his head in a guilty manner. “You remember that, huh?”

“Hard not to,” you answer. “You never stopped talking about it.”

He at least has the decency to wince at that one. “I know,” he says earnestly. It makes you look at him. He shrugs once more. “I wanted to impress ya.”

He did impress you. But not with things like that. He’d impress you when you watched him play, he’d impress you when he made you laugh, and he’d impress you on the rare occasion that he’d just be himself in front of you. Not some asshole footballer. Just him.

But you don’t say that. You say, “That wasn’t the way.”

“Yeah,” he chuckles mirthlessly. “Got that now.” He rocks back on his heels again, like he’s not sure if he should say whatever he wants to. “I was a proper fucking dick to you, wasn’t I?”

That almost makes you fall over. Did he just say that? Did he actually just admit that? Out loud, here, for everyone to hear? Accountability? Unprompted? From Jamie Tartt? 

You want to glance around to see if Rod Sterling’s going to emerge from the bathroom to narrate the next couple of minutes of your life, but are too shocked to do so. 

Your surprise must show in your eyes, because Jamie laughs to himself. “Yeah. Wild, innit?” He shakes his head. “On a bit of an apology tour this year. Trying to build back some bridges, or whatever.”

The nod you give him is slow, still reeling from all of this. “Right,” you say lamely. “Building bridges.”

“I’m serious,” he tells you and for a brief moment, you think he may just mean it. The sincerity in his eyes is clear. “I was terrible to you. And I’m sorry.”

Whatever you were expecting when you stepped into this coffee shop on this rainy Wednesday, it certainly wasn’t this. And you certainly weren’t expecting your first time reuniting with him to go this way— with him apologizing to you. The actual words ‘I’m sorry’ just left his mouth. 

You genuinely don’t know who this is. Because it’s certainly not the Jamie you knew.

You saw flashes of this guy. Quiet moments during your short-lived relationship, typically when it was just the two of you. It’s the type of guy you always knew he could be if he tried. The type of guy you pushed him to be. 

(Your friends always taunted you about having the ever-horrendous I-can-fix-him gene, and they never quite let go of it. But it’s not like it wasn’t true.)

Those flashes are why you held out for as long as you did. If it were anyone else, any other asshole who treated you the way he did, you would have dropped them in a second. But he wasn’t like that. Not always, at least.

It was terrible to think like that. You’d been in a low spot when you’d met him and had taken even lower when he left you. You’d recovered tenfold from that and now knew your worth. 

But as he stands in front of you, apologizing, genuinely apologizing, and looking at you like that, you start to question it.

No! the logical part of your brain practically screams. Don’t you fucking dare.

You’re keen to listen to that for the time being. It hardens you. And all you can do is nod at him again. “Well, uh—” Your voice comes out hoarse. You cough awkwardly. “Yeah. You were. Terrible to me. And, uh… thank you. For saying that.”

So much for playing it cool. You want to slam your head up against the wall but hold yourself back from doing so.

He nods at you, opening his mouth to say something else before he’s interrupted by one of the baristas calling your name. His cold brew’s sitting on the counter too, something the two of you clearly missed in the middle of your conversation.

When you reach for your drink, he grabs his too. He’s still staring at you, biting the inside of his cheek like he wants to say something. When you go to move around him, he stops you.

“Look, I just—” You look up at him expectantly, and his shoulders deflate. “I know you probably want nothin' to do with me. But, I just… I want to talk to you.”

Your espresso is hot in your hands. “Well, that sounds like a you problem.”

That’s when he says your name. Your actual name. Not the nickname that everyone calls you, not a pet name that he used to use, he says your name. And it makes you stop in your tracks.

It’s so stupid. It’s so fucking dumb that your fucking name can send you back to the day you first met him and were completely taken with him. You hate it. And you hate the way it makes your walls come crumbling down.

“Please,” he begs. “Can we… Can I at least give you my number? It’s a new one, but I-I think I’ve still got yours. You don’t have to use it if you don’t want to. But just so you can… I don’t know? Think about it?”

You wouldn’t know if he still had your number. You blocked him ages ago. But you doubt it. 

However, the more you think about it, the more you consider it. It’s the product of your resolve falling and well, everything else about him now. You think about it.

If you allowed him to give you his number, the ball would be in your court. You could do what you wanted with it. You could text him, you could tell him to fuck off, you could ignore him. It was up to you. 

And you don’t know if that’s worse or better.

You decide on better. The second you sigh, Jamie knows he’s got you. A wide grin breaks out on his face as you hand him your phone. “I’ll think about it,” you mutter. 

That’s good enough for him. He gives your phone back to you, new number inserted and new contact created. You’re glad he didn’t search for his old one. That one just says ASSHOLE in big capital letters with about a million gun emojis. 

(That was done by your previous roommates in an effort to get you to move on from him. You thought it was a bit overdramatic. You were never one for emojis.)

He’s smiling when he holds his coffee out for you. You stare at him blankly, thinking he’s attempting to cheers you. Instead, he shakes his head and says, “Take it.”

You blink at him. “What?”

“Trade with me,” he clarifies and your expression turns to one of shock. “C’mon. You said it’s yours anyway, right?” When you don’t move he rolls his eyes. “Offer’s only good for another second. Me arm’s getting tired.”

At that, you sigh rather dramatically and grumble to yourself, trying not to act pleased by the gesture. You hand him your coffee and he gives you his. “Thanks,” you say. It was kind of him. 

His grin returns and he nods at you. “Alright,” he says. After a slightly awkward beat, he steps back from you. “It was good to see you, Doc. Really.” You’re taken back by how genuine his voice sounds and say nothing in return. “I’ll talk to you later?”

He says it as a question, hopeful and well-meaning. “Yeah,” you tell him noncommittally. “Maybe.”

That too, is good enough for him. Because he sends you one more smile, then walks out of the coffee shop with your espresso in hand. 

You’re still reeling from the interaction when you glance down at his your cold brew and see Natalia’s handwriting. She’s made it just as you like it, down to the milk and everything.

But below it is a small drawing. It’s a tiny shark fin with a #9 written inside, with little lettering circling around it.

Doo-doo-do-doo-do-do-doo.

You’re fucked.

“Are you out of your fucking mind?” is the question that your best friend and former roommate Leah screams at you over drinks at a busy rooftop bar. So busy, in fact, that barely anyone looks over at the two of you.

You’d made the mistake of telling Leah that not only had you run into Jamie on Wednesday, but you’d let him give you his number. 

And you’d texted him after hours of deliberation.

It was something innocent, something you’d thought way too much about, but innocent still. You weren’t sure if you were ready to actually talk to him, but there was something about texting him that wasn’t so scary. Your guard was clearly still up, evident by how dry you were in your messages, and you were keeping your distance. You never texted back too quickly, didn’t ask many questions, and often left him on read. 

(Yeah, you’d turned your read receipts on for him. What about it?)

Your first text was a simple enough question, something that you’d been genuinely wondering about since you saw him. It was open enough for a conversation but not too forward. how’d you know my coffee order?

His response came in minutes later. Is that yours? Good taste. It was shortly followed up with, That espresso you drink was fucking disgusting though.

And that was that. That was how you started texting your ex again. That’s how you reconnected yourself with Jamie Tartt. That’s how you knew it was over for you.

And that’s how you’re pretty sure you’re about to kill your best friend.

Leah’s eyes were wild, somehow angry yet still disbelieving yet intrigued. But the intrigue was very minimal. Very minimal. It was hidden well by how pissed off she was at you.

She had every right to be pissed at you. She was the one who always warned you about him. She’d straight-up nursed you back to health when you broke up. She was the one who had to hear about him 24 hours a day until you were finally over him.

Leah had had a year of peace. And now you were killing her for good.

“You’re kidding, right?” she follows up with. Her grip on your arm is tight. “Please tell me your kidding.”

“Leah…” Your voice is weak.

It tells her everything she needs to know. “Oh, my God! Oh, my. God.” She puts her face in her hands. “You’re insane. You’re fucking losing it and we need to have you checked out right now.”

“I’m completely sentient and in control of my own body.”

“Are you sure?”

You sip at your cocktail. “I reset a knee today. I’m pretty sure.”

“I think you might need to reconsider,” she says. “Because you just told me that not only are you talking to Jamie Tartt again, but you were the one who instigated it!”

You deserve this verbal beatdown and you know it. But all you can do is shrug. “Technically, he gave me his number. He’s the one who instigated it.”

“I’m gonna throw my fucking drink in your face,” Leah threatens, gripping her glass in warning. 

You roll your eyes at her. “Nothing’s gonna happen,” you say, even though you know you’re probably lying. Leah knows this too. “We’ve just been texting a little. It’s nothing serious.”

“Yeah, sure,” she deadpans. “Right. And even if I did believe you, what happens if it does? What happens if you get back in your weird, scary Jamie phase and he kills you again? I can’t deal with that.”

“That’s not going to happen,” you assure her, and this time it’s more confident. Because you know you won’t. Not this time. Not if anything happens.

You’d met Jamie when you were twenty-two. You were in your first year of your Masters program, slightly lost as in your move to London to finish your journey to become a physical therapist. Or a physio, as they called it here. Whatever. You couldn’t keep up with the names. 

You were shadowing a physio at the clinic you now worked at, assisting him as a part of your internship at one of the football tournaments the clinic worked at. It was a ton of big-wig footballers, some names you recognized, others you didn’t. But it didn’t matter. They were precious fucking cargo and you were so paranoid about screwing up that you barely registered who they were when you worked on them.

That was, until a twenty-two-year-old Jamie Tartt sprained his ankle and plopped himself down on your doctor’s bench. He looked at you, you assisted him, and you were wrapped up in what you were doing that you didn’t even notice he was flirting with you. 

You didn’t realize until he asked you out. And the rest was history, for better or for worse.

You were surprised he went for you. You knew who Jamie was, what type of girls he liked to be seen with. They were singers and models and actresses. They weren’t you. 

(Perhaps that’s one of the reasons you liked him so much. Because he chose you. You didn’t like to think about that phase of your life.) 

But after six months of seeing him, he ended things out of nowhere. Right when you’d settled on the idea that despite it all, you might be in love with him. And that was that.

You hadn’t seen him since. Not until this week.

“Not gonna happen my ass,” Leah scoffs, bringing you back into the conversation at hand.

A sigh of frustration leaves your lips. “Listen, I know it’s a bad idea;” you tell her. “I know it is. But, I don’t know. There was something different about him, Leah. He was just… like not someone I recognized.”

“Maybe because his hair is fucking long and stupid now.” She brings her glass to her lips. “His highlights look horrendous.”

“I actually like his hair like this,” you admit, earning yet another eye roll. “Listen. I’m not saying he’s changed. He probably hasn’t. But I…” You trail off with a shrug. “I don’t know. What if he has?”

Leah’s looking at you like you’re the dumbest person she’s ever met in her life. “Are you hearing yourself right now?” she asks incredulously. “Babe, he was a prick to you. Like, category-five, prestige-level twat. Like, worst boyfriend you’ve ever had.”

“I know,” you repeat. “And I said nothing’s going to happen. But if it does, and it goes south, I give you full permission to say I-told-you-so for the rest of my life, alright?”

Leah bites the inside of her cheek, shaking her head. “Whatever,” she says. After a moment, she glances over at you. “I’m just looking out for you, y’know. I don’t want to see you hurt again. And I definitely don’t want him to be the reason for that hurt again.”

You grab her hand. “I know,” you say once more. “And I love you for it. But if I’m gonna be stupid, I’m fully aware of when I’m gonna do it. And it’s gonna be my own fault.”

There’s a moment of silence between the two of you before Leah nods. “Okay,” she finally says. “Okay. Fine. Your fucking funeral.”

“I’ll let you give the eulogy and allow you to call me a dumb bitch for ten minutes straight.”

“Sold,” Leah says, pointing at you. That slight intrigue you previously saw in her eye returns. “Okay, now that I’ve yelled at you, you need to tell me everything.”

And so you do. You tell her how he took your coffee, how you nearly threw up the second you saw him, how you played it cool until you didn’t. How he apologized to you. Joked around with you. Apologized some more. And then he gave you his coffee. 

You despise how excited you sound about it. Again, you’re trying to play it cool, but the people that know you the best can always see right through you. You’re excited about it. Excited about him.

It’s a bad idea to be excited about him.

It’s a bad idea to look down at your phone after you and Leah order another drink. Your heart stops when you see he’s texted you. 

It’s a bad idea to open the message when Leah excuses herself to go to the bathroom. What are you up to tonight? 

It’s past midnight on a Saturday and he’s texting you. It’s still preseason for him, so he might be drunk, he may not be. You’re three drinks deep and aren’t sure if you are.

It’s a bad idea to respond to him. getting drinks with a friend. You keep it dry.

It’s a bad idea to not look down at your phone until you finish the drinks you ordered. Because now, you’re definitely drunk and looking at it all with new eyes. 

Would you want to hang out tonight? No pressure.

It’s a bad idea to consider it. 

But it’s a worse idea to agree.

text me your new address. i can be there by 1:30.

Before you know what you’re doing, you’re knocking on Jamie’s door, intertwining your fingers together when you realize you’re shaking.

The second you do it, you regret it. You’re no longer feeling the effects of your drinks. It wore off on the Uber ride over here. And everything seems like a terrible idea now.

God, what were you doing? He treated you like that and the second you see him again, you go running back? He was an asshole. He’d made you question everything about yourself, he’d made you cry, he’d made you experience every fucking emotion in the book and all it took is one text for you to be back on his doorstep?

Your roommate was right. This was a horrendous idea and you were an idiot.

However, none of that matters. It doesn’t matter because Jamie Tartt’s opening his door and he’s got a stupid fucking smile on his face. And the second you see it, you know there’s no turning back.

“Hey,” he says as he opens the door. “You alright, love?”

You clench your jaw at the name, at his smile, about how casual he’s being, about everything. “Hey,” you say, avoiding his eyes to look around his flat. 

It’s a complete 180 from what he had when he first joined Richmond and what he had when you knew him. It’s a bit less mojo-dojo-casa-house-looking and something more mature. While you can still tell that a twenty-something guy definitely lives here, it’s decorated well, it’s put together, and it’s clean. No beer bottle sculptures in sight. He’s even got a fucking candle burning on his counter. Who the fuck is this and what did he do with the guy you knew?

Jamie follows you as you enter, wiping his hands on his sweatpants. “You find the place okay?”

His question snaps you out of your flat-induced haze. “Yeah,” you reply. You clear your throat. “This is nice.”

That same, stupid smile returns, but it looks a bit nervous. “Yeah. I told you it was a bit different, huh?” he chuckles. He walks toward his island, rounding it as he speaks. “Needed a fresh start or whatever. The old one was gettin’... old.” He watches you as you nod, continuing to look around. “You still in the same place with the same people?”

“Uh, no. Different place. No people,” you answer. You’ve stayed on your side of the counter, actively keeping your distance. “Willa moved to New York last year and Leah moved with her boyfriend. We live in the same building, though, which is nice.”

The small talk is fucking killing you. You’re not even sure if he cared to remember your previous roommates' names, so this all could be pointless. You can’t believe you’re here. You can’t believe you’re actually standing here, talking to him about the past. 

But as you finish speaking, he nods like he’s listening. Maybe he is listening. Maybe he does remember. 

“I’ll have to see that sometime,” he ends up saying, and the implication of it makes your head spin. He wants to see you again. Or he just learned small talk common courtesy. Whatever it is, it’s driving you insane. You have so many questions for him, so many things to say, and as he wipes his hands on his pants again and nods over to his kitchen, he asks, “Can I get you something to drink? I’ve got—”

“Why did you invite me here, Jamie?” The question comes spilling out of you, rushed as if it were waiting on the tip of your tongue and simply couldn’t stand to stay in any longer. Jamie stops in his tracks to blink at you. The look on his face encourages you to go on. “I mean, I know I texted you first. But why… why did you text me tonight? Why’d you—” You grimace, trying to find the right words. “Why’d you give me your number?”

He’s silent for a moment. Thinking. Evaluating. But his eyes haven’t left you. “Because I wanted you here,” he finally says. You cross your arms over your chest as he takes a step toward you. “Because I haven’t stopped thinking about you since I saw you.”

You want to say that you’ve been driven crazy all week because you feel same, but decide against it. Instead, you look away from him and scoff. “Right.”

“I’m serious,” he tells you, and your heart stops with every step he takes. “I felt like I was goin’ insane. I didn’t…” For a flash of a second, he looks shy. “I didn’t think I’d see you again. And I didn’t think you’d actually text me. I mean, I hoped you would, but…”

He’s right in front of you, but you still refuse to look at him. Your gaze has shifted to the floor. “I shouldn’t have,” you mutter.

The asshole has the nerve to chuckle, but it’s nervous. Your stomach churns. You’re not sure if you’ve ever heard him nervous. “No, you probably shouldn’t have,” he agrees. “I don’t deserve it.” He pauses and your throat starts to tighten. “I didn’t deserve you.”

That makes you look at him. Either he’s actually apologetic about everything, or he’s gotten really good at knowing everything you want to hear. “No. You didn’t.”

His fingers tentatively brush your arm and you allow him to take your hand. “I know,” he says. “I was a fucking prick. I get that now. I should never have… done that shit to ya.” You’re close enough to him now that if you moved an inch, his forehead would be up against yours. He brings your hand up to his mouth, pressing a feather-light kiss to the back of it. The action makes your throat tighten. “And I can’t fix it. But I…” He trails off again and looks you dead in the eye once he has the words. “I want to make it up to you.”

Your resolve is getting weaker and you hate yourself for it. You lean back against the counter, like that will put space between you two. “Jamie…”

“Please,” he whispers. His forehead finally meets yours. You can feel his breath on your lips. You don’t pull away. “Let me make it up to you.”

The last front you have standing weakly presents itself. “If you think,” you begin, breath shuddering as his hand meets your neck, “that one 2 AM hookup is going to make up for what you did, I—”

“I know it won’t,” he says, and it sounds like he does know. “But I want it to be a start.” The fingers on your neck are now tracing your jaw. And they tighten when he says, “Let me show you just how sorry I am, yeah? Let me make it fucking good for you.”

Jesus fucking Christ. That last front dissolves the second he says that, and your logic flips on itself. You came over here for a reason. You knew what this was. At least you got an overdue apology. Whether or not he meant it, is still up in the air, but if he’s promising things like that, then you might as well get something out of it.

You struggle to get a word out, so you nod against his hand. “O-Okay,” you finally stammer out. The way he’s looking at you gives you enough confidence to say, “Fine. Make it up to me.”

Jamie’s lips curl into a smirk and say, “As you wish,” before they’re on yours.

He’s softer than you remember. His lips aren’t chapped, he isn’t as aggressive with it, and he isn’t as rushed. Everything about him feels more mature and you struggle to understand how fast he could have changed in four years. But you’re not complaining. Not when he’s kissing you like this, with more practice and passion than you can ever recall.

His hand unlocks from yours to slide it up your sweatshirt, and it’s surprisingly warm against your back. Still, you shiver from the contact and you can feel him smirk once more against your lips. 

The action alone prompts you to fork a hand in his hair and tug at it slightly, reveling in the soft sound that escapes him. Everything about him comes back to you at once, and you’ve never been happier to know that the same things still get him. If he wants to play it like that, you can keep up.

His hands drop to grab your thighs and lift you onto the counter, breaking the kiss momentarily. Your chest is heaving up and down, lips swollen and wet. Jamie appears to be in the same boat. “Fuck,” he whispers, sounding even more out of breath than you. He dips his head to press a kiss to your neck, nose rubbing against it as he makes his way down. “You look fucking gorgeous, by the way. Meant to tell you that at the shop.”

You’re too caught up in it all to play it cool, especially as he works at that one spot on your neck. “You look— fuck, you look good too. The long hair suits you.”

You feel him grin against your neck. “Yeah?”

“Yeah,” you agree breathily. “Looked like a prick with the old cut.”

You feel his teeth dig into your skin at that one, and you hiss. “You liked that prick,” he reminds you.

You were in love with that prick, but you ignore that thought. “I liked a lot of things about him,” you respond. While it’s honest, the accidental double meaning of it isn’t lost on you.

It’s certainly not lost on Jamie. “Yeah?” he asks again. He lifts his head to look at you, hand creeping up your leg. “What’d you like?” You grip his arm as it rises beneath your sweatshirt once more. “C’mon love. Tell me what you want.”

You hate the way your breath hitches the second his fingers meet your back. You know what you want. You want to see what he’s learned since you last had him. What he’s like four years later. What’s changed, what’s stayed the same. But you’re too embarrassed and much too proud to ask.

Instead, you decide to say, much too shyly for your liking, “You know what I want.”

He hums in agreement, other hand creeping dangerously close to the inside of your thigh. “I do, don’t I?” he murmurs. “Bet I know everything ya want. But I wanna hear you say it.”

“Oh my, God,” you say under your breath, frustration creeping into your voice. The asshole fucking laughs at you. “I want you to make good on your promise. This seems far from it.”

“Right, right, I’m sorry,” he tells you. He doesn’t sound sorry at all. “Just making sure we’re still, y’know. On the same page.” He glances at you. “Right?”

You blink at him. You’re not sure you could have been clearer about what page you’re on. But that’s not what surprises you. What surprises you is the seriousness in his eyes. How he’s searching for assurance in yours. And you know that if, for whatever godly reason, you wanted to stop, he’d pull away immediately, despite how worked up he clearly is. 

It's the bare fucking minimum, but it's more than you’re used to getting.

So, you nod. “Yeah,” you say. “Definitely on the same page.” 

The grin he breaks out to is nothing short of breathtaking. “Good.”

“But—” you suddenly say, stopping him from leaning in once more. He freezes beneath your touch, brows furrowing. “This is… This is a one-time thing. You’re…” You trail off to find the word. “You’re apologizing to me. That’s all this is.”

His smile falters, dropping momentarily before returning with a bit less radiance. It’s his turn to nod. “Okay,” he says, fingers now toying with the edge of your sweatshirt. “Gotta make it count, then.”

And with that, Jamie presses his lips back to yours, grabbing you securely and pulling you off the counter. Your legs wrap around his waist, grabbing the sides of his face, like that’ll stable you against him. 

This time, it’s more desperate. It’s more tongues and teeth, more force and intention behind each movement. He’s setting the pace, but you’re keeping up tenfold. While it’d been four years, you’re not sure if he’d ever kissed you like this. He’s passionate instead of aggressive. While he knows what he wants, he’s definitely not just going to take it. He may be leading but he’s listening to you. And that stirs something inside you that you haven’t felt in a long time.

That much is clear, because you unconsciously let out a quiet sound against his lips. You can feel him smiling once more as he walks you slowly to wherever the hell his bedroom is. You’re caught up in him. And by the way he’s gripping you, you can tell he’s just as caught up in you.

So much so, that he completely loses track of where he’s going and accidentally slams you into his doorframe. You yelp, more because of shock than pain, and pull away to glare at him.

Jamie’s already apologizing. “Sorry, sorry,” he says. “Still gettin’ used to this place.”

“Well, figure out how to navigate better,” you respond, verging on a pout as you rub the back of your head.

“I’m sorry!” he repeats. He’s still got you against the doorframe. “It’s hard to see with your big head in me face. And I can’t kiss ya with, like, my eyes open. It’d be freaky.”

“I’ll give you a pass for that one,” you reply dryly. “Be weird instead of giving me a concussion.”

He’s walking you toward the bed when he mutters, “I’ll give you something, alright.”

Your back meets the mattress and you try to ignore the way he held his hand behind your head when he laid you down. You have under a second to adjust before he’s on top of you. The desperation returns and it almost takes your breath away.

He’s essentially straddling you, tugging at the waist of your leggings before he leaves one last kiss on your lips. He finally gets to pull your sweatshirt off, something he’d clearly been dying to rid you of since he first kissed you. You lift your arms up to help him, finding that you quickly start to do the same to him. You hear him chuckle as you attempt to get it up his back.

“I got it, love, hold on,” he says softly, tossing your hoodie to the side to take off his own. Your eyes immediately go to his chest and stomach and you refrain from reaching out to touch him. When you look up at him, you expect him to be smirking. However, he’s doing the exact opposite.

Jamie’s looking down at you like he can’t fucking believe you’re real. It’s jarring, seeing him like this, but you figure he’s in the same headspace as you and is still struggling to process that this is happening. It doesn’t matter, because before you can question it, he’s moving to press a kiss to your collarbone.

Your hand falls into his hair as he works his way down, mouthing the area of your chest. He pauses before he gets to the bra you’re wearing. His eyes flick up to yours. “Can I—”

You’re nodding before he can even get the words out, shifting to make it easier for him. He discards it to the floor with the rest. When he looks back at you, he releases a shaky breath and just stares.

He stares so intently that you begin to get self-conscious. “What?” you ask.

The question takes Jamie out of his trance. He shakes his head. “Nothing,” he says. “I just— I… Fuck. I forgot how beautiful you were.”

That spreads a warmth through you, one that pulls at your core. As you feel your face heat, you realize you have nothing to say to that. Luckily, he’s already moving on.

Jamie’s different. Really different. And you don’t realize how different he is until you start looking at him like you are right now. You were trying to convince yourself when you told Leah that he’d changed, you’ll admit that. But right now, you think you may have been telling the truth.

He grabs the waist of your leggings once more, lifting your legs to pull them off. You can’t help the laugh that leaves your lips as he struggles to do so. He shakes his head with a soft smile. “Missed that.”

“What?” you ask again.

“Your laugh,” he replies. “Missed that more than you know.”

The sweet words hit you like a bullet. The vulnerability in his voice is what gets you. Goddammit, when did he get so fucking nice? It drives you insane. But it also makes you quietly admit, “I think I’ve got an idea.”

With your leggings now gone, Jamie’s smile turns fonder. Gentler. He presses a kiss to your leg but says nothing in response. He simply places your legs down, eyes flicking down. He lifts his hand to trace down your stomach, stopping at the edge of your panties. The feeling makes you flinch.

He hooks a finger in the band, and your hips buck up to encourage him. His other hand spreads across your hip in a poor effort to keep you still. “Easy,” he murmurs. 

You huff out a breath. “You can—” Your breath hitches as two of his fingers push into your underwear. “Fuck, you can take them off.”

His lips quirk up. “Well, thank you for the permission,” he says. “But not yet. I wanna take it slow with ya.”

Your mouth parts. “Why?”

“Because it’s been years since I’ve seen you,” he answers, moving up to kiss you softly. He speaks against your lips as he says, “And I’ve apparently only got one shot to do this right. So I’m gonna make this last.”

You roll your eyes at his terribly disguised jab. “You’re a dick,” you mutter against him.

“And you’re—” He cuts himself off and a gasp escapes your lips as he cups your core and rubs his palm against it. “Fuck, love. You’re really fucking wet.” He’s positioned on you so that you can feel him getting harder against you thigh. “This all for me, yeah?”

His voice is cocky, while still sounding awestruck. The remaining dignity you have left makes you roll your eyes, albeit a bit embarrassed. “It’s for whoever doesn’t take their fucking time to give me what I want,” you bite.

Jamie draws back from you with a full smirk on his face. “That so?” he asks. The hand against you starts creeping up to the band of your panties. “And what is it that you want? You still haven’t told me.”

You scoff. “I told you.”

He pulls your underwear down your legs and the air around you suddenly makes you realize just how exposed you are. You told yourself you’d never give him the satisfaction of seeing you like this again. But here you were.

His fingers brush against the inside of your thigh, and you shiver once more. “No,” he tells you gently. “You didn’t. You just said you wanted me to keep my promise. You didn’t tell me what you wanted.”

He’s moving closer and closer to the place you want him and you don’t know if you can take it anymore. You shift uncomfortably, as if that will cease the ache. But you know only one thing will.

So, you give him the answer he’s been waiting for this entire time. “You.” His gaze meets yours. “I want you, Jamie. Please.”

That breathtaking grin returns. “Just because you asked so nicely.”

And then he puts his mouth on you without warning.

You spasm at the contact, crying out as he uses both arms to hold you still. The second you calm down, one hand leaves your thigh and you feel him work two fingers into you. Fuck. He didn’t know that before.

And it’s not like he was ever bad in bed when you two were together. You’re not sure you would have stayed with him if that were the case. It’s just… he’s better now. He’s hitting everything nearly perfectly, not stumbling like he used to. He’s more confident. More assured. He knows what he’s doing.

And it’s fucking hot.

The sounds that fill his room are downright obscene. He’s gripping one side of you to keep you in place, splitting you open on his knuckles with the other. His mouth zeroes in on your clit, alternating between licking and sucking in a way that honestly has you close already.

“F-fuck,” you breathe. “Fuck, Jamie. Don’t st— shit. Don’t stop. Please.”

Of course, the fucking shit he is, stops. He grins up at you, but continues to slowly pump his fingers in and out. “You sound so fucking pretty begging like that,” he tells you. He’s just as out of breath as you are. He feels you clench around his fingers at the praise and it only eggs him on further. “Look so pretty too. Fucking gorgeous.”

“Jamie,” you whine again. He’s going too slow. Teasing. It’s not fucking fair. He’s supposed to be the one apologizing to you. “I need— Ngh. I need—”

“What do you need?” he asks. “Tell me.”

You think you’d kill him if you weren’t completely incapacitated. “More,” you manage to get out, wincing as he continues at his slow pace. You’re close. Embarrassingly close. “Just fucking more. Please. I’m—” You interrupt yourself with a moan as he shoves his fingers deeper into you.

“I know,” he nearly coos. “I’ve got you.”

And got you he does. Because not only does he pick up the pace, he stretches you with a third finger. The sting of it is momentary, and it subsides as soon as he bends down and swipes your clit with his tongue.

Your back arches. “Jesus fucking— Jamie. Oh, my God.”

He’s good. Of course, he’s fucking good. He’s Jamie Tartt. You’re not sure he’s ever been bad at anything physical in his life. Emotionally was another story. But that story didn’t matter right now. Not when he’s got you like this, and you’re teetering over the edge.

He pulls away from you, breath tickling your core as he speaks. “C’mon,” he chides. “I can feel it. You’re right there, aren’t you, love?” He takes your breathy silence as confirmation and nods to himself. “Yeah. You just need—”

He removes one finger and crooks the rest a certain way, deeper than before. Your heart may stop beating. He’s done something he did to you time and time again, something that he was actually really fucking good at, something he knew you liked years ago. When he looks up at you, he searches your eyes. And by the way they roll back, he knows he’s struck gold.

The smirk returns and he continues to work his fingers into you, smirk growing each time he hears you say his name. “Yeah,” he whispers. “That’s it. That’s still it.”

You could finish at any moment. The telltale heat is rising in your stomach, and you’re just waiting for the cord to snap. And then, as if your muscle memory takes over, you reach out for his arm.

But instead of letting you do it like before, he does something completely different. He intertwines his free hand with the back of yours and guides it to your stomach. And then he presses on your hand.

The pressure builds. You’re barely able to make any noise. And then—

“C’mon,” Jamie repeats. “Come for me, angel. I wanna see it.”

The cord snaps, and you do as you’re told. You come. Hard.

Jamie talks you through it, fingers still moving to coax your climax out of you. You’re sure you look pathetic, crying out and thrashing around in his bed, but you don’t care. You can barely fucking see right now.

It’s been a while for you. Or at least been a while since you’ve had anything that good. And it completely strips away any sort of attitude or frustration you had before.

When you finally come back down, you laugh softly, shaking your head and throwing your arm over your face. “Fuck,” you say through a chuckle.

You feel him shift, moving up the bed to hover over you once more. When he removes your arm from your eyes, you see that he’s smiling. “Nobody’s ever laughed after I’ve done that,” he tells you, a faux pout pulling at his lips. He bends down to press them to yours and you can taste yourself. “It better be a good fuckin’ sign.”

You laugh again, reaching up to cup his cheek and pull him into another kiss. “Very good sign,” you assure him. It’s muffled against him, but you think he gets the point. 

It’s then that you catch him by surprise and flip the two of you over, straddling him in a way that makes him release a breathy sound that you’d missed dearly. But, something feels off.

Your glance down at him, expecting to feel or see fabric once you reach his leg. But there’s not much. Only what feels like boxer shorts. It catches you off guard. When did he take off his—

It doesn’t matter. It’s easier for you now. Especially as your fingers move across his abdomen, biting back a grin at the way he shudders. He looks up at you from his pillow.

“What are you doing?” he asks leadingly.

You shrug innocently, fingers toying with the band hanging low on his hips. “Returning the favor,” you reply. 

Jamie makes a noise of disapproval, placing a hand on your thigh like that’ll stop you. “I’m supposed to be the one making it up to you,” he states, but his voice gets less firm as you cup him through the fabric. “Fuck. Y-You don’t owe me anythin’. No favors.”

You shake your head, pulling at his boxers so that he springs free from inside. Your eyes travel back to his as you reach out and gently grab his cock, staring down at him with a smirk dancing on your lips. “You sure?”

He looks pained. You don’t know why. You’re offering a way to take him out of his misery. But still, he shakes his head and moves his arm from your leg to your back. 

He takes his turn to flip you over next. He swears under his breath as he does so, shaking his head when you land on your back.

“I told you,” he says, taking his boxers all the way off now. “It’s about you. Not me.” He shakes his head again, but this time it’s a bit more frustrated. When he speaks, it’s mostly to himself. “Can’t believe I just fuckin’ said no to that.”

A snort escapes you. “You’re a changed man, Jamie Tartt,” you joke.

He shrugs before placing his arms on either side of you. His voice teeters on teasing and earnest. “I’ve been trying to tell ya that.”

You’re not sure if it’s him, or the situation, or the sex, but you think you believe him. It makes your chest heavy. But you can’t admit that. You won’t let yourself. So, you keep that feeling tucked away, way in the back of your mind for safekeeping. You know it’s better like that. For your emotional sake, at least.

You allow yourself to prop yourself up on your elbow and kiss him instead of responding to that, bringing him in closer. You can feel the length of him press against your stomach, and his groan vibrates against your lips. 

He pulls away, grinding into you. The heat of your body is making him go wild. “Can I—”

You know what he wants. And you want it too. “Please,” you say. 

He nods, moving to angle himself against you. You glance down to watch him, heat flooding your face as he strokes himself before glancing up at you. You nod in return, giving him the confirmation he needs. Jamie grins.

He slides in you slowly. The stretch is mild but grows as he hovers over you once more. It’s easy to adjust, having been warmed up moments before. But for Jamie, it’s not as easy.

He bottoms out almost immediately, tensing over you. His head bows, chin falling to his chest. “Fuck,” he curses. It’s quiet but straight-up sinful. “God, fucking— you’re so—” You grip onto his bicep as he steadies himself. “I’m sorry. It’s just— i-it’s been a minute. And you’re f-fucking tight. Jesus.”

You don’t mind. He feels good like this, despite the fact he’s not moving. Your hand travels from his arm to his hair, tucking a piece of it behind his ear before settling on his jaw. “It’s alright,” you tell him. “We’ve got time.”

Jamie’s eyes snap open at that, but he’s not looking at you like you thought he would. You were expecting a cheeky sort of smile, a smirk, something in that realm. But he’s not. He’s looking at you like…

It’s something you can’t define. Something you’ve never seen before. It churns your stomach yet makes your heart race. Neither of you says a word.

He just dips down to kiss you again and slowly begins to move inside you. Your lips part in a gasp, and he slides his tongue in your mouth. Your back arches into him.

Before you know it, he's breaking from you and is breathing heavy against your neck. “Shit,” he groans. “You’re just— fuck. You…” He trails off, mouth hovering over your collarbone. “You drive me f-fucking mad. God, everything about you. Y-you don’t even know, do you?”

The pace picks up. He’s thrusting into you harder now and your nails dig into his back. You hear him hiss at the contact, but neither of you seem to care. “Fuck.” It’s all you can say. “Fuck, Jamie.”

He’s clearly not done talking. “How’d I-I fuck this up? Huh?” You can’t tell if he’s talking to you or himself. His mouth is on your chest now and the feeling runs through you like fire. “Fucking idiot. Didn’t know what I had. Can’t believe I let you go.”

You clench around him and it throws him off kilter. You watch his jaw clench, hand beside you gripping the pillow you’re on. “You w-were an idiot.” Your agreement is much less effective when it’s closed out by a high-pitched moan.

“I know. Fuck, I know,” he says. “I’m sorry. Deserved better.” He continues to slam into you. “I wanna gi—” A strangled sound erupts from his lips. “Give you better. You’re so—” When he shakes his head, he looks wrecked. “I can’t believe you’re here.”

Something about that sends a shock to your system. It makes you cry out and you can feel it. Your legs tremble around him. You’re close again. You’re really fucking close. 

He kisses you once more, deeper than before. It’s more frantic. Everything about him is more erratic. You can tell he’s getting there too. “Couldn’t stop,” he manages to get out, hot against your lips. “Couldn’t s-stop thinking about you. I missed you.” 

You clench around him again, the admission inching you closer. “Shit,” you say. “Fuck, Jamie, keep going.”

And keep going he does. His hand moves down your stomach, fingers finding your clit. He rubs circles into it and that sends you into a fucking tailspin. He swallows the sound you make. 

“Missed you,” he says again, but it’s more helpless. Jamie fucking whimpers. “God, I f-fucking missed you, angel. Missed you so fucking much, I—”

You don’t hear the rest of what he says because you come the second he makes that sound. It’s white-hot. Blinding. Your legs twitch around him and you claw at him as he continues to rub your clit. You’re loud, but you don’t give a shit. It seems to spur him on.

He’s not far behind you. He spills into you with a groan, stomach flexing as he heaves over you, twitching inside of you. You’re still recovering from your own high as you open your eyes to watch him. You catch his expression for a moment before he’s collapsing into you.

You release a soft ‘oof’ at the sudden weight of him. He doesn’t say anything for a moment and neither do you. You just breathe together. But after a moment you allow yourself to put a hand in his hair.

“You’re fucking heavy,” you tell him, but there’s not much bite in it.

You feel him chuckle. “Give me second,” he says. “Not as fuckin’ agile as I used to be. Took a lot out of me, alright?”

You roll your eyes but continue to run your fingers through his hair. “You’re twenty-six and like, the face of the AFC,” you tell him. “Richmond might have to shorten your contract if you’re dying after that.”

He presses a kiss to your shoulder. “Take that up with me Chairwoman then.”

You can’t help but laugh as you push him off of you, wincing as you feel him slip out. He lands with the same noise you did. “If she heard you complaining like that, she’d be on my side.”

Jamie grins at you, joining in on your laughter. He shifts toward you, grabbing your hand to play with your fingers. “You’re probably right. Shouldn’t be complainin’,” he says. He lifts your hand to his lips. “Not when you’re here.”

They’re sweet words. The casualty of them makes your heart swell. But that anxiety about him returns. One time thing, you tell yourself. Apology. One time. That’s all.

You pull your hand back softly and he glances over at you. There’s a hint of worry in his eyes, like that one movement set off alarm bells in his head. You give him an uneasy smile.

Before you can move to get up or say anything or do something, he’s talking. And you have to refrain from wincing. 

“I know…” He looks away from you. Shy. “I know you said one time,” he says, as if he can read your fucking mind. “And that’s… That’s okay. I get that, yeah? But I—” Jamie wipes a hand down his face, staring at the ceiling. “I meant what I said. I missed ya. Really.”

You missed him too. But your walls have been rising back up since he started talking again. “I don’t know what you want me to do with that,” you tell him, only partially lying.

You feel like an asshole when he winces. Maybe you were being an asshole. Maybe it was finally your turn to do so. 

“Just…” He finally looks at you. “If you ever… don’t want this to be just a one-time thing.” He waves it off in an attempt to look casual. You know he’s anything but. “You’ve got my number. Or whatever.”

The timidness in his voice makes your resolve soften. Even if you don’t see him again, you suppose you can let him down easy. He’s been kind enough tonight to deserve that. You nod at him as you sit up. “Okay,” you say. “I’ll let you know.”

It’s only slightly awkward as you get out of his bed and search for your clothes. He asks if he can call you an Uber home and you reject it, letting him know that you’ve got one on the way.

You can feel his eyes on you as you dress, ignoring the way they burn into you. You can tell he’s searching for something to say, or something to talk to you about but doesn’t know what.

You’re half-dressed before he can shoot himself in the foot and say something stupid. “Hey,” he finally says. You glance over your shoulder at him after you slip your sweatshirt on. “I’m really glad you texted me.”

The nice streak you’re riding on continues and you offer a small but genuine smile in return. “Me too,” you admit, ignoring the way that his own soft smile pulls at your heartstrings. 

Before you leave his room, you offer one more admission. You stop in the doorframe he hit you against, lips curling further upward. “It was really good to see you, Jamie.”

He props himself up on his elbow, smile growing. “Good,” he says, nodding. Then, like a prick, he winks at you. “Glad we’re on the same page.”

You physically cannot stop yourself from rolling your eyes and you hear him laugh to himself as you walkdown his hall. “Goodbye, asshole.”

He shouts a tired-sounding ‘bye!’ when you slip your shoes on, shaking your head as you look around his apartment once more. The candle on his counter is still burning, smelling of amber moss and palo santo.

You blow it out before you leave, knowing he’ll forget.

And as you do so, you feel yourself regress. Or grow. You’re not quite sure which one.

But it makes you curse under your breath and leave his flat immediately.

There is one more universal truth you forgot to mention. 

And that’s that the second you think you’re over Jamie Tartt, he comes back into your life and flips everything on its head. And it’s the only truth that’s been confirmed to you all week.

Because the second you arrive home and see that you have a text waiting for you, your heart picks up. You hate the way you get excited to see it.

I had a really good time tonight.

And the second he comes back into your life, you’re reminded that you’re not over him. Not even in the slightest. And it’s fucking debilitating. 

me too. 

And you know your friends are going to kill you the second you follow up with:

i’m free friday if you want to grab a drink.

[chaotic-orphan]

Intoxicating Fear (XIX)

The blood of the Covenant

Part one // Masterpost // continued from here

It's a day late but listen I just discovered jujutsu kaisen and wowza - I have never related more to a character than Satoru Gojo and the forced self-awareness I now have to endure bc all the other characters are just constantly criticising him - for good reasons ofc but like, I don't need the personal attack? Anyways! ENJOY

~*~*~*~*~*~

The moment Kit’s eyes lazily fluttered open he wanted to shut them again. There was no haziness to the morning, no brief reprieve of waking where there are no thoughts and you exist in a limbo state: halfway between dreaming and consciousness.

No. Not even the incredibly comfortable bed could provide a respite from his mind.

Kit didn’t get any of that.

The first thing that greeted him when he opened his eyes was Ambrose telling him that there was a telekinetic Villain in the city. And the only telekinetic hero Kit knew of was Mentor. There was Sawyer with his shadows too, but that Villain wasn’t Sawyer. Kit knew the coldness of his shadows.

Not to mention the strange thing happening with his own powers around Ambrose. It seemed like all fucking roads just lead back to Ambrose.

Kit had to get out of bed. He had to go downstairs and face Ambrose. He had to watch the news and see the scale of Ment— Villain’s— destruction. He had to call Superhero and try to ignore the feeling in his gut that told him this Villain — whoever he was — was actually Supervillain making an appearance for the first time.

His stomach turned as his mind linked Supervillain and Mentor together, but he couldn’t stop the thought from forming. He couldn’t seem to stop anything lately.

Kit clenched his teeth as he pushed himself up and out of bed. His socked feet touched soft carpet like a cloud and tension seemed to leave his body at the feeling. Ambrose may be a rich, entitled prick, but if Kit could wake up to these carpets every morning maybe he would be too.

He stretched, his limbs cracking as he woke them up. The exhaustion from yesterday’s overused powers had dissipated overnight, leaving Kit a bit more refreshed than usual. Actually, no. Not refreshed. He felt great! Normal. Aside from a mild headache but there was no bone deep tiredness in his limbs.

It felt strange, but in a good way. He clicked his fingers and a small blue bolt formed between them. Before he could be relieved, the bolt sparked violently, red tongues of lightning forked out of the blue until Kit dropped the charge.

Shit.

Kit walked out of the room, and opened a few doors before he found a bathroom. Ignoring the luxury of the room, Kit froze in the doorway. A mirror hung above the sink and reflected Kit’s bright red eyes back at him.

“No, no, no, no, no!” Kit muttered, half-running to the mirror and pulling his eyelids down. “Stop it. Stop it. Snap out of it!”

Kit slapped himself in the face and checked again but nothing. He turned the tap on, maybe he just needed to splash some water in his face. Yeah. That was it.

The water was cool over his fingertips and refreshing as it splashed his face, but when he looked up again all he saw was red. Kit slammed his hand down on the edge of the sink, glaring at his own face in the mirror.

This was all Ambrose’s fault! Before him Kit’s powers were under control! Always under control, but now… this thing with his eyes it made him sick. His electricity was supposed to be blue not red.

“Fuck!” Kit cried, smashing his fist against the edge of the sink again. “Stupid!” Punch. “Fucking.” Punch. “GAAH!” Punch. Punch. Punch.

Ambrose paused with his mug halfway to his lips in the kitchen, hearing a slight commotion upstairs. Mallory must be awake. Then slow, heavy footsteps not even an elephant would make down the stairs.

Kit got to the end of the staircase and looked right and left. The two halls looked identical, both grand and leading different directions. Kit just wanted a coffee… he trudged to the left, trusting his instincts.

From his right, he heard Ambrose: “in here, Mallory.”

Kit was about to throw a tantrum like a toddler, but instead he walked past the staircase and town the hall to the right. On his left he saw a kitchen from some ostentatious show house, like something you’d see on TV, but he ignored it and focused on the Villain sitting at the kitchen island.

His black eyes glinting with amusement as Kit stormed in, going straight for the kettle. Or well, he would’ve gone straight for the kettle had his knees not hit the floor with an echoing thud.

Kit hissed. “What the fuck?”

Ambrose frowned where he sat and stood, walking around the counter to see the hero on his knees in just his boxer shorts and t-shirt, staring up at Ambrose with wide red eyes glowing.

“Morning.” Ambrose said, then a smile came to his lips which bubbled into a laugh at the hero’s confusion. “Oh, I completely forgot.”

“Forgot what?” Kit snapped, trying to move his legs back and stand but he couldn’t. His knees were glued to the floor as if all gravity had amassed in his kneecaps that now seemed to weigh ten tonnes.

“God it seems so faraway now,” Ambrose murmured, being the cryptic fuck that he was.

Small streaks of electricity cackled from Kit’s eyes. “Forgot what?” He asked through clenched teeth. “In case you didn’t know, Rosey, I’m not exactly a morning person, so if you could undo whatever the fuck you’ve done, I’d appreciate it.”

“But you look so good on your knees,” Ambrose told him, reaching a hand out and ruffling Kit’s hair until Kit slapped his hand away. “Like a good puppy.”

“Oh fuck off, dickhead! Let me up.”

Ambrose’s black eyes danced with amusement. “Only if you ask nicely.”

Kit rolled his eyes. “Oh fuck off. I’m just going to fucking crawl I guess.”

“Ki—it,” Ambrose sing-songed, his voice moving like flute notes through his ears. He recognised the coldness of Ambrose’s powers pulling at his mind, the threat of what he could do.

Kit huffed out a breath. Crossing his arms over his chest. He didn’t look at Ambrose as he mumbled: “can I get up?”

“What was that?” Ambrose asked, putting his hand to his ear like a pre-school teacher. “I couldn’t hear you over the coffee brewing.”

Red eyes snapped to black. “Can I get up? Please?!”

“Of course you can get up Kit.”

This time when Kit moved his legs, his knees didn’t keep him rooted to the spot.

“Dick,” he muttered under his breath, forcing himself not to shoulder check the villain as he passed him on the way to the kettle. “Can you undo whatever that is?”

Ambrose hummed. “I’ll have to get back to you on that. It was a measure to teach you manners.”

Fuck off, Kit thought venomously. I just want a coffee. Kit didn’t answer as he zeroed in on the kettle, and plugged it in.

“Oh, I already made a pot of coffee,” Ambrose said. Kit glanced over his shoulder at Ambrose, stare hard. Ambrose gestured to the counter on the opposite side of the kitchen and Kit was about to throw a fit. He wanted to throw the kettle at the man’s head, but he knew he just needed a coffee and then he’d be fine. So he restrained himself and walked to the coffee pot.

The smell of the coffee went straight to his heart. “Is this… drip coffee?” He asked as he poured the black liquid into the cup that was set out for him.

Ambrose scoffed behind him. “I know you’re used to living in squalor, Mallory, but I don’t keep instant coffee in the house.”

“Wow. I’m not complaining,” Kit said, turning to the island and going to sit beside Ambrose. “I mean, I don’t live in squalor, but drip coffee would be nice every morning.”

Ambrose’s black eyes went to Kit’s face as he sat into the stool. Kit was too busy looking at his bare legs to notice. “I forgot my trousers,” he grumbled, feeling the tips of his ears going pink.

Ambrose waved the comment away. “I’m sure you had more pressing issues this morning?”

Kit raised his pained gaze to Ambrose. Black eyes searched Kit’s red ones with a mildly contained annoyance. “I was hoping there wouldn’t be any lingering effects of yesterday.”

“Lingering effects?” Kit repeated incredulously. “Lingering effects?! Oh I’m sorry if my overworked powers are inconveniencing you in any way, Ambrose. I’m so sorry—”

Ambrose waved him away. “Okay, you’re being dramatic.”

While Kit continued speaking over him, sarcasm dripping from every syllable: “so very, devastatingly, sorry that my powers are all out of whack because a fucking sadistic piece of shit just loves to push me until I can’t go further.”

“Apology accepted.”

Kit scoffed, shaking his head and took another gulp of his coffee. Fuck it tasted so good, it almost made him calm down. Almost.

“But the fact of the matter is we have more pressing issues.”

A sardonic smile slid its way onto Kit’s lips, resting his chin in the palm of his hand and gesturing between them. “What is this “we” you speak of?” He asked, red eyes alight with amusement.

“Mentor, Kit. I’m talking about Mentor.”

Kit’s face dropped as he straightened. “What is this we you speak of?” He repeated tightly.

“Mallory—”

“No,” Kit spat venomously, running a hand through his hair. “No, I am not talking about Mentor with the person who destroyed his mind for fun. No. We’re not doing this.”

“Kit— it’s important, we need—”

“STOP SAYING WE!” Kit roared, slamming his hands down on the table. Red sparks erupting around him as his anger grew. He wanted to smile at the look of fear that flashed across Ambrose’s face as the electricity spit and spewed around him, like a thousand hungry tongues hissing at the air around them.

“There is no we, Ambrose.” Kit continued, his voice echoing slightly with static as if he were speaking through an old radio. “There has never been a we. The only thing that joins you and me is Mentor, and that’s a very thin line because you didn’t know about our connection until what? This week?! You have no fucking right to speak to me about—”

“Mentor is my father.”

The silence would have been deafening if Kit’s electricity didn’t stutter and stop with a pathetic jolts like an old man’s fart. Kit’s mind screeched to a stop with a record scratch, before running ten miles a second because what the fuck did Ambrose just fucking say?!

Kit just stared as Ambrose clenched his hands into fists and loosened them again, repeating the gesture as if he were reaching for something he couldn’t quite touch. It felt as if Kit’s eyelids were torn with how wide they stared at the villain in front of him because this was some fucking sick joke, right?!

“It’s not a joke,” Ambrose said quietly, a wry smile on his face when Kit’s immediate thought was: get out of my head. “It’s not a joke, Kit. I wish it were.”

“You’re—” Kit began, but didn’t have enough breath in his lungs to finish the sentence, his eyes prickling with tears that he refused to let fall. “You… you’re lying. There’s no… you don’t even—”

Kit wasn’t making sense. They were all half formed thoughts spilling from lips as he wondered whether he should kill Ambrose where he stood now, or later.

“You don’t even share the same last name,” Kit settled on, his mind reeling. Ambrose met his eyes finally and Kit wished he hadn’t. He didn’t want to see the vulnerable humanity lingering in Ambrose’s black gaze, the hard tilt to his brows. The confession seemed to strip Ambrose of everything that him, well… Ambrose, and left a man, no a boy, not much older than Kit sitting before him. “You don’t even look alike! You’re not— you can’t be—”

Ambrose sucked in a breath through his nose, burying his face in his palms and rubbing his eyes. “I can show you my birth certificate if you’d like.”

Kit sprung to his feet because he didn’t know what else to do. His body was wired — no alive — with a restless energy that he couldn’t quell or control and the only way he could do something about it was somehow related to jumping off the stool.

“You— you! There’s— you can’t be Mentor’s son! Mentor didn’t— doesn’t have a family!”

Ambrose scoffed, running his hands down his face until they settled around his cup in front of him, his gaze distant. “He would say that.”

“You’re lying.”

Ambrose turned his head to face Kit, though he didn’t really look at him. More like through him. A wry smile pulled at the edges of his eyes.

“Believe it or not, Kit. The fact remains the same.” Ambrose took a sip of his coffee or tea or whatever, while Kit just stood uselessly staring at Ambrose and trying to logic a way to this being some joke, or ruse. “I wish it wasn’t true either.”

“You— you—” Kit stuttered, his hands balling into fists at his sides. Ambrose widened his eyes slightly, raising a placating hand towards Kit.

“Hey, Kit. Calm down.”

Don’t tell me to calm down, Kit wanted to say but he couldn’t get the words out. He couldn’t stop shaking, his entire body felt as if he just drank a vat full of caffeine and it wanted to go, go, go. It was as if someone had just jump-started every nerve in his body, every muscle contracting, every blood cell oxygenated and his body felt far too small as everything seemed to constrict inside of him and there wasn’t enough space and his veins felt ready to burst and—

“HEY! KIT!” Ambrose screamed from far, far below Kit. He wondered distantly what was happening, why Ambrose felt so far away. Why Kit felt like he couldn’t breathe and yet never felt more alive at the same time. “FUCK!”

KIT PLEASE! STOP! Ambrose cried in his mind, but there was no power behind his words. It wasn’t a command, which Kit recognised was strange. Ambrose wasn’t one for allowing free will and all.

Still, there was something wrong. Something very wrong with this picture and Kit couldn’t quite put his finger on what. Every time he tried to narrow it down, the thought ran like water through his fingers and he couldn’t really feel his own body anymore.

Kit crashed down to reality when his head cracked off the tile and he groaned. Ambrose was on the floor beside him, far enough away that the sparks didn’t reach him that were still spluttering from Kit’s body, but why was he on the floor?

“Kit? You with me?” Ambrose asked, black eyes wide with… that couldn’t be concern, not in Ambrose’s eyes. Kit must be hallucinating. Maybe this was all just a dream, a terrible bad dream and he would wake up and everything would be fine.

Instead, Kit groaned in pain, trying to push himself up. His muscles wouldn’t listen though and just shook uselessly beside him, not supporting his weight.

“Kit, talk to me, please.”

“Shut… up… dick.”

“You just thrashed my kitchen, Kit, I think I’m allowed to speak to you.”

Kit blinked, rolling onto his back. “I— what?”

Ambrose didn’t have to answer for Kit to see the scorch marks in the ceiling of his perfect kitchen, or the cracks in the shapes of lichtenberg figures in the walls. Kit winced, glancing at Ambrose who looked to be lost in concentration.

“Ambrose… I didn’t mean for that to happen.”

“I know.”

“No,” Kit protested, raising his hands in front of his face. They sparked and hissed like Kit was in overdrive, hooked up to his own nuclear reactor, a steady stream of small bolts charging the air around his palms. “I’m not doing this.”

Ambrose nodded, tapping his temple with his index finger. “I know,” he said again, and got to his feet. “The best thing I can think to do is the power dampeners.”

Kit sat up with an effort, pressing his back against a counter in Ambrose’s ridiculously massive kitchen. “Did they work?”

“No, knocking you out, worked. Though I doubt you want to do that every time this happens.”

“I’d rather not.”

“Well, then. Power dampeners it is.” Ambrose said with a breath. “Does the circuit still close if you wear the two of them on one hand?”

Kit shrugged. “I don’t know. I haven’t tried it. Usually when you’re catching criminals you want their hands bound too.”

“Hmm, I assume it would work the same. Only one way to find out, right?”

Kit nodded, pushing himself to his feet. Only then did he see the real extent of the damage he did. The stools were scattered around the room, appliances ripped out of sockets. Half of the kettle was melded to the door of the microwave, the microwave itself looked like a crushed aluminium can.

Kit glanced down at his fingers, at the red lightning. Did he really do all this without realising?

His mind went back to his Academy days, when he had first arrived and was only learning how emotions tied to his abilities. It was Superhero who sat down with him and taught him that in order to master his gift, he had to cut off the link between his emotions and his abilities, or he wouldn’t get anywhere as a hero.

This red lightning, it seemed, burrowed all the way down to Kit’s emotions — his negative emotions — anger, rage, hatred, confusion. How could he stop something he could barely recognise the warning signs of?

“Don’t think too much about it, Mallory. Let’s just do one thing at a time. The power dampeners.”

Kit nodded. “Right. The power dampeners.” He repeated, glancing down at his bare legs. “And trousers.”

Ambrose smiled. “Yeah. Might be a good idea.”

Kit walked back out of the kitchen, when by the door Ambrose stopped him again. “Kit, if you want fresh clothes, feel free.”

Kit stopped in the door, glancing over his shoulder at Ambrose who looked mildly embarrassed at the offer. It was a strange thing to see on him. He didn’t quite meet Kit’s eye, his hand wound tight around the back of a chair, while the other brought the mug to his lips.

Kit could tease the villain about it. Usually he would, but he felt gross and shit, so he just nodded. “Cheers.”

Ambrose raised his head, meeting Kit’s eyes and nodded slightly. Then Kit took off down the hall and up the ridiculous stairs and into the first room he found last night. He wanted a shower, he decided when he picked his jacket off the ground, taking the power dampeners from his pocket and tossing them on the bed.

Something to relax his muscles and clear his head. That would be heavenly right about now. Kit grabbed his jeans and threw them on the bed too. He bunched a fistful of his shirt and brought it to his nose, and winced at the smell. Yep, okay. He needed a shower.

He turned in the room, taking it in for the first time. It was huge, as was everything in this stupid house. He walked to the wardrobe that was tucked into the corner of the room, opening the doors. He expected suits and tailored trousers, but was pleasantly surprised when he saw a couple of old hoodies hung up. One of them an old Harvard sweatshirt that had the initials O. Ambrose embroidered into the chest.

It felt like important information, but Kit didn’t really care. His mind racing with the fact that Ambrose was somehow related to Mentor. His son? Why wouldn’t he tell Kit that he had a son? Why weren’t there any pictures or mentions of him ever?

It didn’t make sense. None of it made sense.

Kit sighed, closing the doors to the wardrobe and opening the long door beside it. Inside were shelves of t-shirts and sweatpants and jocks and socks.

Kit took what he needed and walked to the bathroom, searching for towels before he locked the door.

“Mallory,” Ambrose said from outside.

Kit walked over to the door to see Ambrose outside, two towels in his hand. “Oh. Thanks.”

“No problem.”

Kit grabbed them and closed the door, locking it and turning on the shower. He ignored the flash of red he saw in the mirror. He stripped and stepped into the shower, and almost gasped at the pressure of the water drumming down on his shoulders and head.

It was so good. Better than a hotel’s pressure good, better than Kit’s shitty apartment shower anyways. He let out a long, soft sigh of relief as he felt the rushing hot water unwind the knots and pressure in his muscles. He could die under the water and he would die happy.

He washed the memories of the last day away. God was it only a day? The stress from work and Superhero’s babying treatment of him after his illness, mixing with the pains of being with Ambrose for any amount of time.

Kit rubbed his neck and collarbone where Ambrose had choked him yesterday, still feeling a phantom tie wrapped around his throat like a weighted shadow. His gaze trailed down to his arms where the cuts Ambrose had forced him to make were glaring up at him. They had scabbed over at this point, almost healing. The scabs turned yellowish-green under the water, then a purple red beneath it.

All this pain, all this… abuse Ambrose had subjected him too. Was this the price for meeting Mentor? He knew it was too good to be true when Mentor chose him, out of everyone in his year, to personally apprentice under.

The man who little by little, wore down his walled defences while building his strength and magic and confidence. Who made sure he ate everyday, who taught him the value of nutrition and how to make a proper cup of tea…

Kit slammed his fist against the tiles of the shower, hot tears mixing with the water on his face. Ambrose was a monster. He couldn’t be related to Mentor. Mentor… Mentor was a saint. He saved the entire city!

He trusted Kit!

Why wouldn’t he tell him that he had a son? Why keep it secret?! Especially someone as powerful as Ambrose, you’d think he would scream it from the rooftops.

But… but… Mentor was alone when he chose Kit. No trace of a family anywhere in his house, no other heroes mentioned it. He was alone, like Kit, and they made a family together. With each other.

Kit knew it was true, that it was real. It was the only thing he had ever been sure of in his life, so why! Kit banged his fist against the tiles again. Why was there an ache in his chest as if his heart was poisoned?! Why was there a voice in the back of his head that sadly told him that Ambrose wasn’t lying?!

Why!

Why!

Why!

Why!

Why?!

Maybe Mentor was the villain from last night. Maybe Kit never really knew him at all. Maybe Mentor only trusted him with a very small part of his life.

Either way Ambrose had the answers. Kit needed to face them, no matter how painful they would no doubt be, to hear him out.

He scoffed, sniffing. “Listen to yourself,” he muttered to the tiles, his voice uncharacteristically empty. “Hearing Ambrose out? What’s wrong with you?”

Kit sniffed, wiping the snot from his face. “Pathetic.”

He glanced to the shelf in the shower and grabbed the shower gel, staring at the bottle. It wasn’t a 3in1. Kit raised his eyes again to see other bottles in the shower. Kit stared. His brain buffering as his hand reached out to grab another bottle.

Shampoo.

Fancy looking shampoo.

Ambrose just wasted his money on fucking everything didn’t he? Was his toilet paper sheet gold?

Kit shrugged, putting the shower gel back and squeezed out some shampoo onto his hand. It smelled good. It smelled fancy.

Kit quickly showered and dried himself, wrapping the towel around his waist as he walked out to his room. Kit changed into a new t-shirt he borrowed from Ambrose and pulled on his jeans and jacket and runners.

The power dampeners he fastened around his right wrist, feeling his powers immediately diminish. When he locked the second one around the same wrist he snapped his fingers on his left hand. Nothing.

He breathed a sigh of relief.

One problem down.

He pocketed the key and left the room. Ambrose was standing in his kitchen, also dressed, his hair wet from a shower. Ambrose wore a loose sweatshirt that looked soft and black cargo pants that tucked into his boots.

Kit held up his hand triumphantly as he fell to his knees. “The power dampeners worked.”

Ambrose raised his head from an iPad, one eyebrow quirked in amusement. “And you have pants.”

“Mission successful!” Kit beamed, not caring that he was still compelled to kneel in front of Ambrose like some servant to a king.

“Good.” Ambrose said with a nod, sliding the iPad across the counter top. “You can stand, Kit. I have some bad news.”

Kit groaned, pulling himself to his feet. “What now?”

The frustration died in his throat when he saw the headlines: Water Hero kidnapped by new Supervillain, Superhero reports.

“What?” Kit asked with a breath, looking at Ambrose. “What is this?”

Ambrose stood with his arms across his chest, a hand on his mouth as he shrugged with one shoulder. “That villain last night—”

“But why would he take her?” He said “he” instead of Mentor because his brain didn’t equate the two. “That doesn’t make any sense!”

“I don’t know.”

“There has to be a reason?” Kit demanded, scrolling through the article.

“I already checked,” Ambrose said with a shake of his head. He waited patiently until Kit fact checked that there was no mention of why the villain took her. Kit turned his sad eyes to Ambrose again, putting the iPad on the counter. “I think we need to go see Mentor.”

Kit deflated at the suggestion. He knew that this was coming. That eventually they’d have to go and see Mentor and check to see if he really is — if he could be…

Fuck.

Kit didn’t want to think about it.

He steeled his expression and his resolve. “Fine. You can explain everything on the way.”

Ambrose nodded stiffly, not fond of sharing his past with the Hero, but maybe, it was time to share everything, especially if that new supervillain is Mentor.

*~*~*~*~*

Continued here

Orphanage roll-call (lmk if you wanna be added or removed): @beatenbruisedandbloody @404lunar1216 @whumpyworld @nameless-beanie @andithewhumper @annablogsposts @whumpasaurus101 @0eggdealer r @rejectedbytheempty @sleepy-pearl @n3rv0usn0v4 @whumpatize-me-captain @sunshiline-writes @burningkittypoet @honeyed-euphrates @sacredwrath @theonewithallthefixations @acer-gaysimpstuff @m3rakii @xxgalgurlxx @princess-bubble-blossom @blood-enthusiast @steh-lar-uh-nuhs @andtheysaidspeaknoww @dutifullykrispyland @mononeigbour @tippytappytyping @stefaniesblogs @shinokoro @bedtimescenarios @whatwhump

[monsoon-of-art]

ayo ok i just went through all of your neon hero stuff and theres no way to really comment stuff on your website so im here instead but wowza what have you done to me over the course of an hour im obsessed with a southern guy who exists in three (3) total pieces of art now i love it love the world

There's a Guestbook on my main page ^w^ and there's LOTS of doodles here!

And I'm glad you like him!!

[tsbs-darksun-confessions]

Hmph, Looking Back?

Start:

Somehow a conversation about cats led to my relationship with Ruin

He has his uses Nexus's cats British people Exist?

Something is not quite right with him Funny. I do not like dogs.

Once more. Blamed for things I had no part in.

Wowza. This might have consequences.... But not for me.

It was not. A fun morning. It was not. A fun morning. Part 2

I've had my tea, it is now more tolerable.

Some people don't know how to take a joke, it's sad.

And they were roommates A simple question

I do not have a "Situationship". Nobody knows how to read.

Cute, but meaningless in the end It got a laugh out of me No hard feelings

Pandora. I do not want such a thing. .... Maybe I misjudged.

You lot... confuse me.

It was... Fun.

My sexuality, since you all care so much, get it right at least.

And people wonder why Solar is my least favoured housemate.

..... Such is love.... .... Leave me alone.

Ah Neptor... Wonder where he went? (He's a fan, don't let him fool you)

Video games are quite the fun pass time

I take everything back. I should've known better than to trust her.

Harassment Arc:

The first. You know no tact do you?

What ever gave you that impression? Is this what you all see of me?

You really never learnt to read. LEAVE ITS NAME OUT OF THIS.

You're all so hung up on me, what about him? For the last time. I would never do that!

Is this his play? Sending you all to torment me?

Leave. I'm. Not. Them. STOP!

I'm 5oRrY.

Aftermath:

(Sol's stance on closeness) (An old memory) (Lune)

Don't leave me alone.

[shellevisionfan]

OH MY GOD?? OH MY GOSH OH GOLLY GEE WOWZERS!!!! WORDS CANNOT DESCRIBE HOW HAPPY I WAS READING PART 5

IT ALMOST MAKES ME WANT TO DRAW!!! BUT I PROBABLY WON'T BECAUSE MOTIVATION EXISTS, BUT STILL, WOWZA!!!!!!!

HAVE A SCREENSHOT OF ME AFTER MY TEAM DIED

So glad so many people so far have enjoyed part 5! It was really fun to write honestly! esp with me rehashing Vees confession from part 3 but now shes actually able to say it to Shelly so she rephrases some parts.

I hope you enjoy more of my work though! I love writing my own interpretation of shellevision so ill keep at it and keep making peak!

[noneheref]

wowza!!

can you explain more about riotgraft? what they were made for, who their creator is, faction, etc?

and who are you going to replace flatterbang with? or is it a sekret?

Riotgraft is a regular Zeta Biograft who was knocked out and then stolen from the Blackrock. Their "creator" has heavily updated and changed them, giving a small height yet an armor similar to Omegagraft. That's why it's "Riot", mostly focused on destruction and raids in a small amount of people or even alone. Alongside with scouting. But that doesn't mean it can't be destroyed or defeated.

As for "creator"... He's confidential. That's the reason for his name being just.. [REDACTED], aka ███████. Though, he doesn't belong to any faction, Riotgraft is isn't in any faction too, being owned by him. He's also a big criminal in destructions and robbery. This is not Mx. Bot.

Speaking of Flatterbang's replacement, it's a secret for now, i'd rather finish the character and their concept art alongside with thinking about how they will work. For now i can say... It's a two-personality character, but this is not a disorder. An ability to switch between them both when they want to, being a polar opposite from each other. But, they cannot exist at the same time. ;3;'

[ooc: me and my rambling about characters]

[puffyducks]

DCRC Week #18

We're reading PKNA #14: Carpe Diem but I don't really gaf about the main story I'm here for Trip because I like Trip. The actual main chapter is just like a warm-up for the 8 pages of Trip comic as far as I'm concerned.

Oh wow haha we got a big cool looking machine here I'm sure that can only mean good things! ignore day of the cold sun that was an outlier probably

ok nevermind

Ok this guy seems a little TOO into getting fucking obliterated here

Character design that always makes me laugh whenever I see him sorry

like you guys see where I'm coming from right

I'm starting to believe what Alex has been saying about people from the 23rd century never cutting their hair, I mean look at this guy's beautiful golden locks wowza

Oh so NOW he actually stays in jail. Right when space and time is getting obliterated and we actually need him, great.

Camera 9 sighting hey bud

NOO UNO IS ALONE who is going to tuck him into bed every night now :(

I like whenever PK looks directly into the camera like he's on an episode of The Office

Guys Casablanca reference. Caoimhin are you there. Can you hear m

ohh god they're BOTH stupid you guys we are so fucked 😭

of all the fucking frames to remember Odin by... I can't even be mad like yeah that sure is him isn't it

"ayyyyyyyyyy what's uuuuuuuuuppp it's meeeeeeeeeee" "STOP"

Donald is just so fucking pissed off this whole comic I'm loving it

Donald thinks the pills are some kind of crazy hallucinogenic drug but the joke's on him cause it's actually just prescription antidepressants

This is turning into a buddy cop sitcom I'm sentencing them both to death for being too silly

Donald for someone you were complaining about having to rescue like 30 pages ago you sure are smirking at each other a lot. Everyone point and laugh they're bonding 🫵

nevermind divorce

nevermind a sort of middle ground? a frenemies situation. or like an enemies to love-

OKAY everyone shut up shut up. It's time for Trip. I have waited for this moment. Waited many weeks since the start of this book club to proclaim (in public) my undying adoration for Trip son of Raider.

I didn't really care much about the Raider my first time reading this series but it was so fucking over for me as soon as they revealed that he has a son. Like oh wait HE'S A DAD??? I'm literally such a fucking sucker you guys. I can't even explain why I've grown weirdly attached to Trip but I just think he's neat. I love him he sucks.

This introduction page is so iconic to me ok. The fact that there's literally 0 leadup to this or any kind of big reveal. The main story ends and then it just cuts to the Raider like "SOOON I'M HOOOME!"

Also the art in these comics is BEAUTIFULLL I love that you can tell it's all done on physical media. It's such brilliant use of what I assume is markers? Or some kind of other ink-based media. I'd love to be able to reach a level where I can make art like this traditionally god. I've read this comic like 30 times I really like looking at it.

Anyways shoutout to the Raider for NOT wanting his son to be a time pirate, it's definitely not something I think about all the time or anything.

Also shoutout to this specific design of George Washington I'm pretty sure this is EXACTLY what he looked like

It's like Mr. Peabody and Sherman if they both fucking sucked

Anyways this is my really cool Trip fanart that I made like two months ago I think. Just a glimpse into my dark reality.

I'm gonna end this post with a quick cry for help: is there ANYONE out there that knows if there's English fan translations of the Trip's Strip minicomics??? Because I've never been able to find any and if they don't exist I'll fucking do it myself and probably post them whenever we reach the chapters they're attached to in the book club. I can't let the other English speakers miss out on Trip content this is a great injustice.

[tallovines]

JOY AND MUCH MERRIMENT,

FROM BEAUTIFUL NÁLÆGT, ICELAND!

—

"Hello, Viness!! :D

FemboyBright invented a dildo gun and won't stop terrorizing people with it so now I have to tell him to stop wearing prostitution clothing AND to stop terrorizing people with a dildo gun.

WiseBright, my dearest, and the one native to this timeline, for the love of him, WILL NOT STOP GIVING PEOPLE RAW ELEMENTS AS CHRISTMAS PRESENTS. I'VE HAD TO SEND 28 INTERNS TO REYKJAVÍK BECAUSE OF THAT?? ☹️

Oh, and of course!! Everyone else! Y'know, it's weird! I'd expect to know you somehow, but I guess not! I've filed quite literally every single person, Site-61 or not, and their Personnel File, updates included, and yet.. not once have I heard of you, Mr. Vines! I suppose some people just exist and are locked to specific timelines? A fascinating study that would be! ..GETTING OFF TOPIC IN WRITING, SOMEHOW. SORRY!!

Clef and Kondraki rounded Cimmerian, Iceberg, Glass.. basically anybody on The Notable Persons List to an 'SCP Speed Dating 2' in The Library of Records. Unauthorized. Using SCPs of Site-61 permitted either as personnel or for roaming access. I immediately shut it down because besides the first one already being an atrocity, it started to lure Liddy Doves (trust me, I could fill THREE entire messages about that woman... long story short, she runs a GoI that makes SCPs based around romance, lust, and the concepts of love for the purposes of creating marriages from their products.) who would've gladly sponsored the event and then held a wedding for the "winners" after the fact.

I love my personnel, but seriously? It's the week before Christmas. They can't behave themselves? Truly? I suppose when you work on a Site that Dr. Wondertainment himself frequents, you just aren't normal from the second you sign off on the Reassignment Form.

Ah well.. waiting to hear back from you! I'm sure your timeline, and Talloran! (Oh, do say hi to your Talloran! I would say hi to mine, however he's quite the shut-off towards me! Apparently my situation reminds him too akin of what has happened to him, or something along those lines? Hm!) Do say hello to him for me! :D"

- Sincerely (and now covered in glitter glue because I wrote this while watching over SCP-053 (don't ask. I.. don't know how it works either.) and she wanted to "write to whatever you're writing for!! :D", so.. ignore the decorations at the end of this message, will you?), your pen-pal from a timeline much more absurd than yours, Site-61 Director Benjamin Oliver Walker.

🌸 🦄 G 🩷🩷AY

🙂 👼 peple ⭐️

🦄🌸🦄🌸🦄🩷🌸🩷⭐️🩷⭐️🩷⭐️🩷⭐️

TO: waekr friend 🧚‍♀️

FROM: ✨me ✨

hallo ! errr... greetings from the sonoran desert ? sorry i dont really know how to greet these dang letters !!! but i hope the seasons been treating you well ^___^;

femboy- wha... pardon who ? he WHAT ...? gosh where do i even begin to unpack this... would i even WANT to do that ???

ah well... 'nother bright ? well geez... i know you like him ? i think ? but id actually like to get to know 'm ! im not really familiar with the a lot of the scp personnel ahahaha... sounds like a funny guy tho ! i wouldnt complain if i got an element for christmas those thingies are coool :D

ouh also well, wowza... thats so strange :< i dont like... 100% understand your whole... errr... timeline thingies... but wouldnt you expect me to be there at least one other tiiime ? ehhh whatever maybe ill be the first one you meet and then you can meet more ! teeeheee

ouhhh WAOHHH… i dont really know those other people,,, but ive heard of kondraki ? maaaybehaps ? wanted to meet him ! but thats sososo ? i wanted to say cool buuut i dont know if its really appropriate ? how do people even come up with these things... speed dating in a place like this ? i knowww different sites are different but its the foundation is it not ? they trying to date anomalies or what :< ?

i mean id be a little interested in something like that ? a tiny bit ? a small amount ? uhhh errr... who said that ! was just small curiosity is alll !!! aaahahaha... i dont take interest in anyone.

WELL ! ummm well errr… ahah… site 61 sure does sound silly !!! i’ll say hai to james for ya’ :3

(pspsps please tell 053 she’s very sweet even tho i don’t understand… what she’s trying to tell me)

-researcher violet vervain vines :D

[ohbo-ohno]

Okay, so I’m not sure what AU exactly this would before because the Serial Killer Reader is definitely feels more Puppy in my eyes and not sure if the boys in the dlmliyh Au would vibe with this, but I have been thinking about them training the reader to be a kitten. Specifically where the reader is fighting against it and the boys have to get creative to get them to calm down and slip into the head space.

Now I’m sure your thoughts on drug use so ignore if your not comfortable 💕 , but them using weed to get them to slip. Them figuring it out on accident, soap smoking and making them take a pull and discovering how sensitive, cuddly and subby they get when they are high. Then maybe one day the reader is like hell no i’m not wearing a tail plug and ears. Them looking at eachother and one leaving the room to make a “special” cup of tea for the reader not telling them that it has flower in it. Chuckling to themselves as they notice it starting to have an effect, the readers brain getting fuzzy, relaxed and maybe going a bit nonverbal. All this making the little cozy cat bed the boys made for them look really welcoming. But then they feel a nice warm hand running through their hair and they are so sensitive it just feels so good. Whimpering and leaning into their touch becoming a little puddle nuzzling closer to their warmth. Relaxing deeper as their hands stroke your body, them mumbling praises “oh such a good kitten” “purr for us love”. Relaxed sighs turning into soft moans as they feel rough fingers rubbing their clit. A hand gently tilting their chin up making them look into Soaps eyes as he places the cute little ears on the readers head. So distracted by the look in his eyes and the feeling of him playing with their hair that they don’t really notice ghost shifting behind them, until he pops their tail in.

Might have gotten a bit carried away here but…

Also after this event they start referring to weed as catnip 😅

-🎃

p.s. thank you for that story rec 👀

i've recommended like three stories but i hope you mean the puppyplay sugar daddy one because it's so fucked up and i need more people to know it exists lol

i am. obsessed with this ask. im also totally gonna reveal how inexperienced with weed i am so we're just gonna pretend weed functions in the exact ways we need it to for kinky story's sake :)

johnny giving you a puff of his blunt and you take it because you're so eager to calm down, only for just that little bit to hit you like a train and make you the neediest calm little thing ever

also. oh my god. weed being used as "cat-nip" to force you into kittyplay. wowza!

yknow im usually not as into kittyplay as i am puppyplay (i like it a little meaner lol) but this ask is like a really fun brand of kittyplay. literally them drugging you (just a little!) so you behave for them? they're really just helping you, when you get all worked up you always end up needing a punishment :/ this is better, this just helps you behave

also ughhh you just being so soft and malleable, leaning into them for affection, looking up at them with big round eyes and begging for more. slow and easy sex, a nice little treat for you since you're behaving so well. taking your tail so well for them :( simon stroking from the crown of your head allll the way down to your tail, smiling at your little purrs

johnny would love it too obviously but he doesn't really get to play with you as much when you're high :/ he wants to play puppy-kitty when you're actually... y'know... willing to do more than be pampered. he wants to play wrestle, to yank your tail when you bite his hand, to make you lick his dick clean of your slick with little kitten licks

simon just reassures him that someday you won't need their help to be a kitten, they're just showing you how for now <3

[3lkin]

Hey y'all. 2024's almost done, ain't that somethin. what a wild year.

(sappy stuff under the cut)

So. Here we are. December 24th, wowza.

Honestly, Imma just start out by saying thank you. Thank you to all the people who followed, or liked my work or reblogged, or even just saw it in passing and kept on scrolling. Thank you to anyone who saw any of my friend's work, or even just existed in the mcyt community. Y’all are my inspirations, and I don’t think I would be where I’m at right now without the incredible support I’ve gotten this past year, especially from my friends over on the Desert Life SMP <3

I wasn’t really sure if I actually wanted to post this over here originally. The art I tend to post are the pieces I’m the most proud of. I don’t like posting sketches or unfinished pieces because they feel messy, or like I didn’t try hard enough. But I also think it’s a valuable thing to show progress, and show where you came from as an artist, as short a timeline as 1 year might be.

Funnily enough, when 2024 first hit, I was the least involved in the mcyt community that I’d been since 2020. I hadn’t really watched Secret Life, I was sort of scooting away from the QSMP, and I was barely paying attention to Hermitcraft (dark times, I know). So what was I up to early 2024 in my art journey? Well, I was finishing up my first Outerwilds animatic (which, as of yesterday, just crossed 4k views WHAT THE FU-). It’s strange, because I remember when working on it, I made the choice not to show the main, player, characters face til the very end, which one may classify as stylistic, but nonono, I just really hated drawing humanoids lmao.

When I finally put that animatic to bed, I wanted to pick up a new project, and for some weird reason, even though I wasn’t really even paying attention to the mcyt community at that time, I drafted up a Life Series Winners animatic. And that’s basically the only thing I worked on, February, March, and April. Looking back on all that now, I’m still really proud of what I set out to make. At the time, I know how happy I was with that style, and how excited I’d been when I first figured out how to tween and started attempting a bit of animation. That animatic got me a place on my first MAP, where I met so many wonderful people, many of which are such large parts of my life now. And after that, the year just took off.

throughout June and July, I participated in Art Fight for the first time, and was exposed to so many incredible artists. I went back to using line art, relearned how to shade and utilize color. August hit, and I was convinced to jump on Tumblr. Was that a good decision? Um. Well it certainly fueled the Desert Duo brainrot I’ll tell ya that. In all truth tho, having the ability to show my work to the wider community was something I didn’t really have up until that point, and seeing how excited people were about Wild Life or other mcyt goings-ons was such a cool experience.

If someone walked up to January 2024 Elkin, and showed her the last three months of work I’ve done, I don’t think in her wildest dreams they would ever think it was them who was going to make it. I’m honestly so proud of where I’m at with my art right now, and how far I’ve come over just this past year. Whether it’s through colors, anatomy, composition, effects, I’ve learned so much from so many wonderful people, and I can’t thank them enough for being such large inspirations.

Damn this got long fast lmao, was meant to be only a couple paragraphs :/ If for some reason you’ve made it all the way down this post, thank you to you as well, for taking the time to be here and read this absolutely blabber. Hope all y’all have a wonderful holiday season, and a happy New Year. Here’s to 2025 :)